Page 61

KANE

I watch the sun slowly rise, illuminating my beautiful wife as she lays on her back beside me.

She’s so fucking amazing. I’ve never seen her so peaceful before.

Even when we were teenagers, she wasn’t as calm as she is now.

That may be due to the fact I refused to let her sleep until she came so many times that she was dripping down my wrist, but I had to. If I didn’t, then she would ignore me.

The sun chases away the cold breeze and Delilah kicks the sheets down, revealing my marks all over her body.

Each red bite is like a flag, claiming her as mine.

I ghost my thumb over the marks on the underside of her tits.

Those are just for us, no one will ever see them, and I know she loves them because she found it harder to look at the sky after each one had been planted on her skin.

Moving my hand further down, I stretch my fingers out with an inch of space between my palm and her stomach.

I want that future with her—a child that’s ours, a home, normal jobs, and boring lives.

She’ll complain about having to work and we’ll live for the weekends, but with her it would all be worth it.

Maybe we aren’t too broken to have it since we actually spoke about our shit.

We just have to keep doing it until it’s resolved.

There’s a loud, metallic clunk so I quickly cover her naked body, expecting someone to walk through the door. She’s cute as fuck and grabs my hand as I lift up, covering more of her.

“Kane?” she croaks, voice full of sleep. I want to fuck her throat so she sounds like that all the time.

I hold my finger over my lips as I look behind me at the door. It doesn’t open. There aren’t any footsteps or taps of Helene’s stick, but the metallic noises could be hiding them.

“It’s electric,” Delilah whispers. “It was the same when they locked it.”

I nod. “Did they bring you food?”

“No.”

Fuck, she hasn’t eaten in days.

My back burns as I stand, but I stare down at the tips of her fingers in my hand. Deep purple bruises run across all four of them and every muscle in my body turns rigid despite the pain it causes as I ask, “They hurt you?”

I bring them to my lips, kissing each of her fingers directly over the bruises as she whispers, “They’re from when I tried to pull you up the stairs.”

I nod again, and look around the room as she sits up. There’s nothing she can use to protect herself or anywhere I can hide her. Dropping to my knees, I hold her face in both hands. “Can you trust me again?”

“Compared to everyone else here?” she amends. “Yes.”

I kiss her cheek even though she tries to pull away from me, then stand to find her clothes.

There’s a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweats in my bag, so I give her the hoodie then get dressed.

Throwing the t-shirt on the bed, I empty the bag, shake out any shit that might have fallen into it, and roll it up to tuck it into my pocket.

Delilah just watches me with a small crease between her brows, then slowly asks, “What are you doing?”

“Just trust me, pretty girl.”

I take her hand and she fucking lets me.

Without pause or argument, she stands. I know she’ll come back to me.

The argument soon comes when I lead her to the window.

She attempts to pull her hand away when she’s only just allowed me to finally fucking hold it.

Tightening my hold, I push her closer to the window.

“Hide here for me. I don’t trust that bitch not to fuck with you if she knows I’ve left you alone. ”

“I can go with you.”

“No, we don’t have enough clothes to change again and you’re not walking around this house of fucking horrors in only my hoodie.”

She assesses me.

I dip my head so we’re eye to eye. “Please, Delilah, stay here and wait for me. Then we’ll figure something out to be able to get out of here.”

“You’ll come back?” she says, more like a demand than a question.

I kiss her forehead, nodding. “Always, even when you don’t want me to.”

I lift her out of the window, hating the loss of her body as she crawls to the furthest edge then relaxes, leaning back against the glass.

There’s enough space for her to sit comfortably, which puts me at ease, and I lift her hand as I poke my head out of the window to press my lips to her ring finger.

Then the center of her palm. “Wait for me?”

“I already have been, Kane,” she whispers, closing her eyes as she coolly pulls her hand away.

I close the window and lock her out before I pull the drapes across to hide her.

All I need to do is find food, clothes, a flashlight, or even a fucking candle, then we can run.

I don’t give a fuck about the agreement anymore, or keeping my promise to find Delilah’s baby.

There are too many dangers here. Protecting her is my top priority.

