I’m going to throw up. Each one is worse than the last. If the Black Room doesn’t have details, what the fuck could be worse thanbirthto twelve?
The boxes glare at me with a glowing ring around the words, urging me to pick one. I carefully press the edge of the black screen, making sure my gloved finger stays as far away from the Pink fucking Room.
Red will be easy, it’s killing someone. Blue is the same as The Dollhouse. But pink? No. Delilah and I will both fucking die before that ever happens. She’ll hate me for death, which I canlive with. It’ll be miserable, soul-crushing, but at least I’ll make it up to her on the other side.
“You found your line.”
The words scatter as the boxes merge together to form one long rectangle in the middle of the screen. Then the black scattered pieces rejoin in a formation until it shows another room. One that has my entire focus.
The Mirror Room Offers:
An experience like no other. Your subject will face the horrors of their own reaction as you remain anonymous.
Reflections can only exist within a mirror.
The card that led me here because the Wards know every part of Rowan’s business model mentioned mirrors. They created this along with Helene. A scorned business partner is like a wronged ex-wife. Harkin would always say it, then Asher, once he’d been taken under his tutelage.
With my heart in my throat, my fears weighing my limbs, I select the Mirror Room. The masked bartender walks over to me with the chip reader, scans my band, then raises two velvet-gloved fingers to point towards a door beside the blacklight section.
“Do you really think Rowan is going to be there?”Asher asks as we walk towards the door.
I need him to shut the fuck up instead of trying to apply logic to an insane situation.
“He’s not going to be here. Forget about Delilah. You left Sasha alone like you left Kid alone.”
The sides of the mask scrape against my jaw as I grit my teeth.
“What if Sasha dies too? Is her cunt that special, you’ll let everyone around you die so you can have it again?”
She’s my wife, he’s a fucking prick. He doesn’t understand it’s not about fucking her; it’s deeper. She’s as essential for my survival as my heart. Without her, everything has been slower, dazed, grey. With her, I can escape the shit in my head. As long as I chase Delilah, I forget about the memories racing after me.
The door automatically opens when I approach, a guard waiting for me with the same tinted mirror mask, but they don’t scan my band or talk. They simply turn to guide me through the dark stone tunnel illuminated by the same blacklight.
When we reach a large black door, they step to the side to uncover an electronic panel. I hesitantly hover the band in front of the panel. As soon as it beeps, an automated voice says, “Welcome to the Mirror Room. Your plaything will be bound for your pleasure. Penalties will be charged for loss of product. Enjoy depravity in your every desire.”
The black metal door slides open, revealing the most disorienting room I’ve ever seen. Every surface is covered in purpose fit mirrors. The joints of the room are the worst as they reflect a reflection, adding an uncanny depth. But the floor and ceiling open the space while simultaneously closing me in.
Yet the worst of the reflections is the woman bound with her arms stretched out from her body, securing her to a horizontal X. Everything from her sternum up is held inside a mirrored box. The small oval presses into her thin body; her legs are tied to the bottom of the X with the same type of metal cuffs wrapped around her wrists and biceps.
One leg has deep scars curving around her uneven calf to the front of her shin. There are small gaps between the structure and her leg whereas the other is kept flush. Then the door slides shut behind me, trapping us as the locks click.
62
DELILAH
Iblink to see my own reflection staring back at me full of disappointment for not visiting my family. Instead, my stupid fucking brain decided to go back to Helene, to the pain of feeling the sharp teeth tearing through my calf—the first time I was allowed to have my baby.
My eyelids droop and the chemicals offering me an escape are still swimming through my blood. They take too long to drag me away again, but I can hear the giggles calling me to my family as I smile dazedly at my reflection getting further away.
“Knock, knock?” a young innocent voice asks.
“Ask who’s there, Momma,” Kane whispers.
I try to speak, but my voice is too muffled under the weight of my tongue as I sink into myself, finally getting away from the person who ruined my life as I lose sight of my reflection.
63
KANE
