His Tormented Heart: An Island of Ys Novel Page 3

  He ignored her questions just like he had the last time he called. “Play it slow next time. We require access to his phone. You’ll only need it long enough to send a text to this number and click a link we send you, then erase the evidence.”

  His phone.

  She almost laughed. Might have if the situation wasn’t so hopeless. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “You’re a smart girl. You have to be in order to have come so far. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You have a week.”

  “A week? That’s not enough time.”

  “Delilah.” He sighed like she’d disappointed him. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

  Her throat tried to close. “Say what?”

  “If you don’t get us access to his phone, we’ll start in on your baby sister. One piece at a time. I’ll be sure to record it so you don’t miss a single one of her screams.” He sounded bored while he recited the horrific threats. “It’d be a shame if you got her out of that church only to lose her like this, don’t you think? You’re a better sister than that.”

  Of course he knew about the church. Church. More like a compound.

  No, she couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t afford to be distracted. Esther’s safety depended on it. She swallowed hard. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good girl. That’s what I thought you’d say.” He hung up.

  It took every bit of control Delilah had not to throw the cursed phone against the wall. How was she supposed to get access to Pestilence’s phone when simply touching his chest was enough to incite that kind of violent response? She wasn’t some amazing thief who could pick someone’s pocket without them realizing it. All her skills lay in dancing—and surviving the shit the universe saw fit to throw at her.

  She’d survive this, too. Both her and Esther would.

  She looked at her door. If Death was right and Pestilence would come around to apologize … Leverage. His theoretical apology was nothing but leverage. She’d use it just like she used people’s lusts against them to get the jobs she wanted, to make more tips, to smooth out the jagged edges of life. A double-edged sword, but Delilah cut more often than she was cut. She couldn’t ask for more.

  She’d find a way to keep Pestilence close, to keep him coming back around, and then she’d figure out how to deal with his phone. Without getting caught.

  The Island of Ys might deal in sin, but there was truly only one unforgivable offense—disloyalty. If she went through with this, getting fired was the best possible outcome.

  In reality, she was a whole lot more likely to get dead.

  CHAPTER 3

  A fter how things played out during the private dance, the last place Ryu should be was standing outside the door to Delilah’s room. Coming here was inappropriate and, more, it would likely scare her to have him showing up like this after he fucking assaulted her. He ran his fingers through his hair, hating the way the truth tore through him like acid.

  This was a mistake.

  One in a long line of mistakes that centered around Delilah Velásquez.

  He turned to leave just as the door opened, and then there she was, the woman whose presence tormented him even as she brought him peace. She had her hair pulled back, and her face was clear of makeup. That combined with her hoodie and tiny sleep shorts made her look younger, more like a co-ed at some university than the temptress who stalked the stage night after night.

  His gaze fell to the brace around her wrist and his stomach went hollow. He’d done that to her. His lack of control had caused her pain, his demons too strong to deny even now. “I’m sorry.” The words came out hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in years.

  She flinched, and he realized that he sounded furious instead of apologetic. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not.”

  Delilah nibbled at her full bottom lip. “Do you want to come in?” She wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. “No touching, I promise.”

  The attempt at humor only made him feel worse. Going into her room was the wrong call. He’d come to apologize, and apologize he had, even if he’d thrown the words at her like a weapon instead of offering them in good faith. Ryu hated the fear that came off her in waves, but he recognized it for the blessing it was. If Delilah was scared of him, she’d stay the fuck away from him and escape being tainted by all his bullshit.

  “I … Okay.” What the fuck was he doing? He should be going to hunt down Kenzie so they could go a couple rounds in the ring, could spar until his head stopped spinning on his shoulders.

  He sure as hell should not be following Delilah into her room, letting the door swing shut behind him, drinking in the sight of the one place on the island where she’d been allowed to make her mark. To make her home.

  All the staff were housed in quarters tucked near the back of Pleasure, away from the main floor, and all the rooms were more or less identical. He didn’t make a habit of visiting any of them or the people they housed, but Delilah had undeniably put her stamp on this space. The kitchen was sparkling clean with flowers in a vase near the window, a hammock hung from the porch out the sliding glass door, and there was a pile of what appeared to be her various costumes from her routines on her bed as if she’d been in the middle of laundry. It was all so … normal.

  “Drink?” Delilah wandered into the kitchen.

  “No.”

  Her step hitched, but she covered it up with a quick smile that didn’t quite meet her dark eyes. “I hope you don’t mind if I have one.”

  He made her nervous. He scared her, and why not? He was Pestilence, and his reputation preceded him everywhere on this island. More than that, he’d already proven that he was dangerous to her specifically, apology or not. Ryu fought not to clench his fists, knowing damn well that she’d read it as a threat instead of outward manifestation of his frustration at himself. Finally, he said, “A drink would be nice.”

  She veered to the little cabinet next to the fridge and bent to pull it open. He tried not to ogle her ass in those tiny shorts—he really did—but the thin fabric rode up, baring the lower curves, and he had to fight back a curse. How could she be even sexier in these lounge clothes than she was in next to nothing? It didn’t make any fucking sense.

