Page 11

KANE

T he leaves under my feet crumble with each step I take until I’m in front of the aged stone.

Dirty spots and bird shit mark the pillars of the creaking black gate, showing their disuse.

Inside of the crypt isn’t any better than the outside, with leaves and discarded paper that have collected from the wind pushing them under the gate.

It’s fitting that my family is laid to rest in a state of abandonment. That’s what they do best. But it will be torturing my parents’ souls to know that their precious Asher isn’t with them.

A normal son, one that was acknowledged and allowed to exist, would feel something other than disappointment as he stands in front of his dead parents.

But they didn’t have normal children. In order to produce them, they’d have to be something other than the monsters they truly were.

Only people without humanity would allow their last remaining child to be locked away at the mercy of grown men without intervening.

I slide their name plaque to the side to check if Uncle Lennox has visited.

He’s the only person who ever visited me, who wrote to me, and provided some interaction that wasn’t a beating.

Yet there’s no card tucked into the small crack behind the golden plate, so I slide it back into place.

I’m not deluded enough to talk to the dead and expect a response, not when they never gave one whilst they were alive.

So I turn and leave them to rot. Asher’s plot is further away, and I walk through the grave-lined path to it.

He should be moved into the crypt. But I’m the only surviving member of our toxic family, and I’d rather not expel any energy on them.

Weeds sprout through the earth, climbing up the weathered stone.

It’s a strange notion to think that his death was a catalyst to my life ending as though I was never anything more than his reflection.

The dates on his headstone also mark the beginning and end of my own life, but it’s not Kane Xandros, it’s Asher.

Even his fucking death belongs solely to him and I’m living in the shadow of a ghost.

“None of this is for you,” I say to expel the thoughts. “It’s not revenge for her killing you. You deserved that. All of you did, but I didn’t.”

Leaves crunch behind me. I don’t move. I can see his shadow before he steps into my periphery.

My uncle has come out of hiding, adjusting his black leather gloves as he stops beside me.

The suit and expensive overcoat aren’t new, but I stare at the collar.

Specifically, the patch of raised skin, mottled like he’s been burnt, running up his nape and stretching behind his ear.

That’s new, despite it looking old. There’s no raw redness or shine to it to show that it’s healing, but he looks at me from the corner of his eye. I know my mistake.

“Rowan,” I say, feeling my throat tighten.

His eyes are the same as Lennox’s. Every feature is, given that they’re identical, but there’s a coldness that seeps from him as the corners of his lips lift into what is supposed to be a smile.

“Were you expecting someone else, dear nephew?”

I never understood why my mom would sometimes refuse to allow Uncle Lennox in the house.

Now I do. It’s because it wasn’t always him.

He was the reflection, the twin that’s shown to the world while the true insidious Kobalt family secret is left undisturbed.

Because the tale of two faces isn’t a story, it’s familial lore.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone at all.” I tuck my hands into my pockets and wrap my fingers around my knife. “On account of being the last living member of the Xandros family.”

This motherfucker is the reason I’ve become whatever version of a shell I am.

All his fucking punishments when he wanted to get his anger out after his protégé’s death have been marked on my soul and took pieces for him to satiate his rage.

But he acts like we’re family. That ghoul-like cold infuses into my bones as he lifts his gloved hand to my shoulder.

“I can give you a family,” he offers, unable to hide his hate. “A real family, unlike what your mother attempted to surround you with.”

The hand that ordered the death of my parents, made me an orphan, is currently squeezing my fucking shoulder.

My fingers tighten around my knife, but he’s a sick mastermind and Delilah won’t be safe if I react.

Her torment is mine. It’s owed from my hand.

To him, it will be entertainment and a way to amass more wealth.

There’s no entertainment on my end, only justice.

I remove all emotion from my voice. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll decline. The role was always meant for Asher.”

Leather squeaks as Rowan tightens his fingers around my shoulder.

I can’t determine if it’s due to my mention of his pet project or my refusal.

I always knew Asher was fucked up, that he had issues, but I never thought he’d want to be involved in trafficking people.

All the business books he would study weren’t to take over for our father.

It was to slip into the shadows and run a family business that shouldn’t exist.

He takes a half step away from me as a thin beam of red light disturbs the air in front of the grave I’m staring down at. I follow the fractured line to see a small dot on the center of my chest.

“You seem to be of the opinion that it was an offer,” he says, straightening his shoulders.

His grip on my shoulder becomes more forceful and his face darkens to something from hell.

“It’s not.” The dot moves in an X across my chest as he continues.

“You never escaped me. Don’t allow the delusional reality your mother fed you to convince you otherwise.

It would be a shame to have to repeat your training. ”

Bile burns up the back of my throat at the reminder of everything he’s fucking orchestrated.

The beatings weren’t enough. Neither was putting me in the infirmary with my back cut open.

