Chapter 2
Delilah
Pain. It’s everywhere. It’s all I am.
Every inhale sends lightning through my ribs. My back throbs in rhythm with my pulse, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of fire across my skin. But the pain surging through my body isn’t nearly as consuming as the agony shredding my heart.
Outside, the faint, slick sound of a van door sliding closed, then another, breaks the quiet room. Then it’s just my heavy gasps as I try to regain control, each breath loud in the thick silence.
I curl my fingers against the floor, anchoring myself, but all I see is the gun pressed against Striker’s temple, Reaper kneeling. Both helpless. Defeated.
I twist my head to press my cheek to the cold floor in a desperate attempt to focus, and squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in a shaky breath, slowly easing air into my lungs.
A tug of pain, like a dull blade in my ribs, makes me gasp.
I exhale slowly. Fire rakes across my back.
I freeze, half-curled on the floor, afraid to move again.
Fingers delicately touch my shoulder. “Princess,” Striker whispers.
When I don’t move or speak, or even open my eyes, he says my name again, his voice just a trembling breath and paper-thin. Like he’s terrified I’ll shatter.
Maybe I will.
I’m barely held together. Just threads of pain, stitched together with a fear that’s quickly melting at the seams as fiery rage scalds my bloodstream.
Striker gently swipes at the hair in my face, tucking strands behind my ear. “Delilah.” His voice changes. Cracks a little.
Fallon’s words flash through my head.
All I have to do is give the order.
Your favorite brother.
I knew you didn’t want another death on your hands.
My jaw clenches. Pain fades behind a wall of fury.
I shift, opening my eyes, and my gaze lands on his strong, solid form.
Reaper’s black eyes lock with mine, but he doesn’t move from where he’s still kneeling a few feet away.
He’s not moved an inch since Fallon and his soldiers filed from the room.
Fleetingly, I wonder if he’s frozen by rage like me.
I keep my eyes on Reaper as I suck in slow, steady breaths, pulling the emotions whirling through me back to center.
If you touch her again, I’ll gut you.
He threatened to gut, to hurt, his father, the man who has a dangerous leash on these men. And he did it for me. To keep me from being harmed.
Another sob threatens to escape at the realization, but I hold it in, biting my lip as I attempt to sit. Pain twists in my side, and I press my palm to my ribs.
Reaper’s gaze shifts to Striker beside me.
Striker grips my shoulder to steady me. “Hold on. Don’t move yet.” His large hand presses against my side gently. Testing. Checking. “It doesn’t feel like anything is broken,” he says, but I know he’s talking to Reaper. “Just bruised.”
My ruined dress falls open, revealing my bra as he examines my back, and a rumbling curse leaves him, dark and deadly. He doesn’t need to say out loud that I’m going to bruise. I feel it.
He swipes the hair away from my face, and his gold eyes and skull mask come into view. His hand trembles, then balls into a fist as he pulls it away and presses it to his thigh.
The storm raging in my chest grows, stretches and builds into something monstrous, something dark and full of hate, until I’m shaking from it too.
Striker shifts, pulling me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. Inhaling deeply as if he can capture the essence of me into his lungs. Like that alone will keep me safe.
But who keeps him safe?
With my gaze locked on Reaper, I tuck myself into Striker’s chest, breathing in his clean scent, now tinged with something sharper, and let him hold me.
The phantom click of a gun cocking against his temple echoes in my ears, and the anger inside spikes.
Screams until I hear myself saying, “Does he always do that?”
Reaper’s eyes burn into me, but he remains unmoving. I wonder if he’s even seeing me anymore. If maybe his mind is consumed by the image of that gun at Striker’s head too.
When neither man answers, I pull away to look at Striker. “Your father,” I continue. “Does he always pop in unannounced and threaten to kill someone?”
Striker’s brows move under his mask like he’s frowning. I grip the bottom and pull it over his head. His hair sticks up at odd angles, and I smooth the strands down with trembling fingers. Touching his face, his lips as gently as he’s touching me. Needing him to be okay.
Because what if he wasn’t? What if I had said the wrong thing? What if Fallon had ordered that soldier to kill his son?
Your favorite brother.
I focus on Reaper. He hasn’t moved an inch.
“I’ll take your lack of response as confirmation that your father is just as insane as mine,” I say. “One thing we have in common, it seems.”
When I push myself up, Reaper lunges forward, gripping my arms as Striker rises beside me.
