Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
DELILAH
T he door creaked open, and Torch stepped inside, his grip firm on Delilah Cruz’s arm. She didn’t fight, not anymore. The fire in her eyes was still there, though—smoldering, waiting for an opening, a chance to lash out.
Good.
“Delivery,” Torch said with a smirk, shoving her forward. The force wasn’t rough enough to knock her over, but it was enough to make her stumble.
She caught herself before she fell, her boots scraping against the worn floorboards. Her glare was instantaneous, sharp, and fiery, directed first at Torch and then at me. The way her chest heaved, the tension in her shoulders—it all screamed defiance. But beneath it, I saw something else.
Fear.
She masked it well, but I could spot it a mile away. Fear wasn’t always in the trembling hands or the wavering voice; sometimes it was in the stillness, the calculated way someone stood their ground as if movement might shatter them.
Torch chuckled as he retreated, the door shutting behind him with a solid thud that seemed to echo louder than it should have.
I leaned against the desk, arms crossed, and let the silence settle over the room. She stayed rooted where she was, her head held high, her jaw tight. She’d been shoved into a lion’s den, and I could see the battle raging in her mind: fight or survive.
“Take a seat,” I said, nodding toward the chair in front of the desk.
“I’ll stand,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.
I smirked. “Suit yourself.”
The room was bare except for the desk, a couple of chairs, and the faint glow from the overhead fixture casting harsh light on the peeling paint and worn floorboards. The light wasn’t forgiving—it illuminated every imperfection, every flaw, just as it was meant to. This room wasn’t about comfort; it was about control.
It was a room where truths were extracted, and decisions cemented. Deals were made here. Fates were decided.
The air felt heavier inside these walls, the kind of weight that settled into your chest and made it harder to breathe. Delilah Cruz stood rigid in the middle of it, her arms crossed, her chin raised like she could defy the room itself.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Let her stew.
The silence dragged, stretching until it was taut as a wire. Her gaze darted to the corners of the room, quick and sharp, as if she thought she might find an escape hatch hidden in the worn walls. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her body betraying the tension she worked so hard to conceal. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, not out of comfort but to keep herself grounded.
There was nothing in this room that could help her.
The walls might as well have been closing in, and I saw it—the subtle flicker of unease behind her fiery gaze, the slight clench of her jaw when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
“Why am I here?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the silence like a blade.
Sharp. Controlled. But underneath it, I caught the smallest tremor.
I pushed off the desk, my boots heavy against the worn floorboards as I took slow, deliberate steps toward her. Each step was measured, intentional, meant to remind her that I was in control here, not her.
“Why do you think?” I asked my voice low but steady, the weight of it filling the space between us.
Her jaw tightened, the fire in her eyes flaring brighter as she squared her shoulders. But she didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even as I closed the distance between us.
“If this is about my father?—”
“It’s not,” I cut her off, my voice cold and flat.
The words hit her like a slap, and for the briefest moment, something cracked in her expression. Confusion, maybe. Or recognition.
“This is about you,” I continued my tone firm, leaving no room for argument.
Her arms tightened across her chest, her nails digging into the soft fabric of her jacket like it was the only thing keeping her steady. Her hazel eyes locked on mine, sharp and defiant, but there was something else beneath the surface—something she was working damn hard to hide.
“Me?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly, disbelief coloring the word. “I’ve got nothing to do with this.”
I let out a chuckle, low and humorless, the sound cutting through the stale air of the room like a blade. The sound made her shoulders stiffen, a tell she probably didn’t even realize she’d given me.
“You’re Cruz’s daughter,” I said, my tone deliberate, almost mocking. I didn’t blink, didn’t look away. “That’s enough.”
Her jaw tightened, her teeth grinding just enough to make the muscle at her temple flicker. Good.
I stepped closer, slow and measured, my boots heavy against the floorboards. Each step pressed down on the silence between us, making it thicker and heavier, until the air itself felt like it might collapse in on her.
