Someone.
Remember?
Remember what happened to you and Delilah in the park? Remember what Hyland’s men did to you—to her?
All of a sudden, he did remember—the intensity of those memories splashing over him like freezing water.
Oh God, Hyland had done this! He had launched an attack on them in the park, pounding Dalton to within an inch of his life and taking Delilah. Dalton’s lips parted while that awful reality dawned.
They had taken Delilah!
Dalton had a terrible memory of the moment she’d disappeared from his sight, flung over the shoulder of some brute like a tiny rag doll, and all he could do was remain where he was, sprawled on the cold earth as boot after fist hammered into his flesh and bones. All he could do was watch Delilah vanish from his life.
A surge of frustrated fear rose in Dalton, the emotion painful as it climbed to his throat.
“Delilah!”
He screamed her name—at least, he hoped he had. Dalton had definitely called out something. He felt the way Connor’s grip on his hand tightened as his brother shifted, the frantic anxieties of Connor’s mind colliding with his own in Dalton’s head.
“Get somebody in here!” Connor barked the order, though Dalton had no idea who he was talking to. “I don’t care if the doctor is with another patient. I want somebody in here now!”
The alarm in Connor’s voice didn’t matter, though. Neither did the sharp pain that tried to take his breath away with each decent inhalation. All that mattered was Delilah—where she was, what was happening to her? Was she okay? But how could she be alright? If Hyland had taken her, God knew what would be happening to her at this very moment.
And it was all Dalton’s fault.
He was the one who agreed to the walk in the park.
He had been the one who’d allowed them to linger long after it was dark.
Dalton recalled it all now, and his actions had been stupid, reckless—irresponsible.
And they’d cost him Delilah.
Delle. He sent the plaintive thought to her, praying to the God his mother had insisted was always listening was actually—finally—paying attention. Delle, it’s me, Dalton. I’m okay. I mean, I’m alive, and I hope to anything holy that you are too, baby. Hang in there, Delle. I love you.
Chapter Two
Delilah Bellamy
Hours had passed in blackness. Sometimes there was light—the crude, manmade type that hurt your eyes—and at other times, darkness reigned, but it was all the same to Delilah. Hours bled into the next—hours of isolation, confinement. Maybe it had already been days since Delilah had been drugged and taken from Dalton. From the confines of the crappy little prison, Zander Hyland had constructed for her, it was impossible to tell. What Delilah did know was hope was slipping, and with each passing moment, it was harder and harder to imagine her way out of this.
There certainly seemed to be no talking her way out of it.
Time protracted, punctuated only by the comings and goings in Hyland’s office, most unrelated to her current predicament. He hosted meetings with morons, some who she recognized, and many who seemed to know her. Sure, Hyland had taken the opportunity to humiliate Delilah whenever he could—introducing the newest addition to his office as the caged whore, who’d been a thorn in his side for too long, but on the whole, he’d ignored her. The same couldn’t be said for the salivating hordes of men he entertained, many who virtually begged Hyland to let Delilah out of the cage and play with them. She recalled the terror that had risen to her throat at the insinuations, threatening to cut off her air supply altogether. Even though she loathed being trapped in Hyland’s fucking cage, Delilah had been grateful for the metal bars.
“Not now,” Hyland told them all. “I still haven’t decided what to do with her.”
“I know what I would do with her.” One guy leered as he gazed at her from his chair. “A body like that needs pounding, Hyland. How can you resist?”
“Not my type.” Hyland had dismissed the idea with a cursory gesture.
“Then why not share her?” demanded the other guy.
“Maybe I will,” Hyland had snapped, “but when I’m Goddamn ready. Now, let’s get our heads back in the meeting, shall we, Craig?”
The moron, Craig, had withered under his boss’ admonishment, but it hadn’t been enough to reassure Delilah. Why would it? After all, she was the one virtually naked in the cage, the one caught in Hyland’s trap.
“You’re quiet, whore.”
