Page 22

DELILAH

I stand numb as Kane rocks with his hand between his legs. The black leather gloves pull at the seams of his fingers, and he flinches as though he’s being attacked. His voice turns high pitched, fearful, as he screeches, “Eighty-nine! Not ninety, eighty-nine!”

The mask over his face won’t help him breathe so I drop to my knees beside him. Softening my voice, I reach for him, only to stop an inch away in fear of hurting him. “Kane, it’s okay, there’s no one here.”

“Eighty-nine!”

His head slams against the floor from the force of his rocking, and my throat thickens. I gently hold the bottom of his mask, but his movements become even more violent, and he whimpers as he swipes his arm out with enough power to knock me back.

“Eighty-nine!”

I don’t give a fuck that I’m breaking the rules or that I’ll get shit for being in the private room. All I care about is the man breaking in front of me. He doesn’t change the number. It’s just repeated as he holds his crotch hard enough that it pulls his pants up from his boots.

“Kane,” I whisper, pushing my tears back.

No response other than the same number.

Crawling forward, I ignore the way he lashes out and pick up his head to rest him on my thighs. The dull thuds don’t stop as he shakes, slamming his head on my legs. It stops him from pushing me away as I carefully peel the mask up his face.

The softest, innocent cry leaves his lips as he begs, “Please.” His face splinters and tears slip out of the corners of his eyes. “Please, eighty-nine. Asher, help.”

I don’t remove my mask because it’s the only fucking thing soaking up my own tears. The leather over his knuckles cracks, and he wildly kicks out at the air while begging for his brother.

“Asher,” he cries like a lost child, “help me.”

His screams are dulled, as though they’re trapped inside of him. He abruptly flops onto his stomach like it’s instinct or something has turned him. It pushes his face into my thighs, and I can feel his pain vibrating through his body more than I can hear it.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, gently turning his head so he can still breathe as I lie, “You’re okay, Kane, it’s just a dream.”

I don’t know how to help him and uselessly set his mask flat on the floor beside me so he can put it on when he’s back. Then I comb my fingers through his hair and lean over him to kiss his temple. “Come back to me, baby. Even if it’s to hate me.”

My anger at him leaving me in a burning building is overridden by his distress. I know him, knew him, and this isn’t Kane. He doesn’t cry or beg for help. He doesn’t allow anyone to see him in pain. I remain bowing over him like there’s anyone in the vicinity who could possibly witness it.

I don’t know how long I remain fixed above him, but my neck twinges and his pained cries slowly taper off. It doesn’t allow him back into the present as he sinks into me. He groggily lifts his arms and wraps them around my hips, pulling me closer, and I rest my forehead on his nape.

“Wake up,” I whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

My lips brush his hair, and he turns rigid. His t-shirt is stuck to him, showing every muscle in his corded back before he roughly pushes me away. His red-rimmed eyes are wild, but he gets to his feet, and I look up at him. “What happened to you, Kane?”

Looking me up and down, he curls his lips up and he looks two seconds away from kicking me in the face. I don’t move since his violence can’t be anything worse than Asher’s. But his foot doesn’t move, and he chooses words as his weapon.

“I fucking begged you. Exactly like you are right now, on my knees. I held your fucking hands and begged you not to do it!”