Page 32 of Deviant Illusions

“The other party said that his watch was missing, and you refused to allow him to check,” she says as the woman across from her hardens.

“Check it. You won’t find shit because I didn’t take anything from the geriatric idiot. He probably forgot it next to his dentures.”

She checks the other woman’s bag then hands it back. “It must have been a mistake.”

The mask is jarring now that I know it’s her. It’s like she’s stolen my shield, and the jet black material hides all of her features. The gloves do the same to her hands as she gives the woman instructions on how to find her way out. I don’t move. I watch her, searching for any signs of injury or burns.

Delilah doesn’t wince as she walks around the desk, pressing something beneath her mask. Her voice is softer as she says, “Give me five minutes and I’ll check.”

She doesn’t notice me on her short journey into the room the couple vacated. The door doesn’t lock behind her. I soften my steps as I stick to the wall to continue watching her talk to herself.

“Fuck. Me. What happened to people having a quickie in the back of their car?”

Is she thinking about us? She has to be.

“Who did you fuck in the back of a car?” I ask, because I’m clearly a glutton for punishment.

She stiffens and slowly turns her head. I can’t see her eyes. Neither can she with mine, but she forces her body to relax and says, “Your dad.”

I step into the room and press the chip to the panel for the door to slide closed behind me. Delilah doesn’t run or tense. She lazily crosses her arms over her chest and stokes my rage.

“I figured I’d sampled the juniors, so I may as well have gotten a taste of the senior too.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I grit. My hands ball into fists.

“Funny.” She tilts her head to the side, adding false lightness into her voice. “That’s what your mom did before I fucked her too.”

I take a step forward, entertaining her bullshit. “Was your daddy not available, princess?”

She’s never fucked her dad. It’s just a way to remind her of how devoted she was to the prick. Delilah is a lot of things, butshe’s not that fucked up. All daddy’s girls think their fathers are the best, the perfect person, and it makes her react because she has always been a daddy’s girl, the little princess. From the moment I met her to now. Although she isn’t in their life anymore. She spits out, “Fuck you, Kane. Or should I say Asher. Well fucking done. You’re not the reflection anymore because you are him.”

Dipping my head so we’re eye to eye, I coo, “Does that mean you’ll burn me, koukla mou?”

She hardens her voice and steels her spine as she takes a step closer to me. “You can’t burn an idea, and that is all you will ever be. An idea of a person, of a life, but deep down? You’re a pathetic little boy who doesn’t have the balls to say his own name. None of this is my fault. It’s yours for being weak and fuckingnothing.” She looks me up and down, her chin moving to her chest then back up. “And look at you now, doing all this forhim. He was your tormentor and you’re getting vengeance for his death when out of everyone, you have the most reason to celebrate. The funny thing is that if I could go back in time, I would only do one thing differently. I would kill you too.”

My hand whips out and I grab her throat. She scratches at my arms as I drag her forward and snarl, “It’s because of fuckingyou. You fucking did this to me withyourlies andyousentenced me to that fucking hell!”

Her hands soften and she holds my forearms without attempting to pull me away. Sweat beads down my spine at the memories of the pain—searing fucking pain that can’t be forgotten.

“I begged you, Delilah,” I whisper. “I told you I would lie for you, but that wasn’t enough, was it?”

The phantom of their touches are on me. On my legs, my ass, my head. Fucking everywhere. I can’t get them off and my limbs tremble as my lungs tighten.

“Kane,” she whispers, stroking up my arm to grip my bicep. “I wanted to help you. I tried.”

My fingers flex around her neck and I let her go before I do something I can’t take back.

I can’t stop the touches and my skin crawls as I twist my shoulders to get them off. They don’t leave as I swipe at my legs, my arms, my face. They intensify until the cumulative total of my years in solitary are with me. Until all one hundred and fifty-seven instances are felt at once and I can’t fucking escape the cell of my own body that no longer belongs to me.

My knees weaken and I fall as my head sways.

“Eighty-nine,” I sing.

I roll onto my back, pressing my hands over my groin.

“Eighty-nine.” My crown softly taps against the concrete wall. Something wet touches my face and I violently flinch as my song turns to a shout. “Eighty-nine!”

15

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