Page 72

KANE

H elene isn’t drinking wine.

I know that smell of iron. Delilah is sitting too far away to pick the scent up, so I keep Helene distracted before the old bitch can offer her a sip of blood.

My mother always drank white wine, even when it didn’t pair with the meal.

She refused to drink anything else. Considering the life that we lived, how everyone was so fucking snobby about what the correct etiquette was, even down to the color of their socks, it never made sense to me.

I understand it now though. My mother never drank red wine because to her it wasn’t wine.

It was another twisted thing that she witnessed.

There was no hope for her to be a good mother by my standards because I was basing my judgment on the life I’d lived.

Whereas she was parenting from the perspective of her own.

All her fears make sense.

But the bitterness of a neglected child, a hated one, doesn’t understand logic, and my wish for one final conversation with her grows deeper.

I want to hug her, tell her that I understand she had a horrendous fucking life, a bitch of a mother who raised her around shit she had no business being associated with.

I don’t want to hug my mother to comfort myself, I want to hug her .

I want to comfort her and wrap my arms so tightly around her that she knows I don’t hate her anymore.

Maybe if I could, she’d be able to soothe that child, tell him that she didn’t really wish he never existed.

That’s not possible though, so I ask, “Why are we here?”

“Because your wife has made a mess of a business that ran smoothly for generations,” Helene says, crossing one leg over the other. “And now, it is on your shoulders to learn how to split your time to maintain the intricate facade I perfected.”

“I thought you wanted me to take over your business.”

That’s what Lennox and Rowan said I had to do.

I’m not entirely sure what their business is.

I’m assuming it’s a funeral service or something in that vein due to the décor.

It seems sound for people trafficking too.

No one would think to check caskets for what they need to transport and if they did, they’d find people.

Fuck, it’s too easy for me to be here.

But her explanation is far beyond anything I could fathom.

“The tale of two faces isn’t a caution or a myth to scare people. It is our business model. Out there, in your world of mundane jobs and mundane people, I’m sure you’ve read headlines about criminal organizations?”

I nod and keep her attention on me as Delilah stares between the two of us.

“And do you know what their biggest fault is?” she asks, taking another sip of blood. “Poor planning. They don’t have an alibi or the true wealth to succeed. Money is power. Information is power. But none of that is comparable to the power of being in two places at once.”

“So, you what? Sell drugs, weapons, alongside people?”

Niko’s family do the former. I can rationalize drugs or weapons and separate myself from what the buyers do with their product.

I’d be a fucking hypocrite to judge them when I buy drugs myself and I’m not legally allowed to own a weapon.

Niko’s ability to pull strings only went so far to get me off parole quicker than the court mandated and he’d falsify my drug tests too, so he can’t be as powerless as she thinks.

“No.” Helene tuts, offended like I’ve asked her if she sells fucking lemonade. “We hold the responsibility for the most lucrative product to exist.”

“A super drug? Military-grade weapons?” I guess.

Her cryptic shit is pissing me off. It must be where Lennox gets it from.

“Innocence.” She smiles. “Power. The facilitation of every dark desire that a person is capable of thinking.” She turns to Delilah and asks, “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Don’t fucking answer her.

Does she use her sense and shut her mouth? No.

She opens it and says, “To go back in time.”

“You’re thinking too small, too weak, and with that false morality of the world you’ve been in guiding you. Really think. Any one thing. Murder, torture—the world is your oyster, sweet girl. Give in to that part of yourself they told you was wrong.”

Shut the fuck up.

“I’d want to kill my parents,” she says. “To keep them on a leash and make them eat shit until I get bored of them.”

Helene nods, smiling full of fucking pride. “I will give you that if you become part of my family. Once you’re bonded to me through blood, I will take your hand,” she slides forward and takes Delilah’s fingers, “and I will guide you to that desire.”

I’m going to turn her ass fucking red because she nods, agreeing with the old bitch.

By some fucked up turn of events, they form a comradery as Helene keeps stroking my wife’s fucking hand. “Do you remember The Three, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” I interrupt, leaning forward to make the decrepit cunt move away from my wife. “I was seen by them during my sentence.”

The words burn along with the memories, but I can’t have Delilah anywhere near their fucking doctors. Normal doctors take an oath to do no harm. The Three don’t. Their aim is whatever Rowan dictates, which is usually prolonging the suffering.

“One branch,” Helene corrects, holding up a finger.

“You were visited by one branch out of three. The doctors are only part of a much bigger organization that can belong to you one day. You have firsthand knowledge of just how far I allow their reach. Hospitals, prisons, schools, anything that I decide is theirs.”

“What are the other two?”

“A story for another day.” She stands. “It’s time for the entertainment.”

Fuck, is she going to bring Anna out again?

She doesn’t call anyone into the room. Instead, she carries her wine glass by the stem as she holds her old, wrinkled hand out to Delilah.

I grab my wife’s hand before she can make the mistake of taking the other, and grit, “No one touches her. And don’t show her kindness or she’ll come to expect it. ”

Please remember what I said. That this isn’t me.

Helene nods once, the pride in her eyes growing at the thought of me being a dick to the one person who should be worshipped. Delilah twists her hand, trying to escape me as I drag her up and follow Helene.

