beast will kill the other and if it’s Herman’s crew who survives, I’ll find another way to end them. Either way, their days are numbered simply because they worked for the men who hurt Delilah. They’ll all be buried ten feet deep before the winter is done with us.
“I am begging you to reconsider. They have ties that—”
“Every last one of them will die. Either by the supplier’s crew or Talvery will end them when he discovers the mix-up.”
“This doesn’t solve the problem with the cops and—” Riggins’s concern and hurried pleas are exasperating.
“I’ll take care of pinning all that on someone who the cops already suspect. It will clean up this mess.”
“Someone they already suspect?” he questions.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with it. I’ll send it all over by the end of the day.” I’m deliberately short with him, but before he ends the call, I add, “Thank you.”
It’s easy to see the small bit of gratitude in the slight lift of his smirk. “Any time, sir. Is there anything else?”
“You’re certain it was only Brass and Herman who took her. No one else helped?” I ask again. It must be the third time I’ve asked in the past twenty-four hours. I’ll question it a million times looking for someone to punish whenever I’m reminded of what happened to Delilah.
“It’s confirmed. Yes. Only those who are dead, and those we’re going to send to their execution.”
“Very well,” I comment and then end the call.
I finish preparing Delilah’s breakfast and when I bring it to her, she’s quiet but receptive. Silence is draped between us. After setting the plate down next to her, I sit on the other end of the bed, taking small pieces of the cut peach from her plate and watching her.
The questions are simple, both of our tones feigning a casualness that I sure as fuck don’t feel: How do you feel? Did you sleep all right?
My skin blazes with both embarrassment from my confession last night and the vulnerability in this moment. I don’t miss that when I look up at her, she steers her gaze in another direction and I’m doing the same.
She doesn’t dare bring up what happened, but she certainly looks at me differently. It brings her touch back to me, though, the longing in her eyes and the absence of every defense she threw at me yesterday.
It’s difficult to forgive an all-powerful god—or a devil, for that matter. It’s far easier to have compassion for a mere mortal. For a damaged fuck like me.
Our fingers brush against one another when we both reach for a slice of fruit. Her simper is rewarded with a pleasant rumble I can’t control. It comes from deep in my chest where it’s still warm and safe for her. The insecurity of where we are now is irrelevant. It’s like a dark room meant for safekeeping. A hiding place, perhaps.
I wonder if she has a place like that, somewhere inside of her, where she could store all of my secrets, all the hideousness and memories I wish I could walk away from and the stories I’d rather rewrite altogether. But in that same place, a little fire sparks when her hand brushes mine and she sees me smile. I wonder if that place exists for everyone, or if it’s just something I have for her.
I’ll hide all her secrets away in that safe place. For her and only her.
With those thoughts in mind, I take advantage of the easiness, leaning across the bed and carefully running my pointer under her chin to direct her lips to mine. She obeys without objection, her thick lashes falling as her eyes close. The kiss is gentle and I’m careful of the cut still on her lip, although it’s healed slightly. The bruise on her jaw is still there as well. I’m cautious with every small touch, but not nearly in the same way I have been before.
With the warmth still lingering, I lean back, letting her chin go and watch as she opens her eyes and peers up at me with those gorgeous hues of amber. There’s a fire there, one I recognize and thank fuck it’s there at all. She knows my demons and my sins, but she also knows my pain and that’s quite a different burden to carry.
Delilah
I don’t recognize the person I am or the emotions that whirl inside of me, sinking to the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what I dream