  Delilah pulled out a bottle of tequila with her injured hand and winced. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Ryu moved before he could think better of it. He stepped into the kitchen and gently pulled the bottle out of her hand. “You’re a lefty.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” She took a small step back. “How’d you know?”

  “You’re hurt and you’re still reaching for stuff with that hand instinctively.” It was only then that he realized exactly how close they were. Not touching—Ryu would have noticed that—but a few scant inches separated them. Something was off, though … He frowned down at her. “You’re short.”

  Delilah blinked. “I’m exactly the right height.”

  Hell. He couldn’t seem to help fucking up whenever it came to this woman. He watched her careful retreat and kicked himself for sounding so accusing. She was short, but then he’d never seen her without the sky-high heels on. In this moment, she was so incredibly human. So normal. It should have lessened the siren’s pull she had on him.

  But standing here in her kitchen, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing how her hair smelled like coconut and that she’d painted her toenails a bright teal color. That she worried her bottom lip when she didn’t know what to say. Tiny details that drew him in despite himself.

  Everything about this woman drew him in despite himself.

  She reached for the bottle, but he moved it out of her reach. “Sit.”

  There it was, a flash of temper in those dark eyes. So vastly preferred to her fear. “You’re in my home.”

  “In the strictest sense of the definition, the entire Island of Ys is my home, which means I have precedent.”

  She opened her mouth, and seemed to remember who she was talking
to. Ryu hated the way she wilted a little and gave a shaky nod. “Glasses are in the corner cabinet.” She shifted back one step and then another, and then moved around the kitchen peninsula to sit on one of the barstools.

  She was afraid of him.

  Ryu could kick himself for being an idiot. Even without the Horsemen factor, he was a man who’d hurt her and then showed up at her home and started bossing her around. She had absolutely no assurance that he wouldn’t hurt her again, and so she attempted to handle him. It might have pissed him off if the whole situation didn’t make him feel so fucking sick. He didn’t hurt people. Well, he didn’t hurt people who didn’t deserve it.

  He pulled down two glasses and splashed a healthy dose of tequila into each. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but it’d do in a pinch. He slid one glass to her. “You have no reason to believe this, but I truly am sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “I shouldn’t have touched you.” She reached for the glass with her injured hand and seemed to remember herself at last moment. “It’s against the rules.”

  And the Horsemen were known for punishing those who broke the rules on the island. Ryu clenched his jaw to keep his curses inside. They wouldn’t do anything but undermine the point he was trying to prove. It might be better to let her believe that it was punishment. Anything else required an explanation, and explaining themselves to outsiders went against everything he and his siblings had done to create their reputations. “I—”

  She blinked those big dark eyes at him. “Did you know my father is a preacher?”

  The sheer suddenness of the subject change rocked him back on his heels. “No,” he said slowly.

  He’d done thorough background checks on Delilah and the only other person she had active connection with: her little sister, Esther. He knew they were born in Texas, knew that Delilah had acted as Esther’s guardian since she was eighteen. There’d been no evidence of family in the last eight years, so he hadn’t bothered to go back further. Not for an exotic dancer who didn’t need particularly high clearance within the island’s operations.

  “Well, he says preacher. Really, it’s got more of a cult feel.” She spoke in a sort of rambling tone as if telling a vaguely boring story, as if Ryu wasn’t holding his breath as he soaked up this new information about her. “Daddy had strong opinions about women—especially pretty women. Liked to beat the shit out of me in the name of religion when the mood hit him or he needed to make an example.” She held up a hand. “This isn’t a call for sympathy or anything. I’m just saying … I’ve seen some really bad stuff, and what happened in the private room doesn’t even make the top twenty. It’s fine. We’re good. Absolutely no reason to dig into it.”

  He had absolutely no right to feel a bond over their shared trauma, especially since he had no intention of telling her the sordid details of what he’d gone through as a child. Instead, he said, “You survived him, and now you dance.”

  “Now I dance.” She smiled, a satisfied curling of her lips that sent a bolt of heat right through him. “It started off as sheer survival with a little rebellion thrown in. I escaped him when I was eighteen, and I was sorely unqualified to do most things. But I was always good at dancing.”

  Did she realize the gift she gave him with this truth? Sharing the past so freely, sharing her pain so freely …

  It wasn’t done. He barely knew how to handle it. Ryu leaned back against the counter. “You’re one of the best.”

  “Yes. I am.” She toyed with her mostly empty glass as if weighing her words. “You’ve watched me every night for the last few weeks. You came into the club periodically before then, but it’s been nightly lately.”

  There wasn’t a question in there. She seemed to do that a lot when she was nervous, speaking in leading sentences that didn’t quite cross the line into actual query. Ryu took his tequila as a shot, closing his eyes as it burned its way down his throat. “I like watching.” He meant to say, I like watching you dance, but somewhere along the way, the truth slipped free.

  He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. It was purely Delilah. Something about her blurred his edges in a way he couldn’t get enough of. He thought it was the dancing, but even standing here in her presence was accomplishing the same thing.

