Chapter 88 Kane #2
In this moment, she shows that strength.
She doesn’t need to say anything or cheer at the pain she’s causing.
It may be my hand, yet we all fucking know it’s her.
I’m just a tool she can control for her cause.
It’s my beautiful wife who understands that’s the one thing Helene has coveted, so it’s a fitting punishment.
There’s no smiles, laughs, or even a wince when I get the hang of the whip, the air cracking before it splits Helene’s thigh. Delilah simply stands with her arms crossed, chin strong—her eyes still fixed on Helene’s.
Without turning her head, she asks her brother-in-law, “What did she do to Ruby?”
“She tried to kill our daughter,” he grits out, ripping something out of Sinclair’s body.
The rubbery liver slaps against the wall, leaving a bloody trail on the wall before it hits the floor.
He stands, eclipsing the morning sun streaming through the windows as Helene’s wide eyes tremble.
“You heard right. She’s alive.” He grabs a knife as he walks around the table and scrapes it against the filthy wood.
“We hid her for twelve years. Twelve years of my wife not being able to see her sister. Twelve years of my daughter not being allowed to go to school, play, have friends. Because. Of. You.”
Delilah softens but the hate in her eyes grows tenfold as she uncrosses her arms, like a physical truce to allow Daigon to enact his revenge. He doesn’t notice it, but Helene does as she splits her attention to look at Delilah for a second while he advances.
“We’re not like you,” he forces out. “I would die before I let you get anywhere near them. Ruby is clever. Cleverer than you, more patient. She knew her sisters wouldn’t be safe.” He doesn’t look away from her as he snaps, “Hold her mouth open.”
I’m not touching the bitch with my bare fucking hand.
There’s putrid shit on her and she’s a vile fucking cunt without it.
But I can’t put a glove on with one hand, so my mind freezes as though it’s rebooting to find another path when something touches my arm.
I look down, watching the whip slip through my fingers, then bright yellow rubber folds down my hand.
“You can do it,” Delilah says softly as she pulls the glove on. A fucking dishwashing glove. “Do it for your mom.”
There’s a lump in my throat as I mechanically step forward.
I’ve spent years hating the one person who could possibly understand me, and the truth only revealed regrets.
If I was aware my mom was afraid for me then I would have understood why she only wanted one child.
If I knew how brutal her childhood was, I’d know she wasn’t being cold when Lennox would visit us.
Or how she’d be afraid of leaving her children alone with him because she could spot the differences between her brothers.
If I knew who the fuck the Wards were, I would have bled myself dry to unveil their messages when I first got the cards instead of using them to torment the last person on this planet who deserves it.
I want my mom. Not for a conversation like I’ve thought about previously or to undo any wrongs I’ve committed.
I want her to see this. I want her to see she will only ever be my mother, that this wretched cunt is going to feel the pain of hurting everyone.
If she was here, she’d know she was safe for once, because the wounds of childhood will always continue bleeding out.
It’s not the same as a physical wound where the scar morphs with age, so as we’ve all grown, it stretches, ripping into other parts of our lives.
Delilah with her secrets.
Me with my insecurities, hurting everyone around me because it was the only way to feel safe.
Daigon with ninety-nine percent of his personality as he cuts a slice out of Helene’s right calf.
I grip the bitch’s face, digging my fingers into her cheeks that instantly dent.
She tries to close her mouth, but the drugs allow me to easily position my fingers in the gap between her teeth, keeping it open as she mumbles to herself.
This close, I can see the thick S hooks with sharpened points—like those used in a butcher’s—threaded through her thighs, hips, and ribs.
Some are impaled in her shoulders, and the chain wrapped around her body goes down to the back of her ankles where he’s hooked them through her joint.
Then I remember, he’s her butcher.
This isn’t some random torture technique.
It’s his clinical method for slaughter to feed the cunt.
Every single life she’s touched has been ruined beyond measure all because we each had someone we wanted to protect.