“Shit,” I hiss as the skin pulls across my back.
Okay, maybe not just bruised.
“Turn around,” Reaper says, voice low, almost unrecognizable. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, my hand flying to my ribs as pain stabs through them. We all know I’m anything but fine.
He turns me to face Striker, who’s so focused on Reaper’s masked face, I’m glad he can’t see me flinch when Reaper’s fingers graze over my back.
“Go put ice on these,” Reaper says, his voice hard, verging on callous. So unlike the man who threatened to gut his father only moments ago. So unlike the man who kissed me in a brightly lit room while my entire world was in darkness.
My stomach sinks as the coldness of his words slips under my skin. Push, pull. Softness, then brutal slices of his hard edges. That’s all I get from him. Reminding myself to accept this doesn’t help the ache that spreads through me.
“I’m fine,” I say again, matching his tone as I turn to face him, but Striker’s already steering me toward the door. I try to jerk out of his grasp, but he stops, giving me a look that would have me shrinking back before. Before I knew him.
“Is that how he controls you?” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “By threatening to kill one of you if you step out of line?”
The muscles in Striker’s jaw jump. “They aren’t threats, Princess.”
A riot of emotions burst through me, making my heart tumble in my chest. Striker must see each one as they thrash their way through my heart because his features soften.
“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand.
I wrench away, my fingers curling into fists. “That’s it?” The words scrape my throat. “He shows up, lashes us, threatens to kill us, and we just—what? Walk away?” My voice cracks, breaks. “We do nothing?”
“You do as we say,” Striker snaps, grabbing my forearm. His eyes flick to Reaper. “We will take care of Fallon.”
“Take care?” The words explode from me. “How?” I whirl toward Reaper. “Stop leaving me in the dark. You want me to follow your every command, but I know nothing.”
Reaper’s voice turns to ice. “You know everything you need to know.” He jabs a finger toward the doorway. “Now go.”
“Tell me.” Tears burn my eyes, a shudder wracking my shoulders.
In three strides, he’s before me, pulling me toward him. His fingers thread through my hair while his other hand traces my neck, cupping my jaw. I clutch at his shirt, bunching the sweat-dampened fabric between my fingers. His heartbeat hammers against my palm, beating hard. Alive.
His obsidian eyes scan my face, tanned flesh creasing at the corners.
The dark and tired look swirling behind them makes my chest ache.
I think this may be the first time it registers he’s truly just a man under that mask.
He’s larger than life and holds such a power over me that I’ve built him up to some superhuman force.
But he’s just human and just as breakable as me.
“Help me understand,” I whisper, searching his eyes, but they flicker away and he lets me go. “I need to understand why.”
I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend why they take orders from him. Why they are loyal. Why they are here and allowing all of this. They can stop at any time and refuse to follow any more of his commands.
But maybe they can’t. I’ve felt what it’s like to be controlled by a man who holds too much power. Rune kept me under his thumb my entire life.
They tried to keep Cora, but Fallon brought backup, overpowering them with ease. It is possible they all feel as trapped as I do. Trapped in their anger toward Rune and the need for revenge. Stuck with Fallon and stuck in the bitterness of vengeance.
“You won’t understand.” Striker’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. His chest rises and falls as he stalks toward me, then cups my face in his hands. The slight tremble is still there. Fear. It’s still eating him from the inside out. “And we’re not digging into all that right now.”
“Would he have done it?” I ask, and the question hangs in the air, making the air thick.
“Yes.” Reaper’s response cuts sharply through me. Cold. Final.
Striker’s eyes fall closed as he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. Like the truth is too heavy to bear. “Yes,” he whispers. “He would have done it just to hurt them.”
Them. Viper. Breaker.
Reaper.
Your favorite brother.
Striker backs away and pulls me toward the door.
The movement reminds me that my body is just as bruised as my heart, so I let him guide me forward.
I glance over my shoulder when we reach the hall.
Reaper stands in the center of the room, eyes following me as Striker tugs me away and down the hall, and that dark feeling inside me grows even heavier. Angrier.
Fallon would have killed his own son to keep control over them.
My stomach churns with acid as the truth burns through me.
He uses fear to control them. And it’s the type of fear that makes people do terrible things.
The type of fear that would make a young girl remain silent after the man who raised her turned on her.
This is the fear that keeps strong men under the thumb of a man who, I think, may be just as evil as Rune.
Maybe even worse.