Page 19

DELILAH

K ane pushes the gun harder against my temple as I stare up into his hardening eyes. I have to force myself not to look at his dick. It’s there in my periphery with his gloved hand wrapped around it, the skin coated in watery red, but I don’t look away from his face.

He doesn’t get to act like this isn’t happening anymore. He can leave his mark however he wishes. If only to prove that this is real, it’s not made up, and he’s not dead.

My assumption that he’s morphed into Asher is wrong.

He’s something worse, because he can still feel.

Somewhere under all of his anger, my Kane is still there.

The one who would call me his pretty girl and hug me in secret because he knew I didn’t want anyone to know how I truly felt about him.

He didn’t question it or ask for more. He accepted it because it’s what I needed to save him from my parents’ clutches.

Asher could join their games, he was twisted and loved them.

But not Kane. It would have destroyed his kind heart.

There’s no kindness as he takes half a step forward and plants his foot on Jeremy’s groin. A thick weight hits the side of my cheek as he slaps me with his dick. “Now, slut.”

My jaw drops open, and he pushes his dick into my mouth before I can anticipate the movement. I gag as he thrusts forward, cupping the back of my head.

“Sit on the fucking knife. If I have to tell you again, it’s going in the other way around.”

I search his eyes for anything to hint that he’s lying, but he looks too eager for me to refuse to do exactly what he’s threatening. As much as I know him and that Kane is still there, this new version is like a cracked reflection and each jagged shard holds an entirely different personality.

My lungs ache as I attempt to calm my breathing, but he continues staring down at me, waiting for me to make a decision. I do the only thing I can and lift up on my knees. His dick pushes further down my throat as I shuffle forward and hover above the knife handle.

“Now sit like an eager little dog so I can give you your treat,” he says while pushing down on my head.

A tremor overtakes my limb as I push my panties to the side. Every muscle in my body tenses at the feeling of the sticky handle brushing my inner thigh. Even with the malice staring at me, I’m not shaking due to fear. It’s something worse—enjoyment.

I want him to try to break me so he’s occupied with me. I want the same power he gave me years ago. The complete control of Kane Xandros was once mine and the only way it will be again is by giving in to the charade.

He presses harder against my scalp, forcing me onto the knife.

It pushes deeper into Jeremy’s stomach. His blood slowly seeps out of the entry point, coating the inside of my thighs, the wet patch growing down to my knees.

Pride shines in Kane’s eyes as he continues pushing me down while he slowly thrusts into my mouth.

“That’s it, koukla mou. You’ll learn that no one ever fucking touches you from now on. If they do, you’ll both end up bloodied and with a knife sticking out of you.”

I gag and my jaw drops as my eyes water. He tightens his fingers in my hair and presses the gun to my cheek as he pushes even deeper into my throat.

“Keep making that fucking face and I’ll fuck this,”—he taps the barrel against my cheekbone—“until you throw up all the cum that you’ve collected today.”

Despite my vision blurring, I glare up at him.

He narrows his eyes as he roars, “Did you suck his fucking dick?” He yanks my head back. “Did you?”

His dick sits heavily on my tongue, weighing it down and stopping my lie from leaving.

But he looks down at his boot on top of Jeremy’s crotch.

His knee nearly skims my chin as he abruptly brings his foot up and stamps down.

The force causes the knife to jolt inside of me and I clench around it to stop the moan begging to escape.

His harsh eyes bore into my soul as he leans down and he spits out, “Tell me the truth.”

“In the car,” I mumble. Little pricks of pain erupt at the side of my scalp as he pulls me off his dick.

Self-preservation be damned, I continue the lie, “His dick should be framed. It’s beautiful and fuck,” I moan, rolling my eyes back.

“His cum is better than any dessert. I could live off it. So sweet, I nearly choked from how much there was.”

And just like that, the new Kane Xandros is fully under my control.

He’s unable to temper himself as he wraps his hand around my neck. There’s no thought of his own release as I rule over the most intoxicating emotion to exist: jealousy.

My win is short-lived as he retrieves a syringe from his pocket, tightening his hold on my throat. I push against his thighs but his hand and the knife don’t allow me to move back. My voice comes out weak as I try to scream, “Don’t drug me!”

