Page 55

KANE

C linical Delilah is a new facet of her personality.

She doesn’t speak to me or even look at me after her musings on drowning me.

I’d prefer if she did. At least it would prove she feels something for me other than this passive bullshit.

Once she’s finished washing my arm, she climbs out of the tub, and her face is blank as she holds my non-injured arm to help me stand.

The only sound in the room is the drain gurgling.

My girl has decided I’m not worth the conversation.

My teeth marks are in her neck, a bruise already forming around them, but she moves away from my hand as I try to touch the marks that prove she fucking belongs to me. Are her lips sealed shut, for fuck’s sake? I’d rather have her anger than silence. Fuck, I’d rather have anything. Even tears.

But she prolongs the silence as she uses her elbow to press against my side and guide me into the bedroom. The thick sheets are covered in dirt and blood, yet there’s no reaction from my suddenly mute wife. She just nudges me to sit down, then perches beside me, making sure to leave a gap.

Without any other sounds in the room, Helene’s tapping is all that we can hear. Each metallic clink makes Delilah flinch, and her jaw clenches as she curls her hands into fists then shakes them before ripping the gloves off.

“Say something,” I beg, unashamed and un-fucking-caring. If she wants me on my fucking knees, I’ll happily prostrate to her. I just need to fucking hear her.

No fucking reaction.

I’ve never seen her focus so intently as she snaps on a fresh pair of gloves before threading the curved needle.

Medicine wasn’t something that she was interested in, even though her family are renowned for their hospitals and research.

She always said it was boring, but she acts like a highly-trained surgeon as she picks up a pair of small flat-headed scissors, placing the needle between them.

Her fingers are gentle as she pinches the wound closed with her thumb and forefinger, then uses the scissors to push the tip of the needle through my skin.

“How do you know what to do?” I ask.

Again, I’m ignored as she picks up a pair of tweezers to pull the needle through the other side of my skin. Her stitches are clean, each one lined up with equal spacing and minimal tugging on my skin.

“Who needs a numbing agent when your cold shoulder is there?” I snap, like a fucking child.

I finally get a reaction as she looks up.

The curved metal of the needle is pierced through my skin, but she’s looking at me again.

Her eyes are more navy than the bright blue that swept me away for years, yet they’re no less potent.

The tapping gets louder, and she looks to the side without moving her head.

“Look at me. No one else.”

“Kane,” she grits. “Shut the fuck up. You’re nothing to me and as soon as we’re out of this place, I’m going back to my life. Without you anywhere in it.”

I can’t tell her that I’m still going to be watching her.

We’ll leave. She has the right to hate me and to be protected.

So, when I get her out of her, that’s what I’ll do, and it will fucking kill me to lose her.

But I have the right to know where my wife is, what she’s doing, and keeping her safe.

After all, a happy wife is a happy life.

That doesn’t mean she has to know I’m there.

I fall silent as she continues the stitches.

I can’t touch her when she keeps moving away from me.

I can’t fucking speak to her. I had more of Delilah while I was being that cunt Asher than I do as myself.

She was more accepting of me scaring her, chasing her, and fucking with her than she is now that she knows the truth.

I love her, hate her, fucking adore her, and I’m inspired by her all at the same fucking time.

None of the positives stop the urge to throttle her though.

I could do it, just wrap my hands around her neck until she’s forced to look at me.

But when she remains focused on the patch of skin she’s stitching up, none of the physical pain can be felt over the overwhelming grief of losing her.

All I had to do was speak to her that day when she was standing outside of the diner.

If I crossed the road, asked her what the fuck had happened, and allowed her to answer, I would have had her.

We wouldn’t be here and all those years I spent putting my plan in motion would have been spent together instead of me watching her, forcing her to live in an apartment I had access to, and forcing myself into the shadows.

Delilah didn’t turn me into a ghost. She was the only person who could breathe life into me.

All over again, I’m non-existent. No one can exist in solitude, because memories and interactions are what makes us human.

And the one person whose presence I crave is the one I’ve hurt beyond repair.