Delilah’s attention shifted to the looming presence of Hyland, his usual charming way of referring to Delilah, drawing her from the memories of the odious Craig.
“I thought that’s how you wanted me?”
She sighed, trying desperately to stretch out her legs, to little avail. The cage just wasn’t big enough to sprawl out, and in all the hours she’d been here, Hyland had only allowed her out a few times to eat or use the bathroom. Even then, he’d kept her on a tight leash, reveling in her utter denigration as he imposed his will.
Just like he always did.
Delilah’s insides furled at the thought.
She hated men like Hyland. They were the cause of all the rot in her life. Men with power and no moral compass were always the same—at least they had been until Dalton.
Dalton.
The thought of the man she loved bloomed fresh dread in Delilah’s body.
Where was he? Was he okay?
Hyland had told her he’d been left for dead, and that idea had burgeoned hope in Delilah’s head. Perhaps he’d been able to get help? Maybe a passing dog walker had found him and got him to the hospital? It was possible. But hope was a dangerous thing for a woman in Delilah’s position to hold on to. She only had Hyland’s word for Dalton’s status, and she knew better than to trust low life like Zander Hyland. For all Delilah knew, Dalton was dead already, his light snubbed out by the sickening thuds she’d heard in the park as they carried her away. Even though that thought tore at her insides, making Delilah want to curl up and die, she wouldn’t do that.
She couldn’t.
Delilah didn’t know how to give up.
She’d been fighting her whole fucking life, and when push came to shove, she knew she’d be fighting until the very end, even if that end was against the wall of Zander Hyland’s office wall.
“On the whole, yes, it is,” Hyland concurred as he wandered toward the cage where she was hunched. “But my work is pretty much concluded for the day, so now my thoughts have turned to play.”
Not for the first time since she’d woken up in Hyland’s metal prison, Delilah’s insides tightened at the implied threat of his words.
“Run along then,” she sniped. “Don’t let me keep you from your hot date.”
Hyland chortled at her quip, his smile revealing a row of predatory looking teeth. “You know what, whore?”
She rolled her eyes at his insult. There was little choice but to accept it, but Delilah sure as hell wasn’t going to forget it. Every time Hyland called her that, she reminded herself what she would like to do to the fucker, and in her head, she played out the scene.
“No, what?”
“I’m getting used to having you around, and I’ve gotta say, I almost like it. I’ve never been one for pets, but you’re proving to be pretty decent company.”
Pets.
Dread ricocheted through Delilah’s body.
The sick prick had just compared her to a bloody animal, but worse was the contrast that rang in her head.
Dalton’s brother, Connor, had referred to Molly as a pet, yet that had seemed so hot. All of a sudden, Delilah could barely take a breath.
Was that what she was now—what she had become? A thing to cage and entertain?
A pet?
“I’m so pleased I’m proving to be so entertaining, Zander.” Delilah glanced up to his narrowing gaze. She knew he despised it when she referred to him by his first name. Which was, of course, precisely w
hy she did so.
“There is still the question of what to do with you, though.” His tone had hardened, “Fun though it is to have you here, you’re rather cramping my style when it comes to hosting the ladies.”
“Oh, I do apologize.” Delilah’s reply was wry. “Should I avert my eyes?”
Hyland shook his head. “Actually, I was thinking of putting you to work, whore. If you’re going to be here, using my heat and light and eating my food, the least you can do is pay your way.”
Her body straightened as much as the infernal cage would allow.
“No fucking way!” she snapped. “I’m not doing that. I’ve already told you.”
Hyland’s lips curled. “And I’ve told you there’s no choice, whore. You’re here, you’re mine, and you’ll do as you’re bloody well told.”
Delilah lowered her gaze, her hands balling into fists. Hyland had removed the cuffs for most of the time she’d been inside the cage today, and she lurched forward, grasping at the bars.
“You can’t do this,” she hissed. “Dalton will come for me.”
