Chapter 53
Delilah
Ijolt awake, a distant slam shooting like lightning through sleep and forcing me conscious.
Rolling to my side, I wince at the ache between my thighs.
I glance toward the fireplace, now just low orange embers, barely lending any light or heat to the room.
Shifting, grit drags across the sheets under me.
Heat blooms at the memory of us all surrounded by dark woods, fucking like animals.
I squeeze my legs together, loving the deep ache, but when I feel the mess, now dried, still lingering on my skin, I decide a shower is in order.
Like now.
I vaguely remember pleading with them as Viper carried me inside, to just let me sleep. That I’d bathe later. Being I passed out, he must have just let me sleep, though I fleetingly remember him placing kisses on my temple, whispering promises to return and clean me up soon.
I run a hand under Striker’s enormous shirt they dressed me in before carrying me back, trailing a finger along the skin of my thigh to my core, sinking into the memory of what we did.
Fucked. Owned. Claimed.
It fizzles through my head like a fever dream.
The entire thing felt like one.
A soft rustle of fabric makes me freeze.
I bolt up, my gaze landing on the chair by the window.
It’s dark enough that I think at first it’s Reaper, but the faint glow of the fire outlines his sharp jaw.
His perfect nose. Panic slams into me as he stands, eyes catching the embers, lighting them like blue flames.
Hatred burns through me as he stares at me, slowly crossing the room.
“Why are you in here?” I ask Fallon, pulling the blankets up, aware I’m wearing nothing but Striker’s shirt and my socks, along with gritty dirt and cum. “Where are they?”
“All tied up at the moment,” Fallon says. He strides to the side of the bed, and the dim light from the table lamp flashes on. My face heats as he leans back, hands clasped behind him as he stares down at me. Assessing. “You’ve had quite the evening.”
I tuck the blanket up under my chin, my cheeks on fire.
“You have two choices, Delilah,” Fallon says, unclasping his hands to grip the blanket.
I grasp it tighter, but he yanks it free, throwing it back.
My fingers twist in the shirt and clasp it to my thighs, that fear he invokes, swirling through my gut.
“You come with me willingly, or my sons suffer under the wrath of your poor decisions.”
“Those aren’t choices,” I spit out. “That’s a threat.”
He shrugs. “As long as you cooperate, my sons will remain unharmed.”
Molten heat fires in my veins. “How dare you say you love them, then threaten them at every turn?”
When the back of his hand connects with my face, my head snaps to the side, pain cracking across my cheek. I fall back from the force, tears stinging my eyes.
“Your mouth is wearing on me, Delilah,” Fallon hisses. “My sons have sacrificed the integrity of this mission for you. For that Julian whore.”
The fact they aren’t here, creates a sick panic. My heart thunders, eyes darting to the door. “Where are they?”
Fallon licks his lips and adjusts his black tie. Smooths down his black vest. He takes a step back, but it’s not far enough. Across the entire world wouldn’t be far enough.
“What did you do with them?” I ask, fear and anger winding up tightly in my chest. My eyes dart to my boots by the armoire. To my knife on the side table. Back to him. “Where are they?”
“My god,” he says, almost in awe. “You really do love them.” Unease coils inside me at how the words slip from him. Oily and gross. Like loving them is a sin. He makes a sound in his throat. “I have to admit I’m impressed with Reaper’s tactic.”
Tactic. As if what I feel for them is something planted in my head. Carved into me without my permission. That sliver of doubt tries to dig back under my skin, but I refuse to allow it to burrow.
He crouches beside the bed, and I resist the urge to kick him away. Kick in his fucking teeth. Grab my knife and stab him like I did 57.
“While I admit I don’t understand the workings of this dynamic, I have to say, I’ve never seen them so passionate about anything other than avenging my son’s death.
” With one hand, he drags a finger along my knee.
I jerk, my pulse racing. “I also understand Cora Julian is a part of this strange little…” He pauses, searching for the word. “Entourage.”
“Leave her out of this,” I snap, trying to slip away, but his hand clamps down on my knee. That same fear I felt in the garden snakes through me, all too aware of his nearness, how exposed and vulnerable I am. How much he hates me.
“Too late. Reaper dragged the girl into this, and now she’s as deeply involved as you.” He squeezes my knee, then stands upright. “Now. Let’s go.”
“Go?” I ask, my brows knitting.
