Delilah stops laughing and her voice is harsh as she orders, “Kane, who’s in control?”
“You are,” I answer without thought, earning a smile over her shoulder before she returns to staring at Helene.
“True power doesn’t come from force,” she says calmly, calmer than I’ve ever seen her as she takes a step back. “The one who gives it up would rather die than take it back. You wanted Kane to do whatever you wanted, but you had to usemeto get him to obey. You are a sad, pathetic, powerless cunt who’s too weak to leave this island. Here, you were the ruler of no one. Out there, in the real world, you’d be face to face with the reality you are nothing. The Dollhouse you created to satiate your egoisn’t crumbling.I’mgoing to demolish it brick by fucking brick without lifting a hand.”
She takes another step back, crossing her arms over her chest as she pointedly looks at me then the whip. I love this crazy woman. Grabbing her face, I kiss her, ignoring the disgusted groan from her brother-in-law.
“This started fun. You had to ruin it.”
“I love you,” I say, pulling back to grab the whip.
My technique is all wrong but the bulky end slams into the side of the coffin, the thin tail hitting her thigh. She lets out a weak yelp all while Delilah stares directly at her with her spine straight. I’ve never been fearful of Delilah, even when I was a piece of fucking shit who was hellbent on ruining her. But she’s been constantly underestimated. Her parents, Helene, Rowan, her sisters, me. We’ve all thought she was too weak to do anything, diminished her intelligence because she struggled to process the shit she’d been through when she was a literal child, but she’s the most volatile because of that. She’s the one capable of cold-blooded murder and the only one who could ever stand against everyone, which is why they kept burdening her with every horrific thing they could think of.
In this moment, she shows that strength. She doesn’t need to say anything or cheer at the pain she’s causing. It may be my hand, yet we all fucking know it’s her. I’m just a tool she can control for her cause. It’s my beautiful wife who understands that’s the one thing Helene has coveted, so it’s a fitting punishment.
There’s no smiles, laughs, or even a wince when I get the hang of the whip, the air cracking before it splits Helene’s thigh. Delilah simply stands with her arms crossed, chin strong—her eyes still fixed on Helene’s.
Without turning her head, she asks her brother-in-law, “What did she do to Ruby?”
“She tried to kill our daughter,” he grits out, ripping something out of Sinclair’s body. The rubbery liver slaps against the wall, leaving a bloody trail on the wall before it hits the floor. He stands, eclipsing the morning sun streaming through the windows as Helene’s wide eyes tremble. “You heard right. She’s alive.” He grabs a knife as he walks around the table and scrapes it against the filthy wood. “We hid her for twelve years. Twelve years of my wife not being able to see her sister. Twelve years of my daughter not being allowed to go to school, play, have friends. Because. Of. You.”
Delilah softens but the hate in her eyes grows tenfold as she uncrosses her arms, like a physical truce to allow Daigon to enact his revenge. He doesn’t notice it, but Helene does as she splits her attention to look at Delilah for a second while he advances.
“We’re not like you,” he forces out. “I would die before I let you get anywhere near them. Ruby is clever. Cleverer than you, more patient. She knew her sisters wouldn’t be safe.” He doesn’t look away from her as he snaps, “Hold her mouth open.”
I’m not touching the bitch with my bare fucking hand. There’s putrid shit on her and she’s a vile fucking cunt without it. But I can’t put a glove on with one hand, so my mind freezes as though it’s rebooting to find another path when something touches my arm. I look down, watching the whip slip through my fingers, then bright yellow rubber folds down my hand.
“You can do it,” Delilah says softly as she pulls the glove on. A fucking dishwashing glove. “Do it for your mom.”
There’s a lump in my throat as I mechanically step forward. I’ve spent years hating the one person who could possibly understand me, and the truth only revealed regrets. If I was aware my mom was afraidforme then I would have understood why she only wanted one child. If I knew how brutal her childhood was, I’d know she wasn’t being cold when Lennox would visit us. Or how she’d be afraid of leaving her childrenalone with him because she could spot the differences between her brothers.
If I knew who the fuck the Wards were, I would have bled myself dry to unveil their messages when I first got the cards instead of using them to torment the last person on this planet who deserves it.
I want my mom. Not for a conversation like I’ve thought about previously or to undo any wrongs I’ve committed. I want her to see this. I want her to see she will only ever be my mother, that this wretched cunt is going to feel the pain of hurting everyone. If she was here, she’d know she was safe for once, because the wounds of childhood will always continue bleeding out. It’s not the same as a physical wound where the scar morphs with age, so as we’ve all grown, it stretches, ripping into other parts of our lives.
Delilah with her secrets.
Me with my insecurities, hurting everyone around me because it was the only way to feel safe.
Daigon with ninety-nine percent of his personality as he cuts a slice out of Helene’s right calf.
I grip the bitch’s face, digging my fingers into her cheeks that instantly dent. She tries to close her mouth, but the drugs allow me to easily position my fingers in the gap between her teeth, keeping it open as she mumbles to herself. This close, I can see the thick S hooks with sharpened points—like those used in a butcher’s—threaded through her thighs, hips, and ribs. Some are impaled in her shoulders, and the chain wrapped around her body goes down to the back of her ankles where he’s hooked them through her joint.
Then I remember, he’s her butcher.
This isn’t some random torture technique. It’s his clinical method for slaughter to feed the cunt. Every single life she’s touched has been ruined beyond measure all because we eachhad someone we wanted to protect. I don’t give a fuck what it takes, how uncomfortable it makes me, or if I have to spend the rest of my life alone, I will never be so obsessed with control that I become her. I’ll spend every moment from now on earning Delilah’s forgiveness, righting my wrongs, building my dad’s legacy back up to where it should be, and ruining everything Helene created even if it takes my dying breath.
I gag, pulling my head further away as Daigon pushes her shit-covered flesh into her mouth.
“You never should have upset my wife,” he says low in his throat as she splutters.
“Fucking hell.” I breathe out to get the smell away.
I thought I’d seen everything, witnessed the worst shit possible, but I’m still holding her mouth open as he physically pushes the flesh down her fucking throat. Her retching vibrates through her head. I’m going to be sick. I can smell her bile coming up around his fingers as his knuckles scrape against her teeth. Without. Gloves. He has a mixture of blood, shit, saliva, and sick on his fingers, but it doesn’t deter him as he glares down at her, forcing his fingers further back until I feel her teeth widen. I pull on her jaw, the small ridges on the gloves allowing me better grip as I look over my shoulder at Delilah.
She winks at me, smiling innocently.
Fucking crazy people.
