For the first time since she was accepted into the Kobalt family, she’s reprimanded as Rowan barks, “Patience! This is not about you, silly girl.”
Her chin drops to her chest at his tone and Lennox attempts to soothe her as he gently rubs circles on her back. He dips his head, whispering, “You won’t starve, zuzúni.”
The tarp crinkles under Kane’s mechanical steps until he pauses, looming over the dead guard. Each shallow breath he takes fills his nose with the putrid smell of death and decay. None of it is able to take away what he’s about to do as he folds in half, gripping the waistband of the guard’s pants. When he tugs,exposing their lower half, he knows there’s no coming back from this.
What he doesn’t account for is just how cold it is as he picks up one of their thighs to make space to kneel between them. He closes his eyes, driving his hips forward. It’s not enough to block out the violation or how sinister it is.
Yet when that deathly cold seeps through the rubber barrier, Asher whispers,“He hurt Kid. Just. Like. This.”
“Yeah, he did,”Kane mutters back without moving his lips.
“He violated him. He’s the reason Kid isn’t with us anymore. Make him feel the same. Show him how much it hurts, Kane.”
The internal chants are a split of his personality, which once protected him while he was in isolation. He may be surrounded by people now, but he needs the same encouragement as Sasha waits for her turn to eat while Rowan watches on in pride.
Lennox is the only one who stares in horror and regret as Kane holds the guard’s hips for purchase, thrusting. The baby he felt protective over has successfully been ruined.
Rowan relishes in it as he slowly claps. “My boy, a natural.”
Not yours,Lennox thinks, unable to voice his opinion when the risk of the punishment will fall on Kane’s shoulders. He does what he always has, silently watch Rowan satisfy his curiosity.
39
DELILAH
Two weeks without Helene attempting to cause me bodily harm has to be a win. Some days she’ll glare at me, but there are others where she’s so kind,welcoming, I genuinely think she has a personality disorder. The first time was after her first visit from Rowan. She admitted to poisoning me with her tea leaves. It was unprompted, another way for her to fuck with my head. Today is another good day as I walk out of the front door.
“There’s a chill in the air,” Helene says. “Be sure to wrap up, sweet girl.”
Suck a dick that doesn’t belong to your son, you warped cunt.
I slowly close the door behind me, pulling my hood up to block out the wind pushing against my body. There has to be something to help me find out where my baby is or how to get off this island. I can’t keep following this semi-normal routine when my spying only allowed me to see how Rowan and Helene interact. I’m a dumb fuck for feeling sorry for the prick even though he tortured me. There wasn’t really any hope for him to be anything other than sick when he was raised by that bitch.
I walk through the grounds until I reach the cliff edge. The sea roars, waves crashing up, shaking the iron gates as they creak from the force. I walk around the perimeter of the cliff, making sure the gates are in view. There’s something beautiful about the way they survive, calling to me. Everything that once existed around them has been taken away by the waves, but they stand there, refusing to be destroyed.
As I reach the walled garden, I notice a wooden ladder thrown over the edge of the cliff, stopping on the small amount of earth left around the gate. My eyes close as the waves get higher, the spray hitting my face on my climb down. Calm amidst the chaos. I breathe in the salty air, listen to the sound of the birds communicating the change in tide, and smile.
For once, there’s something natural around me.
Battling the wind, I delicately trace the intricate patterns on the gate. Some of the paint has flaked away, leaving the raw metal to rust without any protection. Yet it’s even more beautiful with the decay, like being scarred is the only way it can truly be appreciated.
I follow the cursive Latin across the gates with the tip of my finger to follow the scrolling text.
“Non est finis in morte,” Helene says behind me as I move my finger across the left gate. Then as I move to the right, she reads, “Nulla vita sine umbra.”
I’ve given up on questioning how she manages to pop up everywhere. The amount of different doors, all of her surveillance—her creepy personality—make it pointless, wasting the mental energy on preempting where she’ll be.
Instead, I ask, “What does it mean?”
She scrapes the top of her stick against the left gate. “There is no end in death.” Moves it along to the right. “There is no life without a shadow.” She stares through the black and pewter spokes as she digs her stick into the ground. “This was abeautiful garden once. My father was buried here along with my uncles and their shadows.” She raises her stick through the gap in the metal to point into the water. “Further back, there was a maze where we would entertain. The children enjoyed running through the groves.” Her good mood doesn’t last as she smirks in my periphery. “Your first-born was defective.”
I react without thinking, grabbing her stick, throwing my fist forward at her fucking face as I scream, “My baby is not fucking defective!”
She stumbles back wide-eyed, without that smug look on her face. I swing again. And again. And again. Until she slams into the gates with blood dripping from her lip and a cut on her cheek. My hand throbs. I can’t stop, so I force her stick to her neck. Pressing my full body weight against it, I stand nose to nose with the bitch as she chokes.
“Where is my baby?” I grit.
The slats groan as I thread each end of the stick through them, the horns scraping more paint off the gate, the snake doing the same to the other side.
