Chapter 73 Delilah
DELILAH
Sasha is in her element, cutting into her human steak with a smile on her face as we wait for the auction to begin.
The argument we had about her having to wear a different mask has been forgotten.
She’s still carrying death with her since she decided to color the front of the half Venetian mask like a skull, matching her monochromatic suit like an agent of death.
I took a higher dose of ketamine to be able to stop myself from sweating through my suit, but it makes me question everything around me. There’s no stage for an auction to take place. All the tables and chairs are arranged to leave a large empty ring, splitting the groups of tables.
“An inner circle,” Asher says.
I nod as I bring my tumbler to my lips, pretending to take a sip.
The floor between the inner circle and the ring of tables I’m seated in has large square shapes on it, like hatches.
Due to Sasha’s need to argue to keep her mask, we were late to the first pick up, so we missed the start of the auction.
If she makes me lose Delilah, I’m kicking her ass.
Or making her become a vegan. She’d probably prefer the beating.
She’s nearly finished with her food while I’ve been examining everyone around us. They all laugh, make small talk with the people on their tables, like this is some perverse date night. We’re the only ones who are silent.
The mirror-masked waiting staff step forward from the wood paneled walls to collect the plates.
Their uniforms are like any other expensive catering staff—black slacks, stark white button down, a thin black tie.
They even wear white gloves to match the opulent décor of crystal chandeliers and moody lighting.
With the course over, the lights dim and the robotic voice that announced our welcome in the tunnels says, “The next category is Green.”
Sasha leans closer to me, gripping my empty left sleeve as we peer over the table where a harsh white light fills the edges of the notch on the floor.
The lights increase from the sole source as a glass box raises from the floor like an elevator, revealing a teenaged boy.
He can’t be any older than seventeen as he stands with shackles wrapped around his arms and ankles, a thick chain linking his four limbs together, soundlessly clinking as he turns in a circle.
When he looks at me, my jaw goes lax. I’ve replayed every conversation I ever had with Kid to keep his memory alive. I listened to him talk about the boy who taught him things for hours, so I could draw him from those descriptions alone.
It’s him.
Fuck! I don’t have enough money to bid on him and Delilah. The buy-in was fucking expensive and I already owe Decker’s acquaintance for finding the information, but I can’t sit here when I promised Kid I’d find Jasper and Xanthe. They’re his family, they deserve to know—
“You killed him?”
Asher needs to fucking die again.
I drag the tablet closer as the announcer says, “Bidding for a six-month term will begin in five, four, three, two one.”
Six fucking months.
I look at the boy, my beautiful boy’s friend. He slowly closes his eyes at the length of time one of these sick fucks will force him to do whatever the fuck they want. Then the six-figure initial bid flashes on the device.
I don’t have enough.
I can’t help him without sacrificing Delilah.
There’s no emotion on his face when he opens his eyes, lifting his chin. He’s older than Kid, he’ll be fine. I’ll find him another time, follow the fucker who bids on him or something. Anything.
I’m too far away from the other tables to know who wins when the silent bidding comes to an end. There’s no announcement to say who it is. No one reacts either; they simply continue sipping their cocktails.
Jasper’s box is lowered, another slowly raising with another announcement. “The next category is Grey.”
The girl can’t be much younger than Jasper, but she doesn’t blankly turn.
Her inky-blue eyes are filled with hate as she squares her shoulders, meeting every pair of eyes looking at her.
Sasha nearly drags me out of my seat as she tugs on my sleeve to whisper into my ear, “I like her. She seems fun.”
Of course she does. I’m as fucked up as her when I softly ask, “Do you want me to buy you a friend?”
She pinches my thigh, muttering, “Shut up.”
“Love you too,” I whisper without moving my lips.
We stop talking shit when the box is lowered and the announcer robotically says, “The final category of this round is Black, with a reduced damage rate.”
I try to remember the categories from the tablet at the bar but the black one didn’t have any details beneath it.
When the box is pulled through the notch in the floor, my heart soars, only to sink.
There in the box is my Delilah. Her wrists and ankles are in chains as she stands in the highest fucking heels I’ve ever seen, tears reddening her cheeks.
She stumbles forward, teetering on the thin points of the heels as the thick cuff around her neck is automatically released.
She’s scarred, eyes sunken in, collarbone protruding.
As she slowly turns her head, I notice the cut on her fucking her face. Her cheek is swelling.
It’s Sasha who notices the biggest issue. “She’s on drugs. Look at the inside of her arm.”
Delilah slowly turns in a circle, dazed at the harsh lights as the thin cotton dress becomes opaque. There, on the inside of her fucking elbows, are track marks. Both of her arms are covered in deep purple bruises.
“Looks like she listened to you,” Asher says. “I’m surprised you don’t have tracks considering how many trains have been run on you.”
“Bidding for a twelve-month term will begin in five, four, three, two, one.”
The tablets on every table light up and I quickly press the bid button without looking at the amount. No sadistic little cunt is getting their filthy fucking hands on my wife. I’m going to turn her ass red for putting that shit in her body.
“How long ago did you snort a line behind Sasha’s back?”
Fuck off, I mentally snap back. That’s medicinal, since I’m missing half my fucking arm.
The sound of my finger hitting the glass screen of the tablet is the only thing I can hear as Sasha pretends to cuddle up to me. “Everyone is looking. Move slower.”
“Don’t worry, little one.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll let you practice on her.”
“That worked,” she whispers into my bicep.
Keeping Delilah in my periphery, I leave my lips on Sasha’s hair, so she fits the image of my pet. The nutcase is intelligent as fuck as she says, “You have to act like you want to hurt her.”