I don’t give a fuck what it takes, how uncomfortable it makes me, or if I have to spend the rest of my life alone, I will never be so obsessed with control that I become her.
I’ll spend every moment from now on earning Delilah’s forgiveness, righting my wrongs, building my dad’s legacy back up to where it should be, and ruining everything Helene created even if it takes my dying breath.
I gag, pulling my head further away as Daigon pushes her shit-covered flesh into her mouth.
“You never should have upset my wife,” he says low in his throat as she splutters.
“Fucking hell.” I breathe out to get the smell away.
I thought I’d seen everything, witnessed the worst shit possible, but I’m still holding her mouth open as he physically pushes the flesh down her fucking throat.
Her retching vibrates through her head. I’m going to be sick.
I can smell her bile coming up around his fingers as his knuckles scrape against her teeth.
Without. Gloves. He has a mixture of blood, shit, saliva, and sick on his fingers, but it doesn’t deter him as he glares down at her, forcing his fingers further back until I feel her teeth widen.
I pull on her jaw, the small ridges on the gloves allowing me better grip as I look over my shoulder at Delilah.
She winks at me, smiling innocently.
Fucking crazy people.
Sasha would love this.
She’d probably laugh, call him an idiot because she could do it better, get louder screams like artists gauging the success of their performance by the applause as Helene attempts to twist her head.
The shit streaking her cheeks dirties my gloves.
I drop her face, leaving her to Daigon’s taunts as my breathing turns shaky.
I’m hit with the reminder she created the fucking world that made me lose my boy.
“Paint her fucking face,” I snap as I pull open the drawers, the cutlery clattering from my harsh movements.
The burner on the stove hisses as I turn it to full power and hold it down with my thumb, stretching my little finger to hit the ignition.
But I can’t reach as a smaller, clean hand stretches around me, igniting the fire around the cast iron ring.
“What’s wrong?” Delilah asks softly, pushing her cheek to my bicep as she wraps one arm around me.
I can’t say it.
Even now, I can’t fucking say it without my chest feeling like it’s going to cave in under the weight of the grief.
Her eyes are so open, but I can’t say the words.
I killed our son. Four words is all it would take, but they’re four life-changing words.
Instead, I press my lips to her forehead. “She fucking stinks.”
A small airy laugh blows out of her, but she doesn’t push me to say more even though she doesn’t believe me. I can see it in her eyes as she watches me bring a deep soup spoon to the flame.
“Where does she keep the arrows?” I whisper as Helene’s screams get louder.
Daigon drops the knife on the floor, folding in half to dig his fingers into the mangled parts of her leg between the dog bites and what he’s already cut.
The tendons are too thick to allow him to literally pull chunks out, but he’s doing it for maximum pain rather than ease as he picks the bloody knife back up to make small cuts through the muscle while pulling.
“In Melantha’s house,” Delilah says as she watches the torture. “I killed that bitch for spawning the devil. Now I wish I kept her alive to practice on.”
I’ve already heard her recount the details of how she tried to run away, but she was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find her, so she tried to hide at this cunt’s mother’s house.
It may have been in between her bouts of sickness while working through the initial withdrawals but she was fucking glowing while telling me she set the cunt alight in her sleep.
My wife likes fire, something uncontrollable that sparkles just like the stars.
Hooking my left arm around her neck, I bury my nose in the top of her head to fill my senses with everything Delilah.
The stench hasn’t fully soaked into her skin so I can still smell myself on her as the handle of the spoon begins to heat up, softening the gloves.
She may not have met Kid, but he knew her.
He and I made plans on what we’d do, mainly how he’d team up with Delilah when we play charades so they’d be a super team.
Instead of him picking random things Jasper had told him, like superheroes always stand in high places with their hands on their hips or birds jump really high rather than flying, he’d choose things he’d seen.
I’d watch them both act out things I’d probably guess straight away, but I’d say I couldn’t get it because he always smiled wider when he was winning.