I stopped directly in front of her, just close enough to see the faint pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Her breathing was steady and measured, but I could see the cracks forming. She was wound tight, a coil ready to spring, but she didn’t have a plan. Not yet.
“You grew up in this life,” I said, my voice quieter now but no less sharp. “You know what your name means. What it means to us.”
Her hazel eyes burned with fire, brighter now, even as her body betrayed her. There was tension in her shoulders, in the way she clenched her arms tighter across her chest like she could protect herself from whatever was coming.
“What it means,” she said, her voice steady but with a tremor buried deep, “is that I’m not part of this anymore. I left. Years ago.”
“Sure, you did,” I said, tilting my head slightly as I studied her. My gaze moved slowly, deliberately, from her clenched jaw to the way her boots shifted on the floor like she was weighing her chances of bolting.
“And yet,” I continued, my smirk cold and deliberate, “here you are. Back in the middle of it.”
Her jaw clenched harder, her teeth grinding audibly now. “My father died,” she bit out, her voice sharper this time, cutting through the tension like a knife. “I came back to bury him.”
“Of course you did.” I raised an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air like smoke. “And now you’re tangled in more than grief, Delilah. Whether you wanted it or not.”
Her lips parted, a retort ready to fire, but she hesitated, just for a moment. It was small—barely noticeable—but it was there.
“This isn’t my fight,” she said finally, her voice quieter now like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince me.
I tilted my head again, letting my smirk widen just enough to make her bristle. “You think the world gives a damn what you think? Your last name puts you in this fight, whether you like it or not. Axel knows it. The Serpents know it. And now, so do we.”
Her eyes flashed, her defiance flaring up again, but I could see the cracks forming. The fire in her gaze wasn’t enough to hide the fear that was starting to seep through the edges.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said, her voice dropping to something colder, something sharper.
I stepped closer again, close enough to see the faint tremble in her hands as she tightened them into fists. “I know enough,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “I know you left because you couldn’t handle it. I know you’ve spent every day since trying to pretend you’re not who you are. And I know,” I leaned in slightly, my gaze locking onto hers, “that being back here is tearing you apart.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t back away, but her breathing changed—quicker now, shallower. She was cracking.
Her arms tightened across her chest, her nails digging into the soft fabric of her jacket like it was the only thing keeping her steady. Her hazel eyes locked onto mine, sharp and defiant, but there was something else beneath the surface—something raw and unguarded like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
She was wound tight, a coil ready to spring, her defiance palpable in every inch of her posture. But it wasn’t enough. She didn’t have a plan—not yet.
“You grew up in this life,” I said, my voice quieter now but no less sharp, like the edge of a blade pressing against her defenses. “You know what your name means. What it means to us.”
Her hazel eyes burned with fire, brighter now, as if she thought she could burn through me with sheer force of will. There was strength in that gaze, a kind of feral determination, but it wasn’t invincible. I could see the exhaustion lurking in the corners of her expression, the weight of everything pressing down on her.
Her glare didn’t waver, but I saw it—the flicker of doubt, the realization creeping into her mind like a slow poison.
“You think you’re better than Axel?” she spat, her voice rising with anger now. “You think what you’re doing is any different? You’re just using me the same way he would.”
I smirked again, stepping back just enough to give her the illusion of space. Let her think she was gaining ground that she had me on the defensive.
“Maybe,” I admitted, my tone casual, almost dismissive. “But here’s the difference: I don’t lie about what I am. Axel will sell you a story, make you believe he’s doing this for you, for the Vipers, for family.”
I leaned in slightly, watching the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath caught for just a fraction of a second. “I won’t. You know exactly who I am and what I want. No lies. No bullshit. And I think,” I paused, letting the tension hang thick and heavy between us, “you respect that more than you want to admit.”
Her glare didn’t falter, but her breathing changed—quicker now, shallower. She was fighting to hold it together, but I could see the cracks forming.
