Chapter 6 Delilah #3
Honestly, I have my own bone to pick with all the women. Not one of them saw fit to even try to warn me beforehand. But as for Twenty-One, I hadn’t expected her to say a damn thing to me. She was off in her own world right before that horn blew as it was.
Or maybe—my brain skids around a corner, and I rub both hands over my face in frustration, trying to come up with any plausible explanation for her behavior this morning—maybe she knows about my encounter with Finneas.
She couldn’t possibly have any idea that he tried to rape me in the woods all those days ago or that I was the one who tried to brain him in self-defense, but maybe she’s aware that he caught me last night and has a problem with it?
Hell, she could even be jealous, knowing her crazy ass.
I wet my lips, watching her as she stands on the other side of the bars, holding my breakfast hostage.
It must have been big, huge news to the members of this commune that their leader had returned.
Does anyone suspect it had a damn thing to do with me?
I wish I could ask, but with the bizarre way she’s acting, this is definitely not the time for that.
Unwilling to cause myself any more trouble than I already have, I swallow the question down, then let out a little huff.
It attracts her attention. Those piercing green eyes of hers home in on me, glinting as she rears back before spitting all over the food on the tray.
“What the—?” This time, I can hardly hold in my dismay and those words burst from me before I can think better of it.
I remain perfectly still, gape-mouthed and staring as she presents the tray to me again.
When I don’t immediately take it, she cocks her head to the side.
This lunatic spit in my food, and I swear, she’s having a good fucking internal laugh at my shock.
In my head I repeat my earlier question.
What. The. Fuck? With a sick little smile, she shoves the tray through.
It takes flight, sailing into the cell to land on the stone floor at my feet.
My eyes go wide at the clatter it causes.
The sound rockets off the walls while a sausage link bounces away along with the shiny red apple.
The worst of it, though, is the splat of warm grits that goes in all directions.
The fluffy biscuit that’s now landed in the dark corner I’d been sitting in last night would have been made fresh early this morning by either Eight or Sixteen. This bitch.
Shaking her head, she smugly crosses her arms over her chest and … hovers, almost as if she’s waiting for me to retaliate in some way. It’s fucking weird, but I’ll be damned if I’m opening my mouth and giving her any more ammunition against me than she already has.
I lift my brows, then with a flourish of my hand encourage her to leave me the fuck alone. I have no clue if she understands, but I’m sure the pinched glower on my face says plenty for me. To my consternation, she doesn’t move. Not a fucking inch.
Jesus, why the fuck won’t she just go? I exhale through my nose before turning on my heel to take the two steps to pick up the biscuit.
I busy myself, tearing off pieces and putting them into my mouth.
Thank fuck the spit mostly went into the grits.
Walking over to peer through the bars at her, I decide I’ve finally had enough.
Fuck it. What’s she going to do, tell them I spoke?
“Look. I don’t know what’s got your nonexistent panties in a twist, but I didn’t do anything. ”
“Did you forget?” Her voice comes out scratchy from disuse and her brow arches.
“I thought I was clear.” My mind scrambles, and nervous energy spikes in my heart.
She places her hands on her hips. “I told you that I would keep my mouth shut about finding you in Finneas’s room with Hayze”—my stomach pitches as she continues—“if you stayed away from Kiefer, that is.” She shrugs, then wets her lips.
“I’ll give you one more chance. If you can’t keep yourself from him, I’ll be forced to let everyone know what you’ve been up to with more than one of the firstborn sons. ”
I cock my head to the side, studying her. This bitch really thinks I want that disgusting Kiefer prick. That I’ve been welcoming his advances. Does she think I wanted him to rape me? She really is fucking crazy. I open my mouth to ask her exactly that, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“The correction won’t be pretty.” She purses thin lips.
“I bet you have a good idea by now of just how bad it can get.” Stopping to squint at me, she taunts, “If they remove tongues for talking? Do you think they remove hands for touching? Or maybe it’d be worse.
” Her gaze pointedly wanders downward. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she stops at my pussy.
“You’re only good for one thing, and if they decide they have no more use for you … ”
I shudder hard in response. I already have an idea of the depravity these men are capable of, and I’m terrified it won’t be long before I fall prey to more of their deviant ways.