Page 67 of Deviant Illusions

My stomach rumbles over the sound of the water lapping against the rocks and I tense. Kane does the same as he flicks his cigarette off his middle finger, raising a brow. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

“It’s a new diet,” I tease, and he hums, waiting for the punchline. “Get kidnapped and forced into a weird cult-y wedding does wonders for the waistline.”

Our humor is stolen at the reminder of that fucked up whatever it can be classed as. It’s not a wedding ceremony or anything that can be defined other than straight up evil. But heattempts to make it bearable as he says, “We’ll be vegetarians from now on. Just while we’re here.”

I nod and he holds me, just breathing like it’s the only task he has in the world. I do the same, hating that we had to find ourselves surrounded by monsters to be able to work out history. The pieces aren’t all there, but we have the biggest ones, and he said we’ll be together so I can at least have a tether to my sanity.

Tapping my thigh, he gestures to the open window as he tilts to the side. “You go in first. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

Sitting on the ledge with Kane’s arms around me is safer than trusting myself to move. But he looks at me like I’m capable. He creates a barrier with his forearms as I grip the edge of the window to pull myself up. The stone ledge is wide so I can stand comfortably, and the arched window is tall enough for me not to knock my head. The opening is awkward with it being a rectangle within the arch. I carefully step around Kane to drop down to my feet inside the bedroom.

He doesn’t follow me straight away as he stares down at the water. Wrapping both arms around his waist, I hold him and press my lips to the scar on his back. “You said we’re not broken together.”

He nods and gently cups my hands against his chest as his haunted voice vibrates through his body. “Sometimes I don’t think there’s a way forward in life. I still kind of hate you for not having to be cursed with memories.” He lifts my hands to his lips, and I have to go up on my toes to account for the difference in the ledge. He kisses each of my knuckles then speaks against my hands. “But then I remember you crying, and I don’t know which one is better. Knowing everything that’s happened to you and existing with it, or being confused and not knowing exactly what has happened because pain changes a body.”

He kisses my hands again then lets go of me to swing his legs through the window opening. His eyes dim and lips part, but nowords come out as he gently holds my chin on his knuckles. Like a fool, I wait for whatever he wants to say when recent history proves that it will be something to tear me down. Only, he snaps his mouth closed and shakes whatever thought he had away. Taking my hand, he leads me into the bathroom and hands me the shirt I arrived in. He waits until I’m dressed to go into the bedroom and take his own clothes from the bag at the end of the bed.

He’s pulling on his shorts when I dawdle at the threshold, and I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice as I ask, “Did you plan this?”

Kane shakes his head, speaking through his t-shirt as he pulls it over his head. “Lennox packed it for me. I thought I’d do the job then leave.”

“Do you really work in security?”

“Of sorts,” he says, taking out two pairs of sweatpants, then three pairs of socks. Without looking at me, he lays them on the bed and pulls his sweatpants up his legs. “You don’t have shoes. They should stop you from being cold.”

And what will stop you being cold?

I choose a less volatile path and put on all three pairs of socks as he sits on the edge of the bed still avoiding me. My feet are constricted with the fabric getting tighter with each pair, but it stops me feeling the cold air as I stare at the side of his head. I pull the sweatpants up and ask, “Do you have another t-shirt?”

He shakes his head and holds the waistband of my sweats to pull me between his thighs. Rolling the top over so the hem isn’t caught under my feet, he keeps the strings free then double knots them. I don’t know what’s changed in him, but he’s like a robot. Something in his bag shines with the sunlight streaming through the open window, so I lean forward to look over the unzipped edge and my eyes widen at the sight of weapons.

Three guns, two knives, and a metal bar like what a police officer has are all sitting on top of his other clothes. There’s a bloodied t-shirt balled in the corner, and I’m tugged forward as he tests the knot.

“Delilah,” he says evenly. “Don’t betray my trust again.”

Is that a threat?

I think it’s a threat.

It has to be, because I can still see the weapons in my periphery and he’s giving me a warning. So I nod and try to hide the way my heart plummets.

Threading his fingers through mine, he tucks me behind him, and I gesture to his feet in only a single pair of socks. “Your feet will be cold too.”

He nods and whispers, “But my steps will be quiet.”

31

KANE

What’s worse than guilt?

Remorse?

There has to be something that’s deeper and agonizing to the soul to describe hurting the wrong person. I want to go back to hating her, to be vindicated and know that I was blaming the correct person. But as much as her actions led her to fuck my life up, she did it to protect herself. To protect her own baby.

A baby that wasn’t mine.

My thoughts swirl together, forming new reasons to hate her to paint me as innocent. Would she have told me she was pregnant? Would I have even fucking cared? Would it all be different if her fucking father wasn’t a sick little bastard?

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