Page 28 of Violent Little Thing

Prettiest Problem

ADONIS

M y father’s third call of the night goes to voicemail, just to start ringing again when I slide the phone back into my pocket.

“It’s eleven, why the fuck is this man still awake?” I hiss, connecting the call. “Yeah?”

“Why the hell is that man still alive?”

“Which one?” My eyes map out the stars dotting the sky as I listen to my father’s heavy exhale.

“Don’t play with me, Adonis. That man is living in the lap of luxury while you’re over here defending his sister’s honor.”

I wouldn’t call rehab the “lap of luxury,” but I don’t have the energy to correct him.

Antoine takes my silence for something it isn’t. “Don’t think I’m not aware of your hobbies just because I’m letting you have your fun without interference.”

“Don’t need your permission.”

“Don’t need my permission but you want my protection.” He scoffs after a brief silence. “Don’t forget you’re only doing what you’re doing and getting away with it because of your last name. I gave you permission the second your mother gave birth to you, and I signed your birth certificate.”

Shaking my head at his weird ass flex, I sit in my car wishing I’d parked behind the house so I could see if Delilah’s light is still on.

The only way I’ll know is if I get off the phone with this man rambling in my ear. I tune out his words until he takes a pause long enough to interrupt.

“I said I would take care of Weston, and I will,” I remind him, casually clipping my words to keep them even. Calm. Cool. Unemotional. The Samson way.

“Do it faster.”

“I gotta go.”

“You always do but let me tell you something before you hang up. Whatever spell that woman has on you that has you out here wearing a fucking cape and killing members of The Society, you need to take it off and come back to reality. I told you not to let what she has between her legs distract you from the goal.”

I almost want to correct him. Because the truth is so much worse.

I haven’t even kissed Delilah, yet the mountains I’d move for her would make everything I’ve already done look like child’s play.

But the thought of explaining myself slicks my tongue with a bitter taste.

So, I let silence envelope the line when all I want to do is go in the house and find the woman who feels like home and chaos wrapped up in one.

“…You’re an airline exec. Not a serial killer. Let that shit go, Adonis. I mean it.”

“Hmm,” I hum noncommittally .

The call ends and I spend the minute after in silence.

Tonight had been easy, more of a waiting game than anything else.

I waited until the lights went out and walked in through Kenneth Vale’s back door undetected because Alonzo hacked his alarm system before I got there.

Kenneth was in bed, CPAP mask in place until I took it off and waited for the inevitable. The fear in his eyes when he opened them and saw me standing above him still makes me smirk.

Plain and simple, Kenneth was a coward. A reckless one.

He thought his status as one of The Society’s lawyers made him invincible when it came to the shit he did every day. And he would have kept getting away with it if he had just left Delilah the fuck alone.

Six months after his wife passed, he was in Marcellus’ house trying to draw up a contract for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

One clause stood out. He wanted Delilah to see a doctor to confirm her hymen was intact before he agreed to the price Marcellus had put on her head.

That never happened because he barely made it past the first interaction with Delilah.

Just like with Jimmy, her dad made introductions, but this time in the kitchen where Delilah was making lunch.

The conversation started with Kenneth advancing on Delilah, his fingers running through her hair until she flinched away from him and told him to stop. He didn’t. In fact, Marcellus had given him a nod, encouraging him to go on as if she was just a pet that needed to warm up to him.

The conversation ended with Delilah putting a knife through the back of his hand the instant Kenneth propped it on the counter to talk to her .

Once I turned on the light, I saw the keloid scar. Stared at it so long, I memorized the shiny grooves of it before I jabbed him with a syringe that would give him a heart attack before I made it back downstairs.

One thing Delilah had done was leave her mark on both of the men I’d killed so far. And fuck if that didn’t make me fall even harder for her.

Still, I can’t figure out why Weston doesn’t get the same vicious side of her. Why had she let him take her to that mansion after fighting her way out of the marriages her father tried to arrange?

What the fuck does he have on her that made her so obedient that night?

Victor leaves after telling me Delilah is in the living room with Titus. Expecting to find her awake, what I get instead is her and my dog curled into the same corner of my sofa while a phone face down on the floor plays a muffled sound.

Forget the fact that Titus isn’t supposed to be on the sofas in here, I’m more fascinated by the way he sticks to Delilah like glue. Protective and clingy as hell.

The last person to bring that out of him was my grandfather.

Right now, his tail is wagging against the cushion in his sleep, probably because he’s sleeping beside her.

When I rewatched the tapes from the night Delilah almost drowned, I knew there was no coming back from whatever allegiance he had to her.

He was in her room that night, waiting for her in front of the window that overlooked the pool. His whining had started in her room before he ran downstairs to warn me and Victor. He fucking saved her life when I was too distracted getting updates about her day.

I rub the spot between his ears, waking him up so he can vacate the space in front of Delilah.

He makes it to the spot in front of the sofa before laying back down and I chuckle, reaching down to pick up Delilah’s phone.

The muffled sound I heard when I walked in is a video of a man with ‘robertirwinphotography’ above it. Before it can repeat again, I swipe the screen and look at his Instagram page.

“Who the fuck is Robert?”

A casual minute on his page alleviates the tension trying to bunch in my muscles.

In no time, I have Delilah in my arms, head cradled against my chest.

She wakes up slowly, stretching against me until her eyes find me and quiet surprise shines in them.

“Were you waiting up for me, Delilah?”

“No.” Lie . She rubs the sleep from her eyes and lets her head reclaim its spot against my chest as she asks groggily, “Where were you? You didn’t come to dinner.”

“Tying up loose ends. Why? You missed me?”

“Thought you didn’t do jokes, Adonis,” she mumbles, sagging against me. Even when she’s fighting sleep, that smart ass mouth doesn’t take a break. Now I’m smiling into a dark room while she’s unfazed, using me as a pillow.

I don’t know if this is heaven or hell, but I’m addicted to whatever it is. The heart I thought was rotting in my chest takes on a new rhythm every time she brings a new emotion out of me.

Didn’t know it was possible, but now it’s all I crave .

She’s all I crave.

“Come on, menace. It’s late and you have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. You need to go to bed.” I stand with her pressed against me.

“I can walk,” she lets me know on a delayed yawn.

“Or I can carry you.” My nose presses into her temple. Inhaling. Memorizing . “Please just let me carry you, Delilah.”