Page 107 of Deviant Illusions

Does she use her sense and shut her mouth? No.

She opens it and says, “To go back in time.”

“You’re thinking too small, too weak, and with that false morality of the world you’ve been in guiding you. Really think. Any one thing. Murder, torture—the world is your oyster, sweet girl. Give in to that part of yourself they told you was wrong.”

Shut the fuck up.

“I’d want to kill my parents,” she says. “To keep them on a leash and make them eat shit until I get bored of them.”

Helene nods, smiling full of fucking pride. “I will give you that if you become part of my family. Once you’re bonded to me through blood, I will take your hand,” she slides forward and takes Delilah’s fingers, “and I will guide you to that desire.”

I’m going to turn her ass fucking red because she nods, agreeing with the old bitch.

By some fucked up turn of events, they form a comradery as Helene keeps stroking my wife’s fucking hand. “Do you remember The Three, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” I interrupt, leaning forward to make the decrepit cunt move away from my wife. “I was seen by them during my sentence.”

The words burn along with the memories, but I can’t have Delilah anywhere near their fucking doctors. Normal doctors take an oath to do no harm. The Three don’t. Their aim is whatever Rowan dictates, which is usually prolonging the suffering.

“One branch,” Helene corrects, holding up a finger. “You were visited by one branch out of three. The doctors are only part of a much bigger organization that can belong to you one day. You have firsthand knowledge of just how far I allow their reach. Hospitals, prisons, schools, anything that I decide is theirs.”

“What are the other two?”

“A story for another day.” She stands. “It’s time for the entertainment.”

Fuck, is she going to bring Anna out again?

She doesn’t call anyone into the room. Instead, she carries her wine glass by the stem as she holds her old, wrinkled hand out to Delilah. I grab my wife’s hand before she can make the mistake of taking the other, and grit, “No one touches her. And don’t show her kindness or she’ll come to expect it.”

Please remember what I said. That this isn’t me.

Helene nods once, the pride in her eyes growing at the thought of me being a dick to the one person who should be worshipped. Delilah twists her hand, trying to escape me as I drag her up and follow Helene.

My throat constricts as we enter the fucked up breeding room. The bench is the only part of the room that’s lit up, with downlights positioned on the metal frame of the atrium.

“Don’t turn your back on tradition.” Helene’s threat is right fucking there as she takes a seat opposite the bench.

Delilah’s on birth control. She has an IUD. I can’t remember what her medical records said to know when it was fitted, but she wasn’t careless before I took her out of her life, so she’d know if it was ineffective now. It better fucking not be. There’s no way in hell that our child will be conceived in this fucking misery.

Her heels scrape against the floor as I drag her with me to the atrium. She pushes at my forearm, my ribs, anything to pull her hand away from me as she whispers, “Kane?”

I need her to shut up. I need her to remember that I’m not going to hurt her and that this is to keep her safe. If she doesn’t, she’ll be forced to carry someone else’s child and maybe, this way, I can keep everyone away from her. It’s not a foolproof plan, but if I can make them think I’m on their side then I’ll have time to find a way out of here. They’ll trust me enough to tell me where our kid is, so the three of us can be together.

So I grab her throat and lay my wife, my beautiful Delilah, on the bench. She kicks out at me as I silently apologize, slapping her across the face.

“Kick me and I’ll make you earn your food again.”

Please. Please don’t shut down. Please keep fighting me and hating me so I can feel you, so I exist to you.

She glares at me as she kicks out again, only for her heel gets caught in my slacks. The sharp point scratches the inside of my knee. I like the pain. I deserve it. I need her to hurt me, to make me feel every bit of pain she’s experienced.

I’m too aware of Helene watching us, sipping her fucking drink and examining every movement we make. My frustration isn’t at Delilah, it’s at that bitch, yet I take it out on someoneinnocent as I trap her ankle between my knees. Her eyes widen as she tries to pull her foot free, wincing. All it does is knock her shoe off. It clatters behind me as I lift her by her neck, slamming her against the bench with a thud.

I’m sorry.

“I added the restraints for you,” Helene says from her seat as our audience.

She’s at an angle so she won’t be able to see anything, but I don’t want to rape my fucking wife. This isn’t the same as when she was hitting me or refusing to tell me to stop. She was right, she was in control then, but now I’m physically overpowering her. In the exact fucking same way I’ve experienced and for the same reason—some sick fuck to have entertainment.

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