I can’t even deal with the implications of that statement, and my heart is heavy as I picture a different outcome to her story.
“You’re tired.”
I state the fucking obvious and she nods. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
Reaching out, I pull her off the couch and jerk my head in the direction of the bedroom.
“You take the bed. I’ll fetch you one of my t-shirts. You can use any of my stuff. I have a spare toothbrush I just bought that’s still in the packaging; you can use that.”
“Thanks.”
Her smile is shy, and as she heads off into my room, I can’t stop my heart pounding. This is a bad idea. The last thing Delilah needs is me in her life, but the more time we spend together, the more she’s becoming the most important thing in my world.
CHAPTER 27
DELILAH
Blade’s room is like the man who sleeps here. Masculine, no-nonsense and rather dark.
I take a quick shower, the soap musky with a hint of spice, a towel warm from the rail. When I brush my teeth, I stare at my reflection and wonder how I got here. Thank God the Reapers came to Rockwell because I wouldn’t be alive right now.
As my mind trails over the past, a different reflection stares back at me. A woman with light blonde hair, pale skin and haunted green eyes.
A man appears behind her, his dark stare unwavering. She trembles inside as his fingers close around her neck. The pressure is life-threatening, his glare sadistic, and his whisper rocks through her entire soul.
‘I fucking own you, Aspen. Every thought in your head is one I put there.’
My hand flies to my neck as my gaze drops to the reflection, and I note the white wedding gown she is wearing. The man snarls, his features distorted as he relaxes his hold. With a sinister leer, he grips her hair and tugs her head back, and hisses, ‘Never fight me, baby, because your punishment willhurt. Now get the hell out of here and get naked. The fun has just begun.’
I swallow hard, watching my memory dance before me like an old movie. It’s almost as if it happened to somebody else, because the dark hair changes my appearance. My hand remains at my throat as the memory reminds me of my past, and like a radio searching for a station, the memories crackle in my head, fading, parts of them playing on repeat, then vanishing. The picture is not complete, but it’s in there somewhere.
Reaching out, I steady my hands on the basin. Staring at my reflection, willing the memories back. Hatred curls through my heart, both for me and for the man I was forced to marry because it’s clear to me that I never loved that man.
I don’t move. I want more, and I channel my mind to the past, hoping it offers what I need. I suck in the air, my fingers trembling as I hold on, flashbacks of pain, brutality and devastation.
Rough hands, a swift kick in my side, curling in a ball on the floor, laughter all around me. Hands gripping me, forcing me, jeering. Women laughing, nails scratching against my skin.
All the time he is there, sitting on his chair like a king on a throne, watching them tear me apart.
As my eyes raise to the glass, tears streak my face as I witness that wedding dress ripped apart.
It was my wedding night.
The image fades and I retch into the basin, the full horror only starting to hit home.
A loud thump on the door.
“Are you alright in there, darlin’?”
My shoulders sag; tears streak my face. I whisper, “Blade.”
My fingers cling onto the basin, and he shoves his way into the room, and as I fall, he catches me before I hit the floor. Mysobs pour out as if I’m a wounded animal, and as he swings me into his arms, I don’t even register that I’m naked.
I curl against his hard chest that blocks the light, my own private sanctuary away from the pain the world delivers on repeat.
His grip is tight, protective, and reassuring, and his soft kiss on my head, welcoming and comforting.
He carries me as if I’m a child to his bed and lays me gently down. His hold tender. I cling to him; I can’t stop the tears, and his soothing words remind me there are decent people in the world.
