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DELILAH
The walls of my cell are thick, but not thick enough to lessen the agonizing screams coming from the other cell, and definitely not thick enough to hide the gunshot from me.
Pulling my legs to my chest, I lay my head on my knees and place my hands over my ears. I’m not sure how much more of this torture I can take, but giving up is not in my nature. To give up would be giving Quinton the gun and bullet he needs to end my life, and I’m not dumb enough to do that.
Finally, silence falls upon me, and my worries become gnawing. Is he going to come for me next? Will my death be fast or slow?
The rattling of keys at my door sends me into a frenzy, and I try to make myself smaller on the bed. The air in my lungs stills as the door unlocks and swings open.
Quinton Rossi steps into the cell. His usual anger-stricken face has softened as if he is happy about something. If it wasn’t for the murderous glint in his eyes, I would call him giddy. Or maybe that’s exactly why he looks so cheerful. The psycho is about to kill me.
“Come on. There’s something I want to show you.” He closes the distance between us, and his hand circles my arm so quickly that I can’t even think about pulling away. Not that there is anywhere I could escape to.
Trembling, I dig my feet into the concrete, trying to stop him as he drags me from my cell, down the hall, and into the next cell, where he releases me with a shove, and I lose my balance, colliding with the cold floor.
My knees land on the concrete, and pain radiates through my thighs, causing me to wince. I squeeze my lids closed, refusing to see the bloodbath he wants to show me.
“Look at him,” Quinton growls, but I refuse to lift my head.
A moment passes, and I can barely get air into my lungs. Unhappy about my defiance, he crouches next to me and grabs a fistful of my hair, twisting my head in what I assume is the direction of Matteo.
“I said, look. Look at what’s been done to him.” His grip on my hair tightens, and I whimper. “This could be you. And it will be.”
I open my eyes slowly, taking in the gruesome scene in front of me. Matteo is lying in a puddle of blood, only inches away from me. He is naked, his face almost unrecognizable, and his eyes open wide and vacant.
There is so much blood. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, and I don’t want to find out either. Blinking the tears away, I look up at the ceiling, saying a silent prayer, hoping my death will be quick.
“Who is this?” A female voice startles me. I turn my head as much as I can with Quinton gripping my hair tightly.
“This is Delilah Wallace. Delilah has ties to Matteo and Nash, but she refuses to say exactly how they’re connected. Orwereconnected, I should say. When speaking of Matteo, one needs to use past tense from now on.”
He finally releases me, and I slump back forward. The smell of blood and urine is overwhelming, and my stomach churns even though it’s something I’m used to now.
“What do you think, Delilah?” Quinton asks. “Does this convince you I mean business? This isn’t a game. Who was he to you? What did you have to do with his family?”
Everything and nothing.
“He was my brother,” I finally admit. Whatever he is going to do to me, he will, regardless. I should have realized that sooner. “Satisfied?”
“Your brother is dead now,” he states all matter-of-fact.
“No kidding. I thought that was paint on the wall behind him.”
“You have more spirit than he did, that’s for sure. So you’re a Valentine?”
“I’m a Wallace. I might have shared blood with Matteo, but I was never allowed his name.” I wasn’t allowed anything.
“And it means nothing to you, seeing him like this?”
I wish I would feel nothing. He never deserved my love, but the naïve little girl inside me always looked for his approval. I just wanted all of them to accept me, to love me. I know they never did, but that didn’t make them less of my family.
On the plus side, they have taught me to hide my feelings well, so it doesn’t take me a lot to reply without a lick of empathy. “He played with fire. When you play with fire, do you cry when you get burned?”
“Most people would puke their guts out seeing someone like this, not to mention a family member. You know what your reaction tells me? That you are not innocent. You are more of a Valentine than you claim.”
I turn my head away, not wanting him to see my reaction.
“Delilah’s number was in Nash’s phone. He called her quite a bit after your attack.”