“That won’t be a problem.” I’m going to throttle her as soon as I get my hands on her. Then kiss her, because I haven’t in three years. Then throttle her again. We’ll keep alternating between me cutting off her air with my hands and mouth until I’m the only toxic shit she needs in her life.
“Are you jealous of her taking drugs because it’s something else controlling her?” Asher laughs. “You really are jealous. No wonder it was so easy to convince a jury to unanimously agree you killed me.”
Sasha nips my inner bicep, the twinge carrying through my arm, below the cut, and down to my left hand. “It’s finished.” She widens her eyes at the tablet while I stop breathing, waiting to find out if I’ve successfully bought my wife back.
It takes a moment for the screen to change from the timer showing the bidding window is over. Then the message slowly scatters to reveal the outcome.
Congratulations. Collect your plaything to confirm ownership for [12] months. Damage fee has been reduced as detailed below:
Limb loss - $30,000 per limb
Foot loss - $15,000 per foot
Hand loss - $30,000 per hand
Severe psychological impact – waived entirely
Loss of life - $250,000, replacement requirement waived
What the fuck?
One of these cunts could have killed her, and what? Paid a quarter of a million for the fucking inconvenience?
The box is slowly lowered, trapping her under the floor as the lights increase back to the moody lighting and soft music begins to play.
Sasha cranes her neck as the waiters step away from the wall with small dessert plates.
When she sees the tiramisu, she crunches her nose up, mumbling, “We can go now.”
I kiss the top of her head as I stand. “I’ll get you a cake.”
Other people eagerly stand from their tables to collect the poor souls they’re going to torture. Sasha tucks herself into my side, hiding the loose fabric of my sleeve as I place my arm around her waist under her suit jacket. One of the dirty fucking perverts ogles her body as we pass their table.
I meet his beady little eyes in the small holes of his Venetian mask as I join our hips together.
We follow the mixed group of men and women into an elevator, all of us dressed in the same style of outfit.
The little nutcase didn’t want to wear a shirt though, so the bottom is cropped and she made keyhole cuts, leaving the collar around her neck to expose her collarbones that she painted as a skeleton.
They better be admiring her sewing skills rather than her body.
She stays beside me with the wall at her other side, wrapping her arm around me before resting her head on my chest, so her hair falls over her face.
I know she’s uncomfortable with the small portion of her features on display.
As soon as we have Delilah, I’ll find her the biggest fucking cake to make her feel better.
Then we can kill Helene.
Sasha will have to put up with not having that mask. We’ll find her one less twisted. I’ll even add fancy stitches instead of her using her hair to secure it in place.
She hugs me with one arm as the elevator finishes its descent, but I stay back, allowing the others to walk ahead so she’ll look up. When she does, there’s a big smile on her face. You found her, she mouths.
“We,” I whisper. “Ready to travel the word, crazy pants?”
Her smile somehow gets even bigger as she shyly nods.
We walk out of the elevator into what looks like a hotel lobby.
The bookend marble check-in table has a mirrored guard behind it who scans each person’s bands, checking who they purchased.
I stay at the back of the line in the hope I’ll see who collects Jasper, but another guard leads the buyer through the lobby to another elevator.
The woman in front steps forward when the others have left and slides a metal card across the desk.
The guard examines it then nods. This time when the other guard arrives to take her to the elevator, he looks at the card before walking away without her.
It takes a few minutes, but when he comes back, he’s pulling the hate-filled girl with him.
Her eyes are covered with a thick strip of black suede wrapped around her head, knotted between her teeth to form a gag.
Her hands are bound in the same material too.
Is she Xanthe?
No.
Kid said Xanthe had light hair. This girl has raven-black hair that shines under the luxe chandeliers. The woman wraps her gloved fingers around the restraints keeping the girl’s wrists together as she leads her to the elevator we came down in.
I don’t know why but I can’t help the feeling something is going to fuck up. It’s been three years of working with the sick fucks since Rowan found out I was going to run as soon as I had Delilah. Every time I felt like I was getting close to her, he’d do something to torpedo my plans.
“Delilah’s going to hate you,” Asher says as I step forward.
Sasha pushes her hand forward to scan the band I gave her since I’m not really fond of putting anything on the only hand I have left. The guard’s heavy boots squeak on the polished floor as they step around the desk, guiding us to a different elevator.
Hope, guilt, anticipation, fear, love. Every human emotion I’m capable of decides to battle for center stage as my stomach twists on the ascent.
There’s no control panel to see what floor we’re going up to, but when the doors open, I see her.
Sasha squeezes my side and tries to let go, but I discreetly shake my head without looking away from Delilah sitting on a tufted sofa with her wrists and ankles still in the shackles.
A thick metal collar is tightly wrapped around her neck and a leather muzzle has been attached to it, zipped over her mouth and nose.
Thick buckles are wrapped around the sides, covering her ears too.
But she’s in front of me.
A guard covers her eyes with another leather strap before pulling a hood over her head. I don’t know how she’ll react to my voice, so I don’t speak as I grab the chain linking the four cuffs together. Thankfully, she doesn’t have any shoes on, but she’ll survive cold feet.
With my wife at one side and my little nutcase at the other, I have everything. The guard gestures for us to follow as I keep both of them attached to me on our walk through the space to a narrow tunnel. Delilah doesn’t fight me, which I hope means she knows it’s me rather than being high.
Sasha trembles when we reach the part of the tunnel the light doesn’t reach. I try to stroke her back, but my forearm rubs against her ribs. The phantom limb syndrome is easier to deal with now that I know she’ll be by my side.
The guard pulls a thick black hood over Sasha’s head, then mine. I keep rubbing her side to relax her so she knows I’m not going anywhere as we’re taken to the boat.