My throat burns with the memories of the hospital coming back, of being dulled and zombie-like. Kane squeezes my neck, trapping the fear in place and silencing me. The sharp point of the needle penetrates the outside of my bicep and I sink with the sound of his taunt.

“You broke the rules, koukla mou.”

I fall backwards, an ache blooming through my skull as it slams against Jeremy’s prone chin. Whatever drug is working through my system is faster than the others he’s used. It robs my limbs of movement, and everything turns black as the knife is pulled out of me.

Multiple weights bear down against my spine with heat emanating off them. I blink and try to swallow but there’s a heavy band wrapped around my throat, restricting my movements as shadows flicker across the walls and floor. I can’t make sense of them with the fog slowly dissipating over my senses.

My knees are folded under me and pressed to my chest, but the wobbling weight resting on my spine stops me from moving.

My shoulders ache, and I can’t unfold my arms due to whatever has dried around my elbow, sticking it to my ribs.

It all aches despite the comforting warmth washing over my naked skin.

Not until a heavy pair of footsteps as Kane stops in front of me.

I manage to force my head up to see him lighting a large pillar candle. He runs the pad of his thumb over the roller of a Zippo, and I’m enraptured by the ink covering his hands. It crawls up his arms, under the short sleeves of his form fitting black t-shirt.

Roses with thick vines and sharp thorns are inked into the back of his left hand.

The thorn on his ring finger is the only one that has any color.

A bright red drop of blood clings to it and his other hand is marked in a gothic Gorgon head.

Half of its face is a skull—the eye socket has something crawling out of it—and the other half has features but the flickering candlelight doesn’t allow me to make out who it is.

He indelicately tilts the candle to the side and the hot wax drips between my shoulder blades, making me hiss. The sensation of it cooling isn’t unbearable. I’d still prefer not to be used as a candelabra. More wax is deposited on my skin, so much that it doesn’t set straight away.

“Kane?” He doesn’t look at me and holds the candle upside down to melt the base against the orange flame of his Zippo. “Kane, I can’t move.”

There are more deposits, and the balaclava shifts over his jaw as he clenches his teeth. “Good.”

A dull ache travels up my knees as I’m forced to remain kneeling.

Without moving my head, I look through the corner of my eyes to see what I’m attached to.

The collar around my neck has a chain on the side that leads across the room.

The looped end lays over my bed, fixed under the leg.

I won’t be able to pull it free without burning myself.

There must be at least ten candles stuck to my back. The wax drips down. From the heat alone, they’re all different lengths. But once he’s happy with how much has melted, Kane adds the one in his hand to my skin. A weak hiss escapes me as he pushes the melted base between my shoulder blades.

“Take your mask off,” I beg, like a pathetic fucking idiot.

He drops down to his haunches and gently holds my jaw with his thumb and forefinger. The strain in my neck is eased as he looks between each of my eyes. His voice comes out haunted and menacing with the eerie candlelight.

“You first.” Using the back of his fingers of his free hand, he strokes the side of my face, tracing each contour as emotion weighs his voice down.

“The boy who loved you died. You killed him, Delilah, when all he ever wanted to do was love you openly. That was his only crime, and it was enough for a hundred and fifty-seven death sentences.”

He didn’t get a death sentence. He was charged with manslaughter and arson. I even wrote a letter when I wasn’t allowed to testify. It explained that it wasn’t Kane’s fault and I tried to fucking help him, so he doesn’t get to forget history or rewrite it to make me the villain.

Softening my voice, I ask, “What happened?”

His fingers tighten around my jaw and his eyes blaze.

Even without the reflection of the numerous flames on my back, they would be on fire as he spits, “You.” My jaw is close to breaking from how tightly he’s holding it.

“You came into my fucking life with your frilly fucking socks and said ‘Knock, knock.’ That is what fucking happened.”

My hands are free to push him away, but I’m aware of the candles stuck to me. The wax that has dripped onto my skin won’t protect me from the flames if they fall.

He digs his fingers into the corners of my lips, forcing my mouth open, and spits down in a line. Most of it hits my chin and he smears it into my skin with the pad of his thumb.

“I hate you. And this mouth,”—he traces my lips with his spit-covered thumb—“will only ever be a place for me to drop my cum.”