I don’t like these soldiers. Any of them, really. They look too much. Even 48, who doesn’t have a menacing air about him, drags his eyes over me a tad too often.
My belly dips. Though I know they can’t see I’m not wearing panties under my long dress, I still feel exposed and vulnerable.
“Come on,” 48 says, gesturing for me to follow his fellow soldier.
It’s times like this that I feel like a prisoner. Every time they escort me, command me to follow them, I’m reminded I have no control over my life.
Fallon does.
Chapter 36
Delilah
Whenweenterthedining room, I freeze. Seems Fallon has decided to change things up.
There are two place settings with delicate china and ornate silverware, crystal wine glasses, tall water glasses, and white napkins. A large platter with a dark, rich-looking chocolate cake sits near the head of the table.
“Please, sit.” Fallon gestures to the chair he’s pulled out next to the head of the table. “Join me.”
I take a hesitant step forward, noting the bottle of wine and the fact Reaper and Striker aren’t here. The last thing I want is to be alone with Fallon again.
“You are dismissed,” Fallon tells the two soldiers, as I take the seat.
“Where are they?” I ask.
Fallon sits at the head of the table, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap. “If by they, you mean my sons, they are making rounds ensuring the grounds are secure.” He leans overand picks up a knife, then cuts into the cake. “Besides, I wanted to speak to you in private.”
My nerves bundle up in my belly as he serves me, loading my plate with a thick slice of cake. The last time his sons were occupied, and I was alone with Fallon, I ended up with a gun aimed at my head.
Not that I think Fallon will kill me. He needs me. That much is clear now. But I don’t trust him. Every move he makes is laced with ill intent.
Fallon serves himself, then pours wine into each glass. He gestures to my plate. “Please enjoy.”
Carefully, I reach for the fork, half expecting Fallon to lash out and stab my hand with his fork. If I’ve learned anything from him, it’s that he’s unpredictable. For all I know, this could be some other lesson I’m about to learn.
Or retaliation for standing up to him and calling his bluff.
When he doesn’t do anything, I take a small bite and nearly melt as the smooth, rich taste floods my tongue. It’s been over a week since I’ve had anything other than mushy oatmeal and handheld foods, and I groan as I take another bite, savoring the delicate sweetness.
I feel Fallon’s eyes on me as I shovel another bite into my mouth. “Slow down, or you’ll end up sick.”
I swallow my bite and lower my fork to my plate, my cheeks warming. How this man can make me feel constantly inferior and small with just a few words is beyond me.
“When Viper was a boy, he had the worst sweet tooth,” Fallon says. A faint smile touches his lips and for a heartbeat, I could almost pretend that he actually loves his sons. Almost. When he catches me staring, his smile grows wider, and he cuts into his cake. “He was such an innocent boy in many ways. But not in others.”
“He was six,” I snap. “Of course he was innocent.”
“Exactly,” Fallon nods. “Children are innocent. Until they are not.”
“Children are always innocent,” I say sharply, my hatred toward him growing.
“Innocence is subjective,” Fallon says.
My stomach twists. “A child’s innocence is never subjective. They either have it stolen by men like you, or harsh truths are forced on them.”
He chuckles again, darker. Like he’s enjoying this sick exchange. Like he’s toying with me. “You watched your mother die on a sidewalk on your birthday,” Fallon says. I clench my teeth, my heart fluttering weirdly, my insides screaming, hating that he has such intimate knowledge of me. “Would you say Sofia’s death stole a piece of your innocence?”
“Whoever murdered her stole my mother and my innocence,” I snap.
