Page 63 of Delivered to the Devil

“You’d been stabbed?” I say on a gasp.

“Yeah, my best friend had fucked me over and taken the stash himself. Karma’s a bitch, I guess. Anyway, Gabor was impressed when he found out that it was a kid who had tricked him. He saw potential and took me in. Taught me everything he knows. And Gabor taught me the value of revenge as we tracked down the guy who had betrayed me. He became my first kill.”

“And you became the one in charge of handling his girls?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“What else?”

“Dealing out revenge. Finding new business partners. Handling various deals...”

“Weapons?”

“Among other things.”

When I realize I’m not getting anywhere with this line of questioning, I move on.

“Have you ever thought about changing your... line of work?”

I feel him shake his head behind me. “Why would I? I do what I’m good at, make good money, and have men who aren’t so desperate they’d stab me in the back at the next best opportunity.”

I don’t know what to say. Was I hoping that he, deep down, doesn’t want to live in a world where women are objects to be used and abused? That maybe he’s willing to leave it all behind to save me—even after he had made it crystal clear just a few days ago that he’ll never be my hero? Maybe I was. Because everything seems so bleak that I cling to any glimmer of hope I can find, even knowing it’s only a fleeting flash in my mind’s eye that will never manifest in reality.

CHAPTER 29

“In My Time of Need”

by Opeth

Rebecca

My fear of water doesn’t magically disappear after Janos helped me into the tub, but it does improve. I no longer behave like a frightened animal on the boat, but I also don’t seek out the water. When András comes during my breaks, I’m sitting inside and eating like everyone else—as far from the windows as possible.

Even though I’m no longer outright pale and quivering, he keeps giving me worried looks and asking how I’m doing. To be honest, I’m not doing well. Gabor’s drowning game has left its mark on me. I constantly feel like I’m on the verge of a breakdown. It helps to be near Janos. With him close, I can almost forget the pounding fear and horrifying images for long stretches of time.

I don’t get why it’s not the other way around and his presence doesn’t trigger me—he was there, after all—but my world is upside down like that in so many ways.

My lunch breaks with András help as well. It feels good to be with a normal person and have normal conversations. András easily makes me laugh, and a little laughter or a few smiles makes everything feel better—if only for a little while.

But as he starts pressing for more information about my life outside work, it gets harder to be around him. On the one hand, I’m deeply grateful for having another person genuinely caring about my well-being, but on the other hand, it’s hard to constantly have to come up with fake explanations and talk around it.

One day, he stops by in the evening when we’re all getting ready to leave for the day. “Will you have a cup of tea with me, Rebecca?” he asks as I’m about to put on my coat.

I give him a hesitant look because we’ve never spent time together outside of work. Part of me is afraid he means this as more than a friendly cup of tea, and the idea of being alone with any man at all makes me uneasy.

But most of all, I’m worried Janos wouldn’t like it. While he’s never directly forbidden me from seeing other people, this feels like something I should ask permission for. But I don’t even have his number, so I can’t send him a text and let him know I’ll be home late.

Despite all these worries, I agree. If it won’t take too long, I should be fine in regard to Janos. And even though I’ve grown overly cautious around men, I know András well enough to have a sense of trust in him—at least for a cup of tea.

András retrieves mugs, tea, and hot water and sets it all on a table by the windows. I cast an anxious look out the window and gulp. It’s too close to the water, but if I suggest another table, he’ll know something is wrong. Already on day one, he noticed that I love—or loved—water. So I end up taking a seat across from him.

The moment I settle in the chair, I feel the weight of the water right next to me, hovering and threatening to drag me down—creep into my lungs and snuff out my breath.

I wring my hands in my lap as I try to keep my breathing level, but my eyes keep flitting to the water outside like it’s adangerous animal that could attack at any moment. I jump at the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. When I look up, I find András standing beside me with a worried expression edged between his brows.

“Come”—he gestures to a table in the middle of the room that already has mugs and tea—“let’s go sit over there.”

I stare back and forth between the new table and the now empty one I’m sitting at. How did I not notice him move the things?

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