  He didn’t want to leave.

  He opened his eyes and spoke before he could think better of it. “Will you let me make this up to you?”

  “There’s nothing to make up.” She gave him a surprisingly sweet smile. Like all the others, it didn’t quite warm her eyes. “It’s forgiven.”

  Clearly, it wasn’t or she wouldn’t be lying to him right now. Ryu had no right to demand her forgiveness, but … maybe he could earn it. He set his glass in her sink. “All the same, I’d feel better if you’d let me make amends.”

  She hesitated, clearly torn. For someone who essentially acted for a living, Delilah was shit at concealing her expressions. Every thought was written across her face, there for anyone who bothered to look. It was … refreshing. Finally, she nodded. “If that’s what you want, Pestilence.”

  Pestilence.

  Another reminder of his past, of the distance between them that neither could ever really cross. “Ryu. My name is Ryu.” Now it was his turn to hesitate. “Don’t use it in public, though.”

  “I won’t.” Another of those lying sweet smiles. “I promise.”

  He nodded, doing his damnedest not to think too hard about what his siblings would say about this turn of events. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow I start making it up to you.” The words came out like a snapped command instead of a request, but he didn’t know how to shift them. It was too late, anyways. What was it about this woman that made him stick his foot in his mouth again and again? He didn’t know. Spending more time with her could only be considered a mistake, but Ryu didn’t give a fuck. He walked out her door and closed it softly behind him before he headed slowly back to the hub.

  When they bought the island and started construction on the two casinos, Pleasure and Pain, they decided early on that Pleasure would be their main hub of operations. The rooms and halls had been built in an intentional warren, hiding passageways for staff to move about unseen. And even more passageways for the Horsemen alone. In the center of the building was their hub. The place where they lived and worked without having to worry about dealing with anyone but each other. Of the four of them, Ryu spent most time there. Under normal circumstances, he preferred dealing with computers to dealing with people.

  Until now.

  He half expected to find Amarante ready to pounce the second he walked through the door, but she wasn’t the one waiting for him. No, it was Kenzie standing in front of the wall of monitors showing the various parts of Pleasure. Her mass of blond hair was pulled back from her face and she wore gym clothes—shorts and a sports bra. There were bruises lining her hips in the shape of fingerprints and he tried his damnedest not to think about his sister fucking her new … whatever Liam was. Boyfriend seemed so pedestrian, especially when the man had all but staked his claim on Kenzie the second he arrived on the island.

  Especially when Liam had thrown his lot in with the Horsemen so fully.

  Ryu didn’t need to look closer to know Kenzie studied the camera angled on the hallway where Delilah’s room was located. She turned and propped her hands on her hips. “You break one of our dancers, and I’m the last to know about it?”

  “I didn’t break her.” He also didn’t want to think too hard about the brace on her wrist and the fact that he was the reason behind it. Ryu didn’t lose control. It was the very definition of who he was. He handled himself in any situation that arose and, if there was any question about things spiraling beyond his reach, he avoided the situation. In fifteen years since they escaped their version of hell on earth, he’d never hurt someone—not unless he planned on it.

  He’d also never let anyone get close to him the way Delilah did when
she danced. He hadn’t wanted to.

  Kenzie frowned up at him, her hazel eyes concerned. “I figured you’d need some ring time.”

  A few rounds with his sister in the ring might just be enough to burn off the worst of the feeling churning in his gut. Easier to focus on the harm he’d delivered to Delilah than on the bigger issue at hand.

  The father who sold him to Camp Bueller, along with more children than Ryu could handle thinking about. Not just him and Amarante, his own flesh and blood, but hundreds of others. Including Luca and Kenzie.

  Ryu looked at his desk, at the trio of monitors set up there for his work. He had all the evidence anyone could ever need to prove that Fai Zhao was the man behind the curtain. Their very own bogeyman, and he’d been closer than any of them could have dreamed.

  Kenzie sighed. “Yeah, thought so. Get changed and let’s go.”

  For once, he didn’t argue. Time and time again, Ryu had been the one offering the support Kenzie needed when the past rode her too hard. Violence was a part of his life, but he didn’t crave it the same way she did.

  Until now.

  Thirty minutes later, they met in the boxing ring. Kenzie bounced a little. “You going to tell me about this woman?”

  “No.” He jabbed, testing her.

  She danced easily out of the way. “I’m really hurt that I had to hear about her from Luca. He’s barely out of the hospital bed and he’s already got better gossip than I do. It’s ridiculous.” Kenzie kicked him in the thigh hard enough to stagger him.

  “It’s no one’s business.” He didn’t really believe that, though. Anything that went down on the island was Horsemen business. More than that, anything that went down with the Horsemen was family business. And family business never stayed buried for long.

  “Really? Because you had a whole hell of a lot to say about Liam a month ago.”

  “It’s different.” He faked a right hook and knocked her back with his left hand. “I’m not being chased down by an Irish mobster intent on— …” He caught Kenzie’s ankle as she tried to kick him in the balls. “Low blow.”