I pass him a warmed porcelain dinner plate before doing the same with the utensils wrapped in a napkin. He looks at me like I’ve committed a crime as he forcefully sets it aside to collect his own then moves around the counter lined with heat lamps, like a buffet with different items in large pots. His smile comes back when I peer over the edge of the tall steel pot. “You can’t pour soup in a flat plate.”
I nod, watching as he stabs a chicken breast with a fork then drops it into his plate. He slides his plate along to a steaming platter of vegetables then piles two spoonfuls onto his plate. Mashed potato is next.
I don’t know what I’m doing, so I copy him until our plates are identical. It’s exactly like school as I turn to face the room. There was never a time when I didn’t have my own group when I was a teenager. Now I’m in my thirties. A lump forms in my throat as I look at all the tables without any idea of who will allow me to sit with them.
Jasper acts like my appointed buddy, lightly nudging my arm with his elbow as he says, “You’re unassigned. Sit with me.”
It’s not until he walks to the back of the hall I notice a small circular table with five seats. The two girls already sitting at the table are direct opposites of one another. One has pitch-black hair and the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen; the other has softer features and calmer hazel eyes. The latter is younger too. She smiles softly as she dips her head, hiding behind a curtain of her curly brown hair. Jasper takes a seat next to the other thenpoints to the seat beside the younger girl. “You can sit there so Nova can’t hit you.”
“I can reach,” the dark-haired girl, Nova, says as she holds her fork like a weapon.
“She won’t hurt you,” the other says in the softest voice I’ve ever heard, then quickly looks away.
I lower into the seat, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. “What’s your name?”
“Sienna,” Jasper answers for her as he cuts into her chicken.
I give her a small smile I hope comes across as friendly. “I’m Delilah.”
59
KANE
“Kill him,”Asher says as I wait in an empty office.“Kill his wife like he took yours.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I don’t know where Sasha managed to get the mirrored mask from. I’ll have to thank her because it makes his eyes widen when he enters his office. All my research into his life has revealed a formidable man with his young wife. A man who isn’t afraid to stand between his clients and their abusers as a shield.
Right now, he’s afraid.
I copy Rowan as I say, “Mr. Mannix, it’s time to repay your debt.” I hit send on the pre-drafted message to Sasha to lock all the exits in case the dumb fuck tries to run.
“I’ve been expecting you.” His voice comes out steady despite the way his chest moves faster with each word.
In the years of watching targets, I’ve learnt how to assess their body language, preempt what they’ll do. Delilah was the first I watched though. She at least used to surprise me. Decker doesn’t as he tries to hide his phone behind his leg.
I lift my phone, playing the clip I created.
“Decker!” his wife cries. Well, she wasn’t his wife when it was recorded. All my scouring on the dark web helped me find the footage Rowan sold of their time as captives.
It’s because of that footage his face falls. He knows how I feel now, that gut-wrenching, soul-deep agony of losing the one person who calms everything.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he grits.
His emotions cloud his perception. It’s why he doesn’t notice her voice echoing or how she sounds younger, or how the pitch is the exact same as what he’s previously lived through as she screams, “Decker! Please!”
She’s fucking stubborn. It took me hours to find one clip of her begging to use for this very moment, but the sound of Decker’s head hitting the concrete provides a satisfying crack which may as well put a leash around his neck when her screaming abruptly stops.
Eyes fixed on my phone, he rushes forward like he’ll be able to reach through the device to help her. He’d also need the power of time travel since his wife is currently at home putting their daughter to bed. She’s probably reading her a story, sneaking in a few last hugs while she does. All things I can’t fucking have because my wife was taken from me while these fuckers found freedom. After his fucking wife killed my beautiful boy. She cradled his small body, rocked him, her arms touching his bare back, and held him on her thighs when I promised no one would ever touch him without it being his choice. Death doesn’t nullify my promise or his ability to choose what happens to his body.
“What about the dead you violated?”Asher unhelpfully asks.
I ignore him in favor of the desperate lawyer. There’s no sympathy as I lift the phone to the front of the mask, making sure the screen is light so he can see the false call recording screen I created. I look at him, at the loss on his face, the despair and desperation. It’s ironic I’m the one who has a mirrorcovering my features, yet he’s reflecting my own emotions back to me as I say, “Keep her warm.” I smile behind my mask. “Or would you prefer if she was cold, Mr. Mannix?”
“Fuck you,” he spits. “Let her go.”
“Would you cry for her?”
