The pistols range from sleek, compact models designed for concealment to more robust handguns known for their reliability and stopping power. Each firearm has its own history, a record of training sessions, and, in some cases, moments when their effectiveness determined my survival.
Beside the handguns, an array of knives is displayed. They run the gamut, from tactical folding knives with serrated edges designed for utility and quick access to fixed-blade combatknives that promise lethality and durability in harsh conditions. I was stabbed with every single one at some point during my father’s training.
As Delilah’s gaze ranks over my collection, I study her, trying to gauge her reaction. Her beautiful face carries hints of both fascination and apprehension. I understand completely. It’s a natural response to someone who hasn’t been raised to be an assassin. But can she see past that?
Does she see the man I am behind the mask the Order has forced on me?
Chapter 13
XAVIER
Delilah pulls her hand from mine, and my stomach twists.
“This place is mostly weapons,” she says. “I’m assuming you know how to use them all?”
I nod.
“Did your father teach you?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Her green eyes flit over my face before dropping to my hands. Is she envisioning blood on them? Or me using them to kill someone? I’ve done all of that and more.
A deep line appears between her brows, her conflicted thoughts flashing in her gaze. I break eye contact by walking over to the shelves, trailing my fingers over the items, the familiarity of each one bringing back memories of how I’ve become the man I am today.
The one that wants her love more than anything else in this world.
I guess I’m like her in wanting something money can’t buy. How fucking ironic.
She comes over to stand by me, but not close enough for me to touch her. The small distance between us is more telling thanwords could ever be. I’m such a fucking idiot for showing her the darkest part of my life.
“Do these have a story or some type of significance?” she asks, her gaze skimming the pistols.
“Yes.”
“And these?” She traces the rim of the bowl, her head bowed, gaze locked on the bullet casings. “Are they from killing someone?”
“That wasn’t my doing. Anyone who crosses Edward Donovan better expect retribution. I was ten at the time, and my father made sure to instill that lesson in me. I didn’t have the stomach for it, but he made sure I did before we left.”
Delilah picks up the end of the rope. The fibers are rough and worn, but I can still remember the pain from them digging into my skin, the way my blood coated the material, staining it red.
She stares at the now dark brown splotches, her gaze darting between me and the rope. “Do I want to know the story behind this?”
I shrug. “I’ve been tied up many times in order to master the art of escapism, although it’s not possible in every situation. It’s a good skill to have, even though it wasn’t easy to learn.”
“Xavier…” She sets down the item and turns to face me. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. You wanted to know me, and I’m showing you the parts no one else has ever seen.”
“Did your training happen here?”
I shake my head. “The fraternity has a reunion every five years—a quinquennial—for the members of the Order. My father would attend, but first he’d leave me down here in the tunnels. I had until the event ended to find my way back to the dungeon or else I was severely punished. I was six the first time. However, I didn’t discover this place until I was sixteen. No one, except whoever built it, and us, knows about it.”
She remains silent but hugs her middle and shivers. Is that from fear or revulsion?
“I know this doesn’t look like much,” I say, “but it started off as a horrific time in my childhood and eventually became a sanctuary.” I gesture to the items around us. “This is the only place in the world I’ve ever felt safe.”
“Xavier, I’m so sorry.”
