Page 73 of Striker

Delilah

It’s been almost twoweeks since the incident in the garden. I know because I started cutting thin lines into the plaster in the bathroom with my little knife, marking every sunset I’ve seen. I also know because my cycle came. It had been late based on my estimate, and I cried with relief, not realizing I’d been worried. Then Cora’s followed the next day, and we both sent a silent thank you to our past selves for getting the birth control implant.

My ex-husband was so scared to get me pregnant he had me get the implant, used a condom, and pulled out. Reaper’s the only man who has ever come in me and I don’t think I’ll ever forget what he felt like.

We’ve barely seen them since that day in the garden. Just in passing, in the kitchen or in the foyer. Sometimes I find Reaper in the library, but he gets up and stalks away without a word when I come in, leaving me feeling rejected like a fool.

They stopped feeding me after that first day with Cora, and I find I miss the weird interaction. I miss sitting onBreaker’s lap as he runs his large hands up and down my thighs. Reaper’s dark glare that always, always ends up looking more hungry than angry. Striker’s gentle touch and Viper’s laughter.

The few times I’ve found Viper alone in a hallway, or in the foyer, he’ll watch me pass, leaving my skin tingling. There have been a handful of times, late at night I hear music from the large room with the piano, but the door’s always locked so I don’t know who’s playing.

One night I found Cora sitting outside the door, wiping tears from her eyes so I sat down with her and listened to the haunting music, thinking about all the operas my father forced me to attend with him, or the nights I spent with my mother when Rune was gone, cooking for just the two of us while “Ava Maria” played in the background.

I miss her. Growing up, I’ve often wondered what she would think of me now. Most days, I’m glad she doesn’t know me. I don’t think she’d be proud of the woman my father created. There’s a part of me that’s glad she’s not here anymore, so she isn’t at home right now, sitting up late at night, wondering what is being done to me by these men who took us. Scared that I’m being hurt. I may be glad she’s not here to be afraid, but part of me fears she’s sitting in heaven, watching me now, shaking her head in disappointment that I walk around this huge mansion, wishing these men, my captors would talk to me.

I wonder if she’d be disappointed with how Cora and I have survived these past few weeks, turning to each other for comfort.

But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

“Delly?”

I pause on the staircase, Cora’s voice from the foot of the stairs sending panic through me.

Calm down, Delilah. She’s not psychic.

I turn to face her. Her brows knit.

“What are you up to?” she asks, her socked foot moving onto the first step. She rarely wears her boots. Then again, she isn’t hiding a knife. “You look suspicious.”

She knows me too well.

“I’m headed up to the room.” Not a complete lie.

Her full lips turn up at the corner. “Want company?”

The seductive tone and the little jut of her hip make me want to rethink my plan, but I shake my head. “Just going to nap.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, backing away. “I’ll be up later.”

I wait until she disappears into the library before I continue up the stairs.

We’ve spent more and more time apart as the days go on. That desperate fear that kept us clinging to one another left when we realized we weren’t going to be separated again. So now most days we part ways, coming together in the evenings for dinner. We eat the food that’s set out for us, then go to bed where we continue touching. Kissing. Though each time we come together, it’s less and less about making them watch, daring them to cross the line they seem to have drawn, and more about feeling her close. Smelling her skin. Tasting her hungry mouth as she seeks me in the dim light, slipping her small hand between my thighs.

Neither one of us admits we think of them. That we want them to be with us again. Have their fingers sliding into us. Their mouths taking sweet kisses. Or rough ones. I want those too.

I also want to go home, but with each passing day I find I don’t mind the quiet. Chaos consumed my days before, my head swimming with numbers. Mornings were meetings and mergers, then long hours spent at the office or sitting with my father as he negotiated another deal I pretended not to listen to. Cora and I, nothing but pretty faces who kept sleazy men distracted while my father took over their lives, turning a blind eye when he gaveClyde an order to remove a threat, or convince someone to sell or pay up.

We knew what that meant, though we never voiced it.

I don’t miss it. I miss my father and I miss Clyde, but I have Cora and as each day bleeds into the other, I’m content with just seeing her smiling face.

And the men. Whenever I see one of their masked faces, my heart skips.

Cora likes to go in the little garden off the kitchen and I enjoy walking the paths in the large empty one out front. I spend most of the days out there if I’m not in the library, and I think I’ve figured out where we are. At least geographically. I have no clue our exact location, but it’s still somewhere in the southern east coast. Being mid November, it’s still warm some days, though not humid like back home.

I’ve never seen a vehicle but the men seem to disappear every day, off to do whatever it is they do. It’s strange to suddenly not see them after being forced to be with them so much for several days. I can’t help but wonder why all the sudden they have no interest in their captives. I find myself wishing Viper or Striker would pop up and drag me to the dining room for a meal, and I have to remind myself that they kidnapped us.

I’ve never been kidnaped before, but this sure isn’t what I imaged it would be like. It all feels weirdly domestic. After every meal they set out for us, Cora and I clean up our mess, then part ways to wander around, acutely aware of their absence but their watchful eyes. I know there are cameras around, but I don’t think they have the entire place monitored. Some days they seem surprised to find me in parts of the house. Most of the doors are locked, but occasionally I find one open and I go exploring, only to discover it’s locked the next day.

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