Fallon’s lip curls into a cruel smirk. “Rune will take one look at you, and he’ll be beyond devastated.”
“You mean to send me back now?” I glance down at the shirt and smears of dirt along my legs. “You can’t send me back like this. He’ll think…” My voice fades as it dawns on me.
That’s exactly what he wants. For my father to think I’ve been used and broken. If Fallon sends me back like this, in this state, Rune will go insane.
“Did you plan this?” I ask, cracks forming in all the claims they made. I shake my head, refusing to let him place doubt in me again.
They love me. We may not have said the words, but I felt it in every claiming touch.
Fallon chuckles. “No, dear girl. But I know my sons. Nothing but heathens, full of sin and lust.” He hooks a finger under my chin, tilting my head back, and drags his thumb along my cheekbone where he struck me.
“Delilah Gavin, his perfect daughter, reduced to nothing but a dirty, battered whore. Serves him right for refusing to save you the first time.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, my mind splintering in different directions.
“Look what his greed has done.” Fallon ignores me. Wiping at a tear. “You are ruined and disgraced. He’ll easily hand you over and sell your soul.”
Releasing me, he takes a step back, then snaps his fingers. Two soldiers appear in the doorway. My heart thrashes, and I scramble back onto the bed. I don’t recognize these two.
“Uh uh, Delilah,” Fallon says. “Remember what I said.”
I freeze, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. He’ll hurt them if I don’t cooperate.
“Where are they?” I ask again, choking on fear. “Did you hurt them?”
“Like I said, they are all tied up at the moment,” he says, holding his hand out to me. “They will remain that way, unharmed, as long as you remain calm. Upon your return, they will be released.”
My chin quivers, and I move forward.
“Good girl,” he coos, making bile rise in my throat. “Once the mission is back on track, you’ll see them again. Promise.”
The Snyder Group. Slowly inching forward, placing my hand in his.
He curls his fingers around mine and eases me off the bed.
Once I’m on my feet, that gentleness disappears, and he yanks me forward, then places a hand on the back of my head and shoves.
I stumble, crashing to the floor. My knees hit the cold wood, and I gasp, stunned at his sudden roughness.
“Restrain her,” Fallon barks.
The two soldiers march forward and grab my arms. The urge to fight, to defend myself, just as I’ve been taught for weeks, almost wins, but I bite down on my lip, keeping useless threats, vile curses, and terror trapped inside, willing myself to remain calm.
The two soldiers wrangle my arms behind my back. I wince at how rough they are, wanting to snap and bite and resist. One steps in behind me, and cold plastic weaves around my wrist, and the familiar grating sound of a zip-tie cuts through my skull.
My pulse skyrockets, tears stinging my cheeks. “I’m fucking cooperating,” I growl.
“I promised not to hurt your lovers,” Fallon says, circling until he’s in front of me. Those pale eyes and cold, cruel smirk burn into me. “I never said anything about not hurting you.”
My lovers.
Not his sons.
“Take her downstairs.”
One soldier grips my shoulder and shoves me ahead, guiding me out the door.
In the hall, I trip over my feet, my breath seizing in my lungs.
Soldiers line the far wall, one after another, all the way down the hall, to the stairs.
As I’m led forward, more come into view, a black line of hard, stiff bodies snaking down the steps, eyes of various colors watching me as I descend.
There must be at least fifty, if not more, black-clad soldiers framing the foyer, blocking the doors.
“How many are there?” I ask, my words breaking the deadly quiet.
“There are currently fifty here,” Fallon says. “More in training at my new facility.”
My stomach tumbles. They are horribly outnumbered.
The men can’t just leave him. Fallon has far too much power over them.
The only way they can escape is if he relinquishes his control.
Or he dies.
“Why?” I whisper, stopping at the foot of the stairs. Fallon descends, stopping next to me, taking in the sight of pure, militant power, all under his command.
“Revenge,” he says simply. “Everything Rune has built must be destroyed.”
I open my mouth to ask why he just doesn’t send them to kill Rune now, when I remember. I sweep my gaze around the room and lock on Fallon’s face. “What do you need to get out of Rune’s safe?”
He takes a deep breath. “Something Reaper refuses to let go.” Fallon clears his throat, then reaches in his pocket and pulls out a syringe, and faces me, tapping at the plunger. Clear liquid spits from the needle, and a smile quirks his lip. “Hold still, this will just pinch a little.”