Empire
Itake down the laptop I stole from Asher’s room when I pretended to give my condolences for his death, which I deserve an award for.
The only thing I’m apologetic about is Kane being caught up in it all.
If I could go back in time, I’d do it sooner.
Maybe the first day my mom told me we were going to meet one of Dad’s business associates.
Instead of hugging him, thinking he was the same boy I met in the park, I should’ve wrapped my hands around his neck.
The recordings are full of vile acts. Every conversation about selling children, selling people, cutting out organs, and Asher’s intrigue about what they tasted like is repulsive.
Morbid curiosity got the better of me, forcing me to listen to as many of them as I could stomach.
Now, it will serve as Kane’s get-out-of-jail-free card since our parents are more powerful than they’ve ever allowed us to know.
If they can run a cannibalistic pedophile organization, they can get an innocent man out of prison.
Harkin Leroux is the worst of them all. He didn’t sell his soul for admission—he sold me. Well, they can have me, as long as Kane is safe.
I take one last look at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, making sure the awful dress is stuck to my curves and my hair is shiny—like they trained me—before I walk out of the closet with the laptop tucked under my arm.
I have to actively work to stop my proud smile when I hear my parents’ hushed arguing as they crowd around the shitty golden telephone.
Stupid little Delilah, who was too much of an idiot to know her father was drugging and pimping her out has grown up to ruin all of his little plans. What a fucking shame.
Asher’s death is the best and worst thing to ever happen.
It’s opened up my mind to the reality of my family while taking away the only person I’ve ever wanted.
His death has made me see it isn’t my fault.
From the moment Asher tricked me into thinking he was Kane when he asked me to be his girlfriend to now has been pre-planned.
It wasn’t a relationship. It was ownership, because my loving fucking father told him to do it.
He helped him, arranged to keep Kane busy, then sat Asher down to tell him how to discipline me when I wanted to leave him while my mother drew him diagrams.
My embarrassment felt like the end of the world at thirteen. Now I know it would have been a small price to pay to get away from Asher. Hindsight is an open wound that never really heals. The fates aren’t set; they’re fickle. Even the flap of a butterfly’s wings can alter a person’s life.
If I saw through Asher’s act, knew he wasn’t Kane, I never would have let him kiss me.
If I wasn’t a chicken shit caught up in how everyone would see me, what my parents would think, or the fact Kane didn’t like attention, then I would have told him I loved him when I realized how I felt at ten years old.
I know better now as I stand at the top of the stairs, making sure the laptop is connected to the speakers in the house before I press play. My father pales at the sound of his own laugh, his head swiveling to search for the source. He sees me as Rowan’s voice comes through the speakers.
“You have a choice to make, Asher. You can choose to be the one who exists in the spotlight, or you can give up this boring world for one in which you will be the king, the new creator.”
I thought they’d run at me, drag me down the stairs—beat me—but my parents are frozen and ghostly.
“Kane will act as your mirror image,” Rowan explains. “A reflection of you the world will see to protect you. He will be your armor, your shield. You, the head of the family.”
“What happens to Delilah?” Asher asks.
It is my caring, adoring father who answers, “Use her, abuse her. As long as she projects the happy family image on your reflection’s arm once you bear an heir, then you don’t need her.
” He laughs on the audio clip, but glares at me in real life.
“After all, you will have anything you need to satisfy your appetite at The D—”
“Harkin,” Rowan says, low and deadly.
The clack of me hitting the space key, pausing the clip, is loud in the tense house as I lightly ask, “Would you like to hear more?”
As predicted, the rage begins. My father moves like an athlete, charging up the stairs while I run to hide the laptop. I slide it under my bed then quickly run into my closet, leaning up like I’m hiding it as he storms into my room.
Spinning around, I straighten my shoulders. “Get the charges dropped against Kane and no one will ever hear it. They won’t know you’re a sick fucking bastard who raped his own daughter!”
My mother is slower, no less angry as she stops behind him, her eyes drilling into the back of his head. Hope is such a stupid thing, yet it weaves through a childhood of neglect at finally having someone on my side.
“Mom, do you remember when we’d go to the office parties? The ones at the ballroom?”
She snaps her head to me. “Shut your mouth, Delilah.”
“Do you remember how I’d be sick after the parties? You thought I was drinking, remember?”
“Delilah,” she grits, nostrils flaring. “Shut. Up.”
That stupid hope dies, fracturing more pieces of me.
She doesn’t fucking believe me. I wouldn’t lie about this.
