Page 80 of Devious Delusions

I copy the sound, so she knows how fucking pathetic she sounds. There are no tears. It’s always intrigued me that no matter what I do, Delilah doesn’t cry. She’ll force her face to be blank and I test it. Tracing the curve of her ribs, I press my fingers to the bruise that will be forming. No tears, but she winces and sucks in a breath as she squirms to get away from me. “Get the fuck off me.”

I laugh and pull the zip of her skirt down, so it falls to her ankles as she tries to hide. My laugh gets louder as I press against her ribs. “Don’t be shy.”

A crease forms between her brows and I grab the waistband of her panties in my fist. The lace digs into her skin, leaving thin bleached lines against her hip as I pull. Once she’s bare, I step back and wait for the elevator to travel the last few floors.

Clothes rustle behind me and her breathing is erratic, echoing around the elevator like I’m stuck in here with a bull. Maybe she’ll learn not to run her fucking mouth anymore. My dad is going to be pissed about losing the Leroux contracts if he believes her bullshit that I’m mistreating her and Kane will play protector of his pathetic little friend.

She’s too fucking stupid to realize mistreatment indicates she’s owed something. I’m treating her exactly like what she is—my property to do what I want with.

The automated voice sounds as we reach the ground floor and she’s, unfortunately, managed to pull on her skirt in time as I step out, tapping my thigh for her to follow.

Heels click against the floor and my mom’s smiling face is in front of me. She’s a few inches shorter than I am in her heels and she leans forward to kiss my cheek, full of pride of what she created while I push my disgust at the fact she lowered herself by marrying my dad. She’s a fucking Kobalt and she left her family to be with him.

Her voice is full of care and that smile she wears to hide her true power.

“Happy birthday, Delilah.” She kisses my pet’s cheek.

I didn’t know it was her birthday. Who gives a fuck anyway? Her mom will give her a gift with my name on it at her birthday party to cover for me.

35

DELILAH

Weighted footsteps move through the house as I remain curled up at the table. My tears have soaked into the neckline of my hoodie and I’m close to hyperventilating as I try to dry my face. I don’t want to worry Asher or have him be forced to tell me everything I’m misremembering.

I don’t need to look to know who it is with the tobacco scent in the air. Ghost carefully places his arms under my knees and at my back before he lifts me out of my seat.

I don’t break down how I want to. Anger replaces it all and I push against his chest as I throw my weight backwards, uncaring if I end up injuring myself.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I scream, jumping backwards to create much-needed distance between us.

He’s only wearing the ski mask, but the eye holes are covered with mesh, everything else is black, and he keeps his hood up. His lips are darker at the edges, and I hate him. I hate him for not showing his face and helping everyone see me as crazy. I hatemyself the most and I steel my spine as I enforce a boundary I should have had from the beginning.

“I am married. Do not touch me. You can tell me what you know or get the fuck out.”

He doesn’t step forward and his lips are in a flat line as he slowly turns his head and looks at the flowers in the middle of the table. Then his gaze drops to the tear-stained card. Tilting his head again, he reads the card and nods once.

As much as I know I’m doing the right thing, there’s an equal force telling me the opposite, a siren blaring that everything I need is standing in front of me. Not for life or love, solely for answers. But all he does is raise more questions as he straightens and speaks low in his throat.

“Do you trust him?”

I nod because I can’t lie with as much conviction as the gesture.

“Have you always trusted him?”

Another nod that I know is an outright lie.

Ghost’s mask protrudes around his jaw, and he hooks his first two fingers over the neckline of his hoodie as he takes a step forward. The nervous tic is familiar, and I look off to the side, trying to find where I can place it. My brows slowly draw together as I work through all the different memories from my mind and the ones I’ve been told about. There was someone who always did that, but I don’t know who or when. I just know that gesture, of some faceless, nameless person running two fingers around their collar.

Gloved fingers gently trace my jaw, and my face is tipped up to meet the ski mask. I just blink and watch his lips as he asks, “Are you choosing him, koukla mou?”

He speaks softly and with care, a dichotomy to the previous personalities he’s shown me, but I’m not making a choice now. I’m just sticking with one I don’t remember making.

“I married Asher, and this isn’t right,” I say, sounding weak to my own ears.

“Okay.” He smiles.

There’s no time for me to allow the words to sink in, to decide whether I’m happy or disappointed because his hand slips from my jaw. He wraps both hands around my neck and just holds me in place. Without cutting off my air, he leans forward and speaks against my lips.

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