My throat constricts as we enter the fucked up breeding room. The bench is the only part of the room that’s lit up, with downlights positioned on the metal frame of the atrium.

“Don’t turn your back on tradition.” Helene’s threat is right fucking there as she takes a seat opposite the bench.

Delilah’s on birth control. She has an IUD.

I can’t remember what her medical records said to know when it was fitted, but she wasn’t careless before I took her out of her life, so she’d know if it was ineffective now.

It better fucking not be. There’s no way in hell that our child will be conceived in this fucking misery.

Her heels scrape against the floor as I drag her with me to the atrium. She pushes at my forearm, my ribs, anything to pull her hand away from me as she whispers, “Kane?”

I need her to shut up. I need her to remember that I’m not going to hurt her and that this is to keep her safe.

If she doesn’t, she’ll be forced to carry someone else’s child and maybe, this way, I can keep everyone away from her.

It’s not a foolproof plan, but if I can make them think I’m on their side then I’ll have time to find a way out of here.

They’ll trust me enough to tell me where our kid is, so the three of us can be together.

So I grab her throat and lay my wife, my beautiful Delilah, on the bench. She kicks out at me as I silently apologize, slapping her across the face.

“Kick me and I’ll make you earn your food again.”

Please. Please don’t shut down. Please keep fighting me and hating me so I can feel you, so I exist to you.

She glares at me as she kicks out again, only for her heel gets caught in my slacks. The sharp point scratches the inside of my knee. I like the pain. I deserve it. I need her to hurt me, to make me feel every bit of pain she’s experienced.

I’m too aware of Helene watching us, sipping her fucking drink and examining every movement we make.

My frustration isn’t at Delilah, it’s at that bitch, yet I take it out on someone innocent as I trap her ankle between my knees.

Her eyes widen as she tries to pull her foot free, wincing.

All it does is knock her shoe off. It clatters behind me as I lift her by her neck, slamming her against the bench with a thud.

I’m sorry.

“I added the restraints for you,” Helene says from her seat as our audience.

She’s at an angle so she won’t be able to see anything, but I don’t want to rape my fucking wife.

This isn’t the same as when she was hitting me or refusing to tell me to stop.

She was right, she was in control then, but now I’m physically overpowering her.

In the exact fucking same way I’ve experienced and for the same reason—some sick fuck to have entertainment.

“We can always replicate you,” Helene threatens.

I shut out Delilah’s pleading eyes.

And her croak. “Kane, don’t.”

Grabbing her thigh, I hook it over the horn, trapping it in the curve, then do the same to the other. I leave her hands free to hurt me and hold her down by her throat as my hand trembles on my belt buckle. She slaps at me, her nails scoring down my shirt sleeves, and her voice is choked, panicked.

“Kane!”

I’m sorry, my pretty girl.

The slit in her dress doesn’t allow her to cover herself, protect herself, as she twists in an attempt to pull her legs free.

“Kane, stop,” she cries.

I lean over her, kissing her cheek that’s hidden from Helene and tasting her tears. Pain. That’s what they’re filled with. She fights me. My beautiful Delilah fights me. She slaps, punches, scratches, and I smile when she rips my shirt.

Good girl. My good wife, listening to me and passing me her pain.

But as soon as I push inside her, she stills. She stops hitting me. She stops begging me to stop. She just falls limp and blankly stares up at me.

I bite her cheek and loosen my hand on her throat, yet it doesn’t get a reaction out of her.

She’s wet. It’s not hard to fuck her physically, but she’s never been still with me.

Even when she couldn’t see my face, she didn’t freeze out of fear.

It’s always brought her to life. Still. She. Doesn’t. Fucking. Move.

I love you. I’ll always love you. I’m so fucking sorry for doing this to you. I’m sorry for not killing you. I’m sorry for failing at killing myself.

Helene sighs like she’s disappointed and walks out of the room, huffing, “You have successfully broken her.”

The click of her heels get further away, moving up the staircase until a door slams, and then it’s silent.

My head drops to rest beside Delilah’s head and I breathe. I breathe, hating every fucking molecule of air that’s drawn into my body. The people I hate, who tormented me for years, who pushed me to search for death are the same as me. I’m like them.

“Kane?” Delilah whispers as she gently cups my nape. “Is there someone else watching?”

I shake my head and kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It was fake,” she says, then copies me, kissing my cheek. “I remember. I understand everything now, it’s okay.”

Lifting up, I watch her eyes and how there’s more light in them. Fuck, I never stopped loving her. I will never stop being so irrevocably in love with this woman. Her name is carved into every fucking strand of my DNA.

The silence hits me.

There’s no one here and we have our chance, so I carefully remove her other shoe and unthread her thighs from between the horns.

Holding my finger in front of my lips, I straighten up and tuck my dick away.

When I hold my hand out to her, she takes it.

She fucking takes my hand, and she doesn’t stop me as I bring it to my lips, or when I kiss the back of her knuckles in gratitude.

There’s no confusion on her face. She’s back to being mine. My pretty girl, who knew who she was and was confident in herself. As soon as we get out of here, we’ll go through every one of her memories, piece them together to find her baby, then we’ll be free.