Page 7

DELILAH

K ane sinks his teeth into me. They press into my flesh just below my collarbone, above my racing heart, and push his pain into me.

I translate it as something exciting, something I crave, and moan as my chin drops down.

My air is constricted due to the noose against my windpipe, and the beam creaks as my weight sinks further.

I’m unsteady on the legs of the table, and he knows it as he copies my fearful whimper, taunting me.

“Beg me, koukla mou.” I clench as he twists his fist inside me.

“Convince me that your worthless fucking life means something.” He bites into my cheek and sucks my tears off my skin before he continues, “Beg like I did when I had something to live for.”

The coarse rope scrapes against my skin. It burns, but it is nothing in comparison to his hate. No, hate is too tame to describe the look in his eyes. It’s pure loathing. He detests me. The one person who made me feel like I was someone of worth despises me.

My tears fall. Again.

They’re not due to frustration now. They’re solely caused by the new reality I’m faced with after knowing he’d never speak to me again. I’d come to terms with that, but I never thought he’d want to ruin me. Or go to extreme lengths to achieve it.

“When—” I try to speak, and he presses his fingers harder against my tongue.

A frustrated, garbled moan leaves me as he pulls his hand from between my thighs.

The previous feeling of being stretched is taken away too soon, and cold air replaces the warmth he provided to my naked body.

I rock backwards as he uses his hold on my jaw to pull my head forward.

My legs shake, and I tense to remain balanced as he slaps my cheek with two fingers.

There’s not enough force behind them to turn my head, even if he wasn’t gripping my mouth, but his words hit harder as he spits, “You should have died with him.”

He lets go of my face, and I nearly slip off the table legs as I fall backwards. The hate mixes with pain as he pushes his fingers that were inside me into my gaping mouth. I gag from the intrusion, but he pushes further back and snarls, “See, even you know this cunt is poisonous.”

Kane pushes three fingers of each hand into my mouth and pulls until the sides of my lips are fully stretched open. There’s something wrong with me. I’m not only afraid of him, I want more. Worse still, I want him to be in a mask again.

I can’t hide it from him either. He knows the effect he’s having, and it adds to his hate.

His teeth are vicious as he bites directly below my nipple.

A scream travels up my throat, pushing my neck harder against the rough rope.

But he doesn’t lessen the pressure. He increases it until I’m sure he’s broken through the skin.

The burning pain adds to my euphoria and my thighs shake, wobbling my precarious perch on the table legs.

I’m crazier than he is, because I tell myself that he doesn’t actually want to kill me. This nutcase has put a noose around my neck, but I still lie to myself.

He pulls his spit-laden fingers out of my mouth and my head jolts from the force of the wet slap against my cheek. The rope tightens around my neck, but he doesn’t hit me hard enough for it to hurt. The sting grounds me, and I want more.

“What are you, koukla mou?” he asks.

I collect my spit and watch his eyes darken as I remain silent. He can fuck himself if he thinks I’m going to beg him for shit. I would have if he was the kind Kane. Whatever’s standing in front of me is something worse than I’ve ever experienced.

His fingers ping off my cheek as he repeats, “What the fuck are you?”

The noose tightens as I fling my head forward and my spit lands on his cheek. Directly under the eyes I once loved, the eyes that would always soften when he looked at me. Now they’re hard, menacing, and he lets out a dry laugh. “You want to play with bodily fluids? Alright, then.”

Dread weighs me down and I can feel my face physically drop as he takes a step back.

He continues walking backwards without looking away from me, and takes something from his pocket.

Metal glides along metal, pulling my attention to the object.

Particularly the sharp blade in the hand of a man who has stalked me, humiliated me, kidnapped me, and now has me tied up with a noose around my neck.

The knife is one I recognize. I wouldn’t be able to forget the distinctive, decorative handle if I lived to be a thousand years old, considering my father always had it in the place of pride on the mantel.

