Page 3 of Violent Little Thing

DELILAH

M y words are still trapped in my throat when I feel the passenger door open.

The elbow I had leaning on the leather armrest sags, jerking me into motion. But I can’t do anything except stare at my brother’s profile as he takes the keys out of the ignition like he didn’t just drop a grenade on me.

Lips still lifted in a sadistic smirk, he opens his door at the same time a hand lands on my forearm.

“Ms. Rose? I’m happy to help you out of the car. Take my hand…”

The words are so distorted by the time they reach my ears, I can’t tell if it’s a man or woman waiting for me, and the bandwidth to figure out how they know my name is MIA.

My heart is the only thing I can hear clearly. The rhythm is so violent, I place a hand over my chest to coach myself through my next four breaths .

All the while, snippets of prior conversations play in my head on a dizzying loop.

I’m ready to cash in my favor.

It’s the least you could do.

Wear a white dress.

Do something with your hair.

Auction night.

Your virginity.

No.

No.

No.

That whole thing about presenting a united front was bullshit. How had I missed that?

My anxiety soars, knocking the wind out of me.

“Watch out, I got her.” Weston takes the place of whoever was at my door, his touch lacking the gentleness of the one before it.

His hand lands heavy on my skin, tightening in a death grip before his clipped words burst my stunned bubble.

“Get out of the fucking car, Delilah.”

“Wes…wait, what?—”

My words falter when he pulls me out of the passenger seat, yanking me against his body until my feet are planted firmly on the stone beneath us. I grip my small handbag in my left hand, sucking in a gasp when his fingers clinch the area above my elbow like a vise.

“Stop being dramatic and let’s go.”

Dramatic ?

I swallow a thousand words and blink at him, forcing my eyes to say what I can’t right now.

Please don’t make me do this.

I’ll do anything else.

Wes doesn’t blink at the plea in my gaze and roughs me up a second time before releasing a breath that smells too much like whiskey for someone who just spent an hour behind the wheel.

“You are not going to fucking embarrass me.” One strong shove away from him and I stumble back on my heels just in time to catch the eye of the attendant who tried to help me out the car.

The woman is dressed in a crisp white shirt and black vest to match her slacks. Her vacuous stare sends a shiver creeping over me.

Before me, Weston adjusts his suit jacket, his jaw flexing while he cuts his cold eyes in my direction.

Without a word, I fall in stride beside him. Tall hedges line the front of the manor, lights tucked away at their bases, lighting the way to the entrance of the building.

Unfortunately, I can’t appreciate the beauty of the landscaping because all my brainpower is trained on making sure the tremble in my legs doesn’t send me tumbling in these heels.

Thirty-two steps. That’s how many I count before Weston pulls up short in front of the grand entrance.

The weight of his hold slips from my upper arm to my wrist. His hand wraps around it effortlessly, shackling me in place beside him.

“This innocent act don’t mean shit to me, so you can cut it out.” He skims his eyes over me, zeroing in on my unshed tears. “Now fix your face. You will not fucking embarrass me tonight,” he repeats. “We clear on that, sis ?”

Every time he calls me that, a sick feeling overwhelms me. I don’t answer. I can’t.

“Please, Wes…” My plea is cut short when the massive door swings open, revealing a vacant smile and another set of vacuous eyes. The man they’re attached to has on a th ree-piece suit with a single rose affixed to his lapel. All I notice is that the rose is positioned upside down.

My face falls. I don’t remember my father wearing a rose like that. Then again, there’s no shortage of things about him I’m always trying to forget, so maybe it escaped me. A quick scan of my brother’s attire leaves more questions pooling in my mind.

No rose.

“Mr. Rose, welcome back. Ms. Rose, good to see you.”

My brother squeezes my wrist in warning, and I nod with a faint smile in greeting.

“Your devices, please.” In our direction, the man holds out a tall, blue sleeve with a zipper on top, waiting for our obedience.

Weston reaches into his breast pocket before dropping his phone inside without hesitation.

“Ms. Rose?” the attendant prompts when I stand there, unmoving.

Before Weston can crush my wrist with another squeeze, I dig my phone out of my clutch and slip it into the bag.

I expect a ticket, a number, anything to help me claim it at the end of the night, but the man averts his gaze in a silent dismissal.

Then Weston is pulling me alongside him up the grand staircase.

I should have texted Indigo when we were in the car.

I should have said I left it in the car.

I just got that damn phone.

It doesn’t matter that it’s eight years old and refurbished. It’s mine .

Those thoughts distract me from the reality of my brother hauling me up the stairs and into a room just off the landing.

As soon as my feet cross the threshold, he slams the door, rounding on me.

The ornate chandelier illuminates the room in a soft glow I’m thankful for. Because after everything I’ve been through today, harsh overhead lights would tip me over the edge.

I’m taking inventory of the room, admiring the leather sofa and single bookshelf when Weston crowds my space. He stands in front of me. Almost eye level because of my heels. His fair brown skin is splotchy and red, a sheen of sweat appearing from simply climbing the stairs.

If it were anyone else, I’d be concerned.

But…

Clasping my hands in front of me, I stare back at him without blinking.

“Hear me when I say this, I don’t care what you’ve been up to for the past year. I don’t care if you’re still a virgin or not. But for fuck’s sake, don’t tell anybody you aren’t.”

“I—”

“I’m not done.” There’s so much hate in his voice it makes my skin crawl. “It’s a silent auction. You won’t be on stage.” He pauses as if I should find relief with that news. “We’ll find out who it is at the end of the night. He gets you for an hour. He settles the bill. We go home.”

An hour? Can I last an hour with a man?

He settles the bill. We go home.

His eyes rake over me before he sucks his teeth. His forehead wrinkles as he spits out, “What is this dress? Fuck, can’t you do anything right?”

I flinch when he hooks a hand under the thin strap of Indigo’s dress. I love this dress. Indigo was right. It fits me like a glove. And I didn’t know he was bringing me here to sell my supposed innocence.

“You look like a fucking slut, Delilah.”

Rage simmers beneath the surface of my skin, but I know I can’t do anything here.

If this is the price for what I did…

It’s just tonight , I remind myself. One night is nothing compared to the twenty-five years I spent in that house with them.

After this, I’ll never see my brother or the man he auctions me to again. This is it. I’m not letting him hold what I did over my head anymore. We’re even. We better be.

“Say we’re even after this,” I demand.

He pushes an amused breath through his nose. “Look at you, making demands.”

“Say it, Weston.”

His jaw hardens before he gives a subtle nod. “You do this and we’re even. You’ll never have to hear from me again.”

Relief shouldn’t flood me, but it does. He’s my brother. I should want to have a relationship with him. He’s the only family I have left.

But family doesn’t sell your body to a stranger for an hour.

Family doesn’t do any of the things Weston has done to me.

Shame burns the pit of my stomach, and I swear the day I find out I have an ulcer, it’ll be because of the man in front of me.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I snap. It’s barely a whisper, full of hurt and hatred.

With a patronizing tilt of his head, he says, “It’s cute that you think I give a fuck about your forgiveness, sis. We’re never going to see each other again, remember? The fuck do I care if you forgive me?”

The reminder isn’t enough to make me feel calm. I won’t feel calm until I’m back in The Highlands, in my bed while Indigo fills me in about her day at beauty school.

I zone out, lost in thoughts of what’s to come before I notice my brother has vacated the spot in front of me and is standing near the bookcase I admired just a moment ago.

Weston reaches in his breast pocket for something, and I almost expect him to have another secret phone he didn’t turn in downstairs. It’s not a phone, though, and the second I realize what it is my stomach tenses.