My mother has never been a good mother, but how can’t she believe me? I’m her daughter. She gave birth to me. She should protect me in this. If not anything else, then at least in this.
Grabbing the bastard’s arm, she asks, “I thought you said she wouldn’t remember?”
“That,” I spit, my face contorting, “is what you’re asking him? Why I remember, when he’s a fucking rapist!”
I slip my hand behind me, finding the knife I hid between my folded sweaters as they argue with each other like I’m not even here.
“She doesn’t remember,” my father says. “She’s going off the details Asher gave her. I told you that boy was too egotistical.”
“If Helene finds out you have allowed your little princess to ruin her twice over she will come for us all. Fix it, Harkin.”
She turns, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walks out of my room, softly closing the door behind her.
My mother—the one person who’s supposed to protect me, the person who is supposed to be connected to me before birth—walks out of my room, leaving me with her rapist, pedophile, piece of shit husband.
She chooses him.
She’s chosen her life with him over my safety.
All this time I thought there was a limit to her lack of care, but she already knew.
Fuck her.
Fuck them both.
I’m not a stupid girl, an idiot, or insolent.
I’ve been forced to be around monsters, but I’m not going to let them touch me again, so I keep the knife at my back as I look into the eyes of my father—my first abuser.
“If you touch me, I will fucking ruin you. All of the recordings will be sent to your associates, your board of directors, the press; every single person you’ve ever come into contact with will see what you really are. ”
He laughs when I’ve never seen him be anything other than cold without an audience to perform for. When I was a child, I would tell him jokes to earn his affection, only to be pushed away. Now, he fucking laughs.
“Do you know why I call you princess?” He takes a step forward. I hold the knife tighter. “Considering you are the least intelligent of my children, I’ll spell it out for you. A princess’s role is to be seen, to play her part. You couldn’t even do that correctly.”
My legs tremble as he unbuckles his belt.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” I slowly walk backwards to the window in my closet.
Metal claps against metal as he slowly unthreads his belt from the loops in his slacks.
I panic, lying, “I’ve told Ruby.”
“Good girl.” He smiles, pausing. “You’ve finally done something useful. She can’t escape her role any longer.”
He takes another step.
I push my arm forward, slashing the knife through the air to keep him back.
Without a single ounce of fear on his face, he continues advancing as he folds his belt in half, slapping the folded leather against each other so they crack.
The large kitchen knife shakes in my hand as my back hits the wooden window casing.
“Get the charges against Kane dropped.” I fumble with the lock. “I’ll stop everyone knowing what you are.”
“You don’t know what you’ve involved yourself in.
It doesn’t matter what you do, princess, you will never win.
” He laughs again, shaking his head as he holds the tail ends of his belt in one hand.
He quickly whips the looped end against my hand, a red stripe instantly blooming as my fingers open on instinct, dropping the knife.
I kick back, aiming to smash the glass, but he grabs my hair, pulling my head down as he brings his knee up. Pain shoots through my face, an odd click in my nose as blood drips down over my lips into my mouth.
His fist is balled, ready to punch me in the stomach as he pulls me up by my hair.
“I’m pregnant!” I scream, pushing backwards.
“Well done, princess.” His fingers tighten in my hair as he smiles down at me, lowering the belt. “Daddy is proud of you for saving us.”
I sacrifice my scalp as I try to evade his touch, pushing my weight down. It’s no use when he shakes my entire body with his hold on my hair and flattens his hand over my stomach. “For your sake, I hope there’s two in there to replace what you took.”
“Don’t even think about my baby.”
“Babies,” he snarls.
Folding in half, I stretch out to grab the knife as I knock his disgusting hand off me. “I know why you need me to have a child.” I meet his eyes as I bring the knife to my stomach, exactly where his hand was. “Get the fucking charges dropped or you won’t have any children left.”
Just give me Kane back. I don’t have to have him in my life; I just need him to be safe.
“You can put me in prison instead,” I offer. “I’ll take the punishment, then you can go back to your sick friends, say it wasn’t your fault.”
The tip of the knife pokes through my dress, scratching my stomach.
“Do it,” my father scoffs.
I silently apologize to everyone I’ve hurt as I tighten my hold on the handle.
The air beside my head parts as I apply more pressure to the knife and the full impact of the belt slams into the side of my face.
He abruptly lets go of my hair, knocking me off-balance.
I end up dropping the knife when pain erupts on the other side of my temple as it connects with the sharp point of the window casing.
I curl up in a ball with the last bit of strength I have, protectively covering my stomach as the air whistles between each lash of the belt pelting my back, arms, head—everywhere.