Page 44 of Deviant Illusions

“Do it,” he dares. My fingers don’t flex. They don’t fucking move while he laughs. “Pathetic, weak Kane. You can’t.” He calmly takes his phone out of his pocket and Lennox attempts to coax me back.

“Take your hand off him, Kane. We are the only family you have.”

I throw my head back and tighten my hand around Rowan’s fucking neck. He doesn’t tense or try to push me away. He just goes through his fucking phone. Once he’s found what he needs,I die inside all over again at the sound of my own voice crackling through the speaker.

“Please, no! Stop! Please! God, please!”

He turns the screen so I can see it. So I can see my own body, a body I don’t recognize, be torn apart. The solitary cell was never lit up, but the image is clear. I can see the blood on the back of my legs. My face. Everything.

Five.

Five of them wait, helping the other until it’s their turn while I beg. I was a fucking kid, barely eighteen and too trusting of everyone around me. The footage is of one of the first times they visited me when I was still fucking stupid enough to believe that my begging would do anything other than spur them on. And too fucking deluded, thinking Delilah would do the right thing. Hope, like everything, dies with blood and I was still too fucking hopeful of getting out. Hopeful that my parents would see sense, that they’d realize I didn’t kill Asher. Hopeful that Delilah would be remorseful and tell the truth so that I’d be vindicated.

Rowan pushes the screen closer to my face and I close my eyes. He snaps and venom coats his voice. “Watch.” Holding my face in a bruising grip, he brings his knee up into my stomach and my eyes open without my intention. “See that?Thatis what you are. Weak, pathetic, abused. Show your gratitude that I allow you to taint our bloodline.”

He peels my hand off his neck and Lennox doesn’t attempt to stop him. He doesn’t tell him to turn the fucking recording off and the bastard increases the volume as he says, “And now, it’s time for your punishment.”

21

KANE

Iwait in the luxurious cabin for another punishment I don’t deserve, my hate for Delilah growing tenfold as the seconds pass. That fucking cunt caused all of this. All she had to do was tell the truth, and I’d never be aware of this shit. I wouldn’t know that Rowan exists, and I’d never have been in that fucking prison.

The knife in my boot scratches my skin and the blade awkwardly presses against my ankle. But it’s comforting to know I’m not unarmed this time. I’ve trained, killed, and tortured. I can take the fuckers now. I’m no longer a teenager thrown to the whims of sick fucks.

Snow crunches outside of the cabin and I stand with my back against the wall, facing the front door. Multiple booted footsteps stamp outside the house, the guards’ shadows flickering through the large windows, and I hold myself taut to prevent my limbs from shaking. The front door slams into the wooden beam beside the entrance as it’s forcefully pushed open.

Six.

Six guards enter, all of them wearing masks, and Rowan stands behind them. The dramatic cunt lifts his hand in aswiping motion and they part, allowing him to walk through. How much rape does he have to witness in a day? Does he have some sort of sick fuck quota that needs to be met to be satisfied?

But he doesn’t come inside any further as he acts like his threat isn’t looming over my head. “We’re going to be late. Or are you going to stand there all night?”

The lightness he carries makes him even more fucked up. It’s worse that he doesn’t seem to be affected by his own twisted reality. A normal person, any person, would. No one would condemn other people to torture then smile afterwards. It would alter them, change who they are and warp their beliefs in humanity. Instead, Rowan revels in it. He finds it amusing and he taps his index finger against his watch.

“Tick, tick. Punctuality is necessary for important events.”

“What event?” I ask stupidly, stepping forward.

He smiles and his eyes darken. “My nuptials, of course. Why else would I require my dear nephew’s attendance?”

Who in the fuck would marry this prick?

I step forward before he can lose his patience and he turns for me to follow him. The guards do the same, so I stay behind them, refusing to give anyone my back. His masked minions split between three cars as he gets in the one in the middle. It’s like a convoy: each car positioned to protect him and one of the masked guards remains beside the open passenger door. The edge of their mirrored mask shows Rowan in the back seat as they turn to me. I guess my seat has been pre-picked. I get in beside him on the other side of the leather armrest.

Despite my wealthy upbringing, I have never witnessed anything like what I’m sitting in. The space between my knees and the passenger seat in front of me is large enough for someone to comfortably stand. The interior is all soft, buttery leather, and I can’t hear anything once the door closes. Not even as the masked guard gets in and starts the engine. We rollthrough the snow, soundless and smooth as Rowan silently sits beside me, uncaring about anything. The tinted windows don’t allow me to see the journey, but I’ve evaded his punishment, so I copy him and stare at the headrest in front of me the entire drive.

There’s no indication given to who he’s marrying or where. All my thoughts are full of Delilah anyway. I wish I killed her now. No amount of joy I felt when I found out she was alive was worth the destruction she caused. Yet that idiotic part of me that has always wanted her, that always craved her attention, begs to have one more hit of the euphoria and distraction only she can provide. It was satiated while I pretended to be Asher and the newer, toxic, pained parts of myself were eased when I was chasing her as a ghost.

We come to a gentle stop, and I wait until the control freak has gotten out of the car to do the same. The snow is even more intense due to the higher altitude. I look down the steep slope we drove up, knowing if I try to run, then I’ll slide straight down it.

The twisted groom rounds the car, walking towards a large, stone cathedral with arched windows positioned at least twenty feet above ground level and salt staining the old stones. Snow clings to the ledges, dipping where the material has broken away from the elements. A warm glow flickers through the darkened glass and the large door creaks as it’s pulled open by his guards for Rowan to enter.

I can’t tear my eyes off the ornate etchings in the stone. It’s intricate, yet every inch is symmetrical to the other half. The inside is the same as I walk through to see Lennox standing with a priest. Rowan stops beside them, both of them standing out in the open, together for the first time. It’s weird as fuck and I’m not dressed for a wedding, but I follow them since I have nothing better to do.

The priest’s maroon silk robes are covered in embroidery of the same color, so I can’t make out each image due to it blending into the fabric. His cheeks are ruddy and there are age spots on his balding scalp. But there’s recognition in his light amber, almost yellow eyes as Rowan taps my fucking back.

“Kane,” he announces the way a proud father would their child.

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