No, he needed something more. Something that can’t be forgotten, so that when I try to sleep in an attempt to escape the world, it would follow me.

The dot leaves as he pats my shoulder. To anyone looking at us, they would see a grieving uncle and nephew beside a grave.

But he’s good at projecting an image. It’s how he’s escaped the punishment he’s due for his sickening actions.

If it wasn’t for Lennox, I’d be unaware of everything.

I wouldn’t know what The Dollhouse is, or that there’s no running away from him.

I have one option for survival. Stay in sight.

I can’t be ripped from the world when people expect me to exist, and I can’t be a tool he can manipulate if I have nothing to lose.

But he attempts to demolish that thought.

“The friends you keep are beneath you. They don’t have true power with their criminal allegiances.”

It’s a lie, since Niko managed to get the punishments to stop. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here, and we both know it. There’s no one who Rowan is afraid of that I can align myself with, but I’d make a deal with the devil if it was available.

Patting my shoulder again, he acts like a doting uncle. “I trust you’ll make the correct decision.” With the threat lingering in the air, he walks away, and I look down for the dot.

My hate for Asher grows tenfold. All of this shit has been caused by him.

Him and Delilah. Their stupid games and toxic relationship have bled into my life, but I can’t get that aggression out on the dead.

The only option I have is the living. I remain fixed at his grave as the steps slowly get further away.

I don’t turn to watch Rowan leave. He’s like an evil fucking spirit that drifts between the veil of different dimensions.

Martin stands outside of Delilah’s apartment building like a guard.

I only needed him to sell the illusion that Delilah hadn’t been missing for months, and that it was all an episode.

She’ll question everything then, and I’ll be able to begin her descent into madness all over again.

There’s nothing worse than questioning reality, not trusting yourself, and as soon as her mind goes, we’ll be even.

Mental torment requires a certain level of art that death or torture can’t provide.

All the hours I’ve spent with my thoughts have allowed me to craft her own hell.

Martin shifts from foot to foot as I pull up beside him. I don’t unlock the doors, but roll the window down an inch as he approaches. He puts his filthy fucking fingerprints on the glass, and my fist tightens around the leather steering wheel.

“She was dazed when she woke up,” he says. I want to kill him. “But she hasn’t mentioned you.”

“You can fuck off now.” I go to roll up the window, uncaring that his fingers are still curled over the glass.

The dickhead increases his grip, spreading more of his nasty DNA on the darkened pane as he rushes out, “I did what you wanted. You’ll give me the file?

” Turning my head to meet his fear-filled eyes, I stay silent.

Hope mixes with his fright as he begs, “That’s what we agreed.

I do this and you’ll give me everything so I can get rid of it. ”

“Is that what you want?” I cock my head to the side and watch him.

His “audition reel” to get Rowan’s attention was too planned—too enthusiastic—for it to have been coerced like he claimed.

Sick fucking cunt. Not once has he asked about his poor dog since I took it away from him after I found the video of him abusing it.

He audibly gulps before lying through his fucking teeth. “Yeah, it was a mistake.”

I nod and pull the button up for the window. He quickly pulls his fingers free and stares through the glass. Or he’s looking at his own reflection. Who fucking knows when he clearly enjoys watching himself?

I wait until he walks away to get out and go into Delilah’s building.

Well, my building since I purchased it. There could have been easier, more cost-effective ways of having free reign of her domain, but there wouldn’t be any fun in it.

This way I can ruin her financially too.

She mustn’t have seen the rent increase letter yet or I would have had an email with either her complaint or confirming that she’s going to move.

I know her finances, so there’s nowhere else she would be able to afford.

Such a shame for her. Maybe she’ll try to sell herself since it’s the only talent she has without access to a piano.

There’s no need for me to wear a mask, but I pull the balaclava over my head as I step through her front door.

I’ve spent four months watching her sleep while I kept her sedated.

Now I’m torn between wanting to hear her voice or to have that peace of knowing she’s in front of me.

The moments I allowed her to be conscious weren’t filled with her voice, but she’d look at me and I finally had someone I could talk to.

A low light comes from her bedroom, and I hate the hope springing inside of me.

I’ll never understand the hold she has over me or how she managed to make me come without a mask.

Or why I can bear her touch. But I go to her—like fucking always—and stand at the threshold, watching the figure under the sheets.

Gently widening the gap in the door, I remain rooted in place as she fully comes into view.

Her eyes are closed, and she lays on her side with her hand under her cheek.

Delilah’s beauty isn’t muted in the low lights.

It’s not something that can be diminished or tarnished.

If her abhorrent actions haven’t managed to taint her physical appeal, then it will always be impossible for someone else to do it.

There’s a natural tilt to her lips, like she’s smiling, and I have equal parts joy and rage at the sight of it. It’s fucking insulting that she can sleep after everything that she’s done.