The type of pain that alters her, changes how she interacts with the world.

The tips of her gloved fingers are coated in my blood, and it makes me harder. I want her covered in me again. There’s a scalpel in the medical supplies. I wince as I stretch my good arm to pick it up. I turn it so the blade is flat in my palm and the handle is pointing at her.

“Take it,” I whisper as the tapping outside of the door slows.

She looks at me like I’m cutting into her and flicks her eyes back up to meet mine.

“Hide it,” I mouth so Helene doesn’t overhear.

Some of the iciness in her newfound personality thaws as she takes it from me.

I close my eyes, so I don’t know where it’s hidden to make her comfortable.

If she believes I’m a threat, then I can prove to her that I’ll keep her safe from everyone, even if it’s me.

I’m so tired. I can’t sit up any longer without her warmth next to me.

Dropping backwards on the bed, I just breathe as the throbbing pain in my arm battles the sharp pricks heating the back of my thighs and ass.

The bed dips beside me and I flinch at the feeling of smooth, cold metal gliding up my chest. It rips through my t-shirt and warmth blankets the side of my face before Delilah whispers, “Your clothes are wet. You won’t be able to sleep in them.”

I nod and just like the nights she was calling me by my brother’s name, I can feel my body settle as she cuts my t-shirt off me.

She must have taken her gloves off because her warm palms carefully lift my shoulder to pull the fabric out from under me.

I want her to sleep on my chest again. She was so fucking adorable and peaceful with her hand pushed under her cheek.

Something touches my hip and there’s a metallic snip before my sweats loosen.

My hand whips out, grabbing the cunt to stop them from touching me.

Their neck is too small, and my fingers nearly touch as a breeze brushes my face.

Bolting up, I stop short of the sharp point of the scissors directly in front of my eye.

Delilah.

Her face is red. I abruptly let her go. She drops the scissors to rub across her bruising neck, my bite mark mixing with the harsh red lines from my fingers.

The tapping is fainter, further away as I close my eyes, even though I won’t be able to sleep, and say, “Don’t fucking touch me again.

I won’t be responsible for hurting you if you decide that getting fucked is more important. ”

“The last time I chose to fuck you, I was seventeen years old,” she scoffs. “I don’t want to touch your nasty fucking dick.”

I turn to look at her as she proves she’s a liar. “Are you forgetting the video you made?” She gives me her back. I helpfully remind her, “You gave your husband permission to do every filthy thing he thinks of.”

That gets her attention. She stands at the foot of the bed. Fuck me, she’s beautiful. Angry, a mix of dirt and water sticking her clothes to her skin, yet she’s still a vision I’ll never tire of watching. Pushing my non-injured arm under my head, I watch her freely.

“You’re not my husband.”

“I am.” I shrug then taunt, “Wife. Congratulations. You were always meant to be Mrs. Delilah Xandros, but everyone made you believe that it would be because of anyone other than me.”

My win is short-lived because she allows her tongue to deliver the most brutal blow.

“I’d rather have been sentenced with Asher. At least he was the devil I knew.”

She steps back, ready to fucking run, and I kick my leg out to trip her. With my foot between her legs, she stumbles, and I sit up to grab her neck. Those eyes burn as she pushes against my chest. I pull her closer, our noses touching, and my voice darkens as I dare her, “Say it again.”

Her lips part.

I pulse my fingers around her neck, cutting her off. “I’ll allow you to leave me after this, but make no fucking mistake, koukla mou. You will always belong to me. I’ll even let you have a family with some prick if that’s what you need, but there will never be a day that you aren’t my wife.”

There’s a strange look in her eyes as she leans into my palm, placing her knee between my thighs, and lightly counters, “Not if you die.”

I may be more fucked up than I thought because I smile. “Immortalize me, my pretty girl. Let everyone see that I was your husband when they pass my gravestone. It’s the only achievement that I have.”

Delilah softens in front of my eyes but she’s stubborn. “Let go of me, Kane. Your arm will be hurting, and I need to bandage it.”