“Once again, you don’t know anything about me,” she said finally, her voice quieter now but still laced with defiance.
I leaned in closer, closing the distance between us, my voice dropping to a low, deliberate whisper. “Don’t I?”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t back away, but the way her hands tightened into fists told me everything I needed to know.
“You’re afraid,” I said, my words cutting through her defenses like a scalpel. “Not of me. Not really. You’re afraid because you know I’m right. You know Axel’s not going to protect you. The Vipers won’t shield you. And the Serpents?” I chuckled darkly. “They’ll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what hit you.”
Her defiance faltered, just for a moment. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there.
“What do you want from me?” she asked finally, her voice breaking slightly, though she tried to mask it with anger.
“Information,” I said simply, stepping back and leaning against the desk again, giving her a moment to catch her breath. “I want to know what Axel’s planning, what the Serpents are up to, and how deep you’re in this mess.”
“I don’t know anything,” she said quickly, too quickly, her gaze flickering away for the briefest moment.
“Bullshit,” I said, my voice sharp and cutting. “You’ve been back in town for what, a few days? You’ve seen the way things are falling apart. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t noticed.”
She glared at me, her lips pressing into a tight line, but her silence spoke louder than any denial she could have given me.
“You don’t owe Axel anything,” I said again, my tone softer now but no less deliberate. “But if you don’t start thinking about your next move, you’re going to end up caught in the crossfire. And trust me,” I leaned forward slightly, my gaze locking onto hers, “no one walks away from that unscathed.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. She didn’t look away, didn’t blink, but I could see her weighing her options, calculating her next move.
“You can fight this all you want,” I said finally, my voice calm but firm. “But sooner or later, you’re going to realize the truth.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, her tone dripping with defiance, though it couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.
“That there’s no getting out,” I said, my voice cold and final. “Not for you. Not for any of us.”
The room felt colder in the silence that followed, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. Delilah stood rooted to the spot, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, her defiance beginning to crumble under the pressure. She didn’t say anything, didn’t argue further, but the tension in her posture told me the fight wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
I pushed off the desk, moving toward the door, my boots echoing on the worn floorboards. With my hand on the doorknob, I paused, glancing back over my shoulder.
“Torch!” My voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a whip.
A moment later, the door creaked open, and Torch stepped in, his broad frame filling the doorway. His gaze flicked to Delilah, then back to me, waiting for instructions.
“Take her home,” I said, my tone flat, but the words carried an edge that left no room for questions.
Torch nodded, stepping aside to let me leave first, but I didn’t move just yet. Instead, I turned my attention back to Delilah, her sharp glare cutting through the tension like a knife. Her hazel eyes burned with anger, her jaw tight, but I saw the faint flicker of unease she couldn’t quite hide.
I tilted my head, letting a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth. “You’re not as tough as you think, kitten,” I said, the word rolling off my tongue with deliberate mockery. “But don’t worry—there’s time for you to figure out how to survive.”
Her lips parted, ready to fire back, but I wasn’t finished.
“Here’s a thought for you,” I continued, my voice dropping lower, colder. “You might want to decide how much loyalty to your brother is really worth. Because when the Reapers come to collect, there won’t be much of Axel left to save.”
Her breath hitched, the faintest tremor in her shoulders betraying the crack in her composure. I didn’t wait for a response, didn’t need one. I’d planted the seed, and that was enough.
I turned to Torch, nodding toward the hallway. “Don’t let her wander off again.”
Torch smirked faintly, stepping into the room and motioning for Delilah to follow him. “Come on, sweetheart,” he drawled, his tone lighter than mine but no less condescending. “Let’s get you home.”
I didn’t wait to watch her leave, the door clicking shut behind me as I strode down the hall. But the image of her standing there, cornered and bristling with anger, stuck with me.
She thought she could fight this, that she could somehow escape the tangled mess her name had dragged her back into.
She’d learn soon enough. They all did.