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Hell, she hadn’t intended to speak at all, but the rising fire in her belly had been impossible to resist.
Hyland snorted, shaking his head while he moved away. He sauntered toward the decanter of bourbon he regularly liked to drain.
“Dalton fucking Reilly?” he said with a laugh. “He ain’t going to come for you, whore. No one is coming for you! You’re trash, just like your mother. I should have kept her in a fucking cage, too. That way, she might have lasted a bit longer and made me some more money.”
“You bastard!” Delilah crashed her fists against the metal, processing the hurt as it ricocheted up the length of both arms. “Don’t you talk about my mum that way. Don’t you bloody dare.”
“Oh, I dare whore.” Hyland turned, sinking the remnants of the shot he’d been nursing by the decanter. “I dare just fine, and you had better get used to it.” He slammed the tumbler down against the wooden drinks cabinet and stalked in the direction of the cage.
“I’m going out for some pussy, and while I’m gone, you can be fucking quiet.”
Delilah panted as Hyland paced toward the door to this office. He reached for his jacket, sliding his long arms into the sleeves before he glanced back in her direction again. Locked inside the cage, there was nothing Delilah could do to stop him, no way she could reach out, nowhere she could go. In the end, she did what she always did when the odds were stacked against her. What she’d always do—she allowed her smart mouth to take control.
“Fuck you, Zander.” She fired the words in his direction with enough venom to take down the average man. “You go and get your kicks but know this. I’ll never be a whore for you. Not now, and not-fucking-ever.”
“Get some rest, whore,” Hyland smirked, the expression on his face turning the knot of frustration in her belly. “You have a busy day tomorrow.”
He flicked the light switch, casting the office into virtual darkness before he opened the door and strode out. Delilah smashed her fist into the floor of the cage as she heard the key turning in the lock. Then she was alone, left secured inside, and thrust back into black.
The tears came then.
The ones Delilah had held in during the hours Hyland was there. The ones she would never, ever permit him to see. That arsehole might control just about every facet of her life, but he didn’t own her soul, and he couldn’t be in charge of the way she felt. Delilah clung to that thought while the hot water slid from her lids. It was about the only comfort she had left. She sighed, her breath coming out in a long shudder.
If only she had Dalton.
Dalton had been a man Delilah could rely on—the first and only one she’d ever met—but now, he was gone, maybe dead, but even if he was alive, he’d be in no fit state to play the hero this time. Delilah had seen the mess Hyland’s men had made of her lover. If he’d been fortunate enough to have survived that onslaught, he’d need serious medical care. She squeezed her eyes closed as another round of frustration crashed over her.
Delilah had done this. It was all her fault.
She was the one who’d insisted they go for the damn walk in the first place. Why couldn’t she just be content with what they’d had—with what they’d found in one another? But then, Delilah was never content, was she? That was the legacy her mother had left for her daughter, the sense that nothing was ever enough, nothing was ever going to be good enough, and deep in her soul, Delilah knew the reasons why.
Delilah didn’t deserve anything good.
She wasn’t worthy of it.
Delilah would never admit it, but Hyland was right. Hell, Jacob had been right all those years, too. Delilah was just like her mother—she was a whore. That was what she was good at. That was what she was good for, and as that notion reverberated around her head, the further idea emerged—that was all she was good for.
Delilah tipped her head back, resting it against the cold metal behind her.
If her logic was correct—if this was everything she was worthy of—perhaps Delilah should just go with it? She should just forget all about Dalton and surrender to the things Hyland wanted. Maybe if she cooperated, he’d let her out of the damn cage. Maybe she could escape? Although where a woman with Delilah’s reputation could run to was anyone’s guess. There was no one in the world that would want her with her track record.
Only a soul as good as Dalton’s would even have considered it.
Delle.
Delilah inhaled as the sound of Dalton’s voice appeared in her head.
“Dalton?” She whispered his name into the darkness, instantly shaking her head at how ludicrous that was. Dalton wasn’t here, for God’s sake.