Our family insignia of a ram’s head is on the end of the bulbous handle and the ornate, scale etchings in the stone have been smoothed over time.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” I say, more to convince myself than dissuade him from whatever he’s planning.

He nods to himself as he twists the knife, so the edges catch the light. “You’re right.” Those pale green eyes flick up, the edges darkening along with his voice. “ I’m not going to hurt you. You’re going to do it to yourself.”

The table wobbles from the force of his booted steps as he storms towards me.

I’m struggling to remain on my toes, and he snatches my jaw in a bruising grip.

The pain doesn’t register when the only thing stopping me strangling myself is his hand.

But I freeze as the cold edge of the blade caresses the side of my face.

Kane’s lips softly ghost over my other cheek as he fits his lips by my ear.

“You’re going to take your last breath while you’re on my dick.

Then, when your filthy little cunt is flowing with my cum, I’ll step back and watch you play for the crowd one final time.

You’ll spin, like you’re dancing, and just like before, I’ll be there watching you, listening to the beautiful melodies you create to enrapture your audience. ”

I whimper as I try to pull my head away from him, but he tightens his hold on my jaw.

“I’ve hated you for longer than I ever thought I loved you.”

His final blow is worse than everything else he’s done. It shatters me and a sob cracks through my already sore throat.

“Fuck you,” I spit, forcing the words out through my tears.

The smile on his face is sinister, adding more shadows and pausing the beat of my heart.

There’s no warmth, making his eyes become soulless voids.

So much darkness and anger staring at me, yet I can’t look away.

I need to see his hate to mourn the kind boy I loved with every remnant of my heart.

All those small pieces that allowed me to find comfort in him, that hadn’t turned cold under Asher’s violence or my parents’ control, die now.

There’s nothing to breathe life into them now that the Kane I knew is dead.

He slowly trails the tip of the blade down my face.

The sharp point barely dents my skin, but he removes all the pressure as he traces the noose around my neck.

Not once does he look away from me as he lets go of my jaw to pull his dick out.

My body blocks the sight of his fingers wrapping around his length.

“You’re dripping, koukla mou.” His groans brush my cheek.

I tense as he slaps his dick between my thighs.

The sound vibrates through the empty room, highlighting exactly what he said.

A blush blooms from my chest to my face, contrasting against the cool steel of the knife’s edge as he moves further down.

He presses the flat of the blade to my nipple and circles my clit with the tip of his dick.

The difference in temperature makes me suck in a breath.

“Come for me,” he demands. “Just like this, so you can’t lie and pretend you’re a good girl anymore.”

A whimpered moan is forced out between my teeth as he strokes his dick through my slit. The dark voids in his eyes deepen and he presses the sharp edge of the knife to the side of my tit. The sting is small, but it mixes with my lust as his breathing escalates.

“One,” he counts before his warm mouth covers the cut, pressing the flat of his tongue against it, then gently sucking.

“Oh, fuck.” My moan is low and strained but he hears it. The proof is in his harsh bite as he cuts me again. I don’t feel it with the dull ache of his teeth on me.

He pulls his head back. My blood stains his bottom lip and my skin is trapped between his teeth until he says, “Two.”

The cool air exposes how wet I am as he slaps between my thighs. His dick slams against my clit, making me tense and wobble on the table legs.

“Such a filthy little whore for pain.”

He lets go of his dick and takes half a step back to wrap his hand over my tit.

His fingers dig in, forcing more blood out of the cuts.

I can’t focus or lie as I moan. But he does something worse, and I shudder as he forcefully pushes the handle of the knife into me.

Each ridge of the thin handle massages my inner walls as he twists it in half circles.

“What would Harkin say if he saw daddy’s little princess getting fucked with the family heirloom?” He tuts.

“K-Kane,” I stutter around a moan. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t give a fuck and thrusts the knife harder, faster, as he torments me. “Or would it be worse if he knew just how much of a slut you are? That you were crawling into the reflection’s bed instead of fucking Asher like you’d been raised to?”