What’s the use of knowing everything if we’ll only end up dying in the process?

There’s no one standing in the hallway as I leave the room, making sure the door is closed behind me.

I tilt my head like that will allow me to see around matter as I approach the staircase.

The metal treads have dark patches on them, blood trailing down to the last step.

The metal structure announces every fucking step I make down.

The tiles have the same dark red drops, long tapered dragging marks through the dust on the floor from Helene’s weapon of choice. Once Delilah is safe, I’m going treat that cunt to the same whipping I got, then shove her fucking stick down her throat so she chokes on it.

I walk through the eerie hallway, the hairs on my nape sticking up as cold air blows through the spider cracks in the glass.

The cunt must have silent alarms on the fucking doors because her stupid fucking stick taps against the tiled hallway that leads to the other part of the house as I stand in the empty kitchen.

There’s a strange slapping accompanying it and I keep my back to the wall so she can’t get the satisfaction of seeing the lashes.

My bravado falters when she walks into the kitchen.

Her stick is one hand, the other holding a long ponytail that’s wrapped in roped leather.

But it’s not the person walking on all fours like a dog beside her feet that makes me pause.

It’s the fact that they’re in a full fucking gimp outfit.

Leather covers every inch of their skin.

There aren’t even any eye holes. Other than a zipper running down the length of their face, there’s no opening at all. Even their hands and feet are covered.

This old fucking bitch walks a human being through the kitchen like a dog.

They stop at the head of the kitchen table and she hooks their hair through a metal ring screwed into the thick wooden table leg.

She straightens the hem of her dress, with the person roleplaying a dog kneeling at her feet, then demurely lowers into her seat.

“Must you stand like a statue, boy?” she snipes as her chair scrapes against the tile.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Have respect for those that created you,” she says, as though etiquette is a big fucking deal when she’s the most fucked up person I’ve ever met. “You will be tasked with the same job. Stay and watch, learn.”

She unzips the front of the gimp mask, only enough for their mouth to be visible. Curiosity is a curse and it’s even worse when she looks over her shoulder, goading me. “Or have you come to the realization that you can’t save that wife of yours?”

Ignoring the twisted cunt, I keep Delilah at the forefront of my mind as I go to the fridge to search for anything edible. I won’t be able to take it in front of Helene but at least I’ll know what’s there.

“If she wishes to eat, she must do it here,” she says like a cunt. “I don’t want vermin in my rooms.” She laughs and my blood turns to ice. “Although, it’s my understanding that you enjoy them? After all, you did include a rat in your relations, no?”

How the fuck does she know anything that I’ve done?

“That was a surprise to me, I must admit,” she muses. “Asher would always complain about how nice you were. At times, he would beg me to tell him that you were adopted because he was embarrassed by you.”

“When did you meet Asher?” I turn, instantly regretting it because she’s lifting her dress up her veiny legs.

I’m going to throw the fuck up. The wooden tabletop stops me seeing the place my mother literally came from, but it doesn’t disguise Helene’s wrinkled hand on the back of the gimp’s head.

She caresses the leather, gently pulling them between her thighs.

The sick fucking bitch stares at me as she answers, “Who do you think orchestrated the hunting trips? All gods are aware of their creations’ actions.”

“Are they all fucking perverted too?” I grit. “Do you need to do that shit in front of me?”

She looks down, a smirk playing on her lips, then looks back at me. “This is only training, sweet boy. You’ve trained your wife with your masks and chases.” Pride takes over her voice as she gleefully announces, “A Kobalt through and through.”

I turn back around to shake the image of my grandmother forcing her leather-bound sex slave to go down on her.

Maybe my mother wasn’t a bad mother. She didn’t want me, and I heard it with my own ears, but at least she never did shit like this.

She had weird rules about things, like she would never shower when anyone was at home.

I remember thinking she just never washed and wondering how she always smelt the same if she didn’t.

Now I know it’s because she was raised by a fucking nut job.

If this is an insight to what her childhood was like, no wonder she had the rules she did.

She wouldn’t even wear a bathing suit when we’d go in the pool.

It was always long dresses that covered her.

Being raised by a pervert made her wary and cold.