She didn’t even know if Dalton was alive.
Delle, it’s me, Dalton.
She gulped at that, certain this time, she had definitely heard his timbre in her mind.
I’m okay. I mean, I’m alive. And I hope to anything holy that you are too, baby. Hang in there, Delle. I love you.
Oh God.
Delilah’s eyes fluttered closed, sending more tears south. Why was she hearing Dalton’s voice in her head? Had she finally lost the plot completely, and this a symptom of her insanity? She smiled at that concept, and there was an odd reassurance in it. If this new hell was to be her existence, hearing Dalton’s voice in her head could offer just enough reassurance and distraction to get her through.
To cope.
To survive.
That’s what Dalton would have wanted. He’d have wanted her to survive.
I love you, too, Dalton. Delilah sent the thought while she sniffled back the tears. I know I didn’t get the chance to tell you, and God, I wish I could change that now, but for what it’s worth, I love you, too.
Chapter Three
Dalton
“Dalton?”
He blinked his eyes open at the soft tone, his gaze fixing upon Molly’s concerned face. Her blue eyes lit up when their eyes connected, her lips widening into a huge grin.
“Oh, Dalton. Thank God!”
“Molly?” Dalton’s hand rose to his throat at the sound of his voice. It was so raspy, so weak, Dalton scarcely recognized it, and it felt like sandpaper.
“It’s okay,” she soothed, reaching for his free hand. “They just took the tube out, remember? It’s going to take a while for things to feel normal again.”
Tube? He considered Molly’s explanation as the horrible memories of the intubation recurred in his mind again. Somehow, he’d been able to delude himself, it had all been one bad dream, but reality was convincing him otherwise.
“How long have I been here?”
Dalton’s head was foggy, with the images competing for space. There were vivid recollections of times in the hospital—bursts of pain and discomfort—mingling with the low-lying anxiety he hadn’t been able to shift from his chest since Delilah’s plight had been revealed.
Molly cl
asped his hand. “Don’t try to talk, Dalton,” she said with a small smile. “The doctor said it would be a while before the strength in your voice came back and—”
“How long?” His demand echoed around the white walls of the hospital room, and Molly’s mouth fell open.
Evidently, this wasn’t a side of Dalton she was usually exposed to, and he was sorry and all that, but this was important. Dalton had to get his bearings. He had to figure out how long he’d been stuck in here, and how the hell he was going to help Delilah.
“A week, maybe.” Molly’s reply was quiet. “Everyone says what a remarkable recovery you’re making, Dalton. It’s like you’re possessed or something. They’ve never seen anything like it before.”
He pulled in a shaky breath, choosing to ignore the obvious ache in his ribs as he glanced away.
A week.
He had been here for a week?
Dalton’s insides clenched at that dark reality. A week in this hospital bed meant a week of an awful reality for Delilah. Fuck, he hoped she was okay.
“I’m sorry, Molly.” He turned his head back toward her, catching sight of the various lines running drugs into his veins. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
Whatever the hell had happened to Delilah, it sure as hell wasn’t Molly’s fault, and despite the pain swimming in Dalton’s head, he regretted the way he’d spoken to her.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Her expression softened. “I know you’re worried about Delilah. We all are. I-I understand.” Molly fluttered her lashes at him as she leaned closer. “They haven’t given up on her, you know. Saul and the others, they’ve been looking for her.”
Dalton closed his eyes. You didn’t have to be a detective to work out where Hyland would have taken Delilah. She’d be holed up with him somewhere in the fortress he liked to call home—assuming she was still alive.
That last thought robbed him of his breath, and Dalton’s brow furrowed.
“Where’s Connor?”
“Connor will be back in a moment,” she promised. “He just went to take a call from Saul. They get funny about using cell phones in here.” Molly glanced around guiltily as she made the admission, and just for a second, Dalton had wanted to smile.
Tested: The Dark Necessities—Dalton's Tale #3 Page 2