My anger rises with every venom-laced syllable that leaves him.

I’m kept immobilized. I can’t fight him when it would result in my death, and my legs ache from being forced on my tiptoes for so long.

The rope around my wrists bites into my skin as I twist my hands while he continues his verbal assault.

“You’re an animal,” he snarls and twists the knife, so the rounded edge presses against my g-spot. “Bred and raised to be a whore for a powerful family.”

“Stop,” I beg weakly. But he doesn’t shut the fuck up, and he doesn’t understand just how deeply his words slice into me.

“Did your daddy teach you himself?” He moves closer, and each word brushes my jaw. “You always were a daddy’s girl, vying for his approval. How did it feel when you finally got it by choosing Asher, koukla mou?”

I can’t stop my release and disgust mixes with it as I scream.

My neck cords push further into the rope.

But the torment doesn’t end, and I’d take death over it as he darkly whispers, “Is that who made this cunt so loose? Who used it first?” His voice drops as he singsongs, “You’re daddy’s little princess, after all.

Always running to him and waiting for him to notice you. ”

My entire body shakes as my muscles war between getting the relief of no longer holding me up and wanting to remain alive. But I overpower them, and my feet slip against the table legs as I walk off them.

There’s a split second of extra tension being applied to my windpipe. The knife clatters against the upturned table. Harsh, unyielding fingers clamp around each of my ankles, forcing me to remain on the legs. Kane pushes his body against mine.

Warmth spills down one of my feet. I look down to see the dark liquid run over the table leg. His hand is bleeding, but it doesn’t weaken him.

“I decide when you die, and I’m not done punishing you yet.”

Blood covers my calf as he strokes up my legs to grip my thighs. There are no more taunts or mindfucks. He silently watches me while pushing his bloody hand between my thighs and covering my pussy in his DNA. A normal, non-fucked up person would be terrified. I’m not.

In his new sick way, he’s showing his possessiveness.

The one thing he would never give me when we were young and innocent.

Old Kane was kind. He cared about people more than he did himself.

That’s why he would never force my hand to choose him.

He could’ve gone to Asher and told him everything, yet he didn’t, because that would be unkind.

This version doesn’t give a singular fuck about anything, yet he’s saying I’m his, just like all three of his personalities have.

From Kane to Ghost, to whoever he’s become, they’ve all expressed their ownership over me.

His coarse stubble scrapes a path down my chest as he slowly lowers to his haunches.

More light enters his eyes as he looks up at me and lifts his bloody hand to stamp a red handprint on my stomach.

It’s directly below my navel, like he knows what was once there.

The fear of death is nothing in comparison to him finding out the truth of me losing a child that I wish was his.

That will hurt the Kane I remember more than I want to.

There’s no satisfaction in that, not when it isn’t an equal pain to repay what he’s done.

This version won’t even care. It will only be another subject he can use to hurt me since he’s still putting Asher above everything else.

My breath freezes in my lungs as the knife scrapes against the wood and he increases the force behind his grip.

His wet palm grinds into my clit as he raises to his full height, and I clench.

His hand doesn’t get trapped due to my legs being forced apart, but he pushes his fingers between my ass cheeks and coats me in his blood.

Kane holds the tip of the knife between his finger and thumb. Positioning it in front of my face, he slowly turns it so I can see how wet it is as he wipes more blood between my cheeks.

“Open.” He taps the end of the handle against my lips. My lips instantly part and he shoves the handle into my mouth. “Suck.”

Hollowing my cheeks, I watch his pupils dilate as I taste a mix of his blood and myself.

My front teeth bear the weight of the heavy knife as he lets go and slaps the back of his fingers against the side of my tit.

A moan vibrates through the knife, and he elongates it by circling my back hole with his two middle fingers.

“You have one chance to kill me,” he says. Easily. Too easily, as though this is a normal conversation about the weather.