Chapter 59
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
THE HEATHEN
Yesterday was almost more than I can take.
I do want revenge, but it’s always been about them—the younger ones.
Seeing Delilah with Jedediah on top of her, inside her, the way he was with me so many times, broke something inside me.
Both Knox and Carter have nearly begged me to eat, but I can’t.
I watch from the kitchen as they both reluctantly walk away, and Killian comes toward me.
“What are you doing, Killer?”
I look at the sink and then at him as I hold a sponge in my hand.
“Cleaning. I need to stay busy.”
He takes it from my hand and tosses it in the sink.
“What are you doing?”
Grabbing my hips on either side he lifts me onto the counter.
“You need to eat. If you do, I’ll take you to the gym and teach you how to let some of this anger go. Would you like that?”
I tilt my head at him in question.
“What would that involve?”
Killian doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s both heart and panty melting.
“Fighting, Killer. Trust me, throwing a few punches will feel good.”
My gasp is audible, making him laugh.
“You’re going to let me punch you?”
He shakes his head and says, “You’ll be punching a bag.”
Killian strokes his fingers down my cheek, and my heart pounds so hard I worry that he can hear it.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Killer, and it pisses me off.”
He moves his head closer to mine, his breath fanning over my face, and I inhale the minty scent.
“Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”
He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip and speaks, his voice low with a hint of danger.
“No, Killer. It means I hate you more.”
When he runs his nose up the side of my neck, I shiver from the contact. His lips are so close to my skin, causing my flesh to tingle, and then he bites me hard enough to make me yelp.
“Are you going to be a good girl, and eat the dinner my brothers made for you?”
I briefly contemplate saying no, to see if he’ll bite me again, but decide against it because I think he’s right about the fighting.
“Yes,” I answer, and he steps back and nods his approval.
“Good girl. Sit at the table and I’ll bring it to you.”
I jump down, go to the dining room table, and wait. Killian brings the food, along with a glass of water, and sets it in front of me.
“No alcohol before the gym. You need to be level headed otherwise you might get hurt.”
I pick up my fork, stab at a piece of tenderloin, and take a bite. After swallowing the food, I say, “What if that’s what I’m after?”
He takes the seat directly across from me and stares at me, studying me like he’s trying to solve some fascinating mystery.
“You want pain.”
It’s not a question, but a statement, as if he has figured out my secret.
I shake my head and admit the truth.
“No, I don’t want it. I need it.”
Once he appears satisfied with the amount of food I’ve eaten, he stands up.
“Give yourself twenty minutes for your food to settle, and meet me in the gym.”
I set my fork down on my plate and scoot my chair out.
“Are you three always going to tag team me like this?”
Instead of laughter, he flashes me a serious, annoyed expression.
“If we need to. They killed Jack, a skilled assassin. Going after them while you’re weak will get you killed. You need strength, and that means taking care of yourself.”
I match his scowl with one of my own.
“And you suddenly care?”
Killian lifts a brow and says, “No, but for some reason I cannot comprehend, my brothers do.”
He turns from me and walks away, leaving me as annoyed as he always does. It’s too bad I’ll be hitting a bag, because I wouldn’t mind punching him.
I take my plate into the kitchen and rinse it before putting it into the dishwasher.
What pisses me off the most, I think, is that Killian is right.
Seeing the picture of Delilah, and now seeing they’ve vanished, has me in a bad place mentally.
A dark fucking place. This is all my fault.
Gripping the edge of the counter, I close my eyes and remember the day I had the opportunity to kill the man I refuse to call my father.
“Daddy, please don’t. It hurts.”
He doesn’t stop, he keeps driving forward, with a gross grunt every time. Sweat pours off his head as he chants the sex prayer.
“Thank you, Lord, for blessing me with this gift of physical love.”
The Prophet has his pants on, but yanked down to his knees. I push his chest, trying to get him off me. Reaching behind him, he grabs a knife and quickly holds it to my throat.
“Take it as the Lord has ordered, or die and burn in Hell.”
The threat of hell works every time, because we have been taught how terrible Hell is. And it’s not temporary. It’s forever. ‘Eternity,’ he frequently reminds me. I do not want to burn for all of time, so I do what he says, and lie here taking it.
He tosses the knife on the side of the bed, it bounces off my fingers, and lands beside my hand.
It’s so close. I could pick it up and stab him, before he could stop me. It would end this torture for me, for all of us. The Prophet isn’t the only one having sex with young girls. It’s most of the men over the age of sixteen.
I want to take the knife, but I don’t. If not obeying him will get me sent to Hell, killing him surely will. There’s probably a special place in Hell for anyone that would kill a man appointed by God himself. So I lie here, with tears streaming down my cheeks, as I imagine myself running away.
It’s beautiful here. There are fields of flowers, and I inhale the faint, sweet scent in the air. Freedom is mine, even if it’s just a fantasy.