The gun rose, moving teasingly back and forth in front of Vivian’s eyes.
“Once I get rid of you, he’ll stay here. He’ll stay with me.”
Vivian swallowed. “What about John?”
The gun shivered and held for a second. “John?”
“He loves you.”
What could have been some emotion slid over Delilah’s face, only to vanish a breath later. “John’s weak. Quinn saved him, not the other way around. How could I be with a man like that?”
Delilah giggled at something. “He was so angry when I told him that. He threatened to tell Quinn. I couldn’t have him ruining the surprise like that.” Her eyes narrowed. “It proved what I thought. John didn’t love me. Not like Quinn does. And I forgive him for you. For fucking you and acting like he cared. He didn’t. He was waiting for me.”
Delilah’s words descended into crazed babbling. With her hands tied behind her back and legs duct-taped together, Vivian wouldn’t be able to escape without drawing her attention. Even in a struggle, she’d be at a marked disadvantage.
She tried to fumble with the knot binding her wrists together. Her fingers stretched, muscles complaining as she extended each to its maximum length. The end of the rope was still out of reach.
“Ready to die?” Delilah asked.
Vivian’s world narrowed to that dark hole of the pistol’s barrel.
“You were going to start without me?” The crisp question lilted across the room.
Air rushed into Vivian’s lungs with such speed that spots appeared in her vision. Delilah spun, turning the gun from Vivian, and froze, drinking in the sight of Zeke.
He leaned against the doorway into the bedroom, arms crossed in front of his chest, mouth pressed in a tight line. Not a hair was out of place, not a sliver of affection tainted his blue eyes. This wasn’t Zeke, her lover. This was Quinn O’Neill, soldier.
“You’re here?” Delilah breathed. Vivian hated the wonder in the woman’s voice.
Zeke said nothing. The only change was the way his chin lifted a fraction of an inch. Delilah shivered and took a delicate step closer to him.
“You weren’t supposed to kill her without me,” Zeke said.
“I’m sorry,” Delilah said. “I was afraid you’d change your mind about her–”
“Her?” Zeke scoffed, finally looking at Vivian. “As if she could hold my attention.” She knew he was playing a role, distracting Delilah only, but his words still cut.
Delilah loved them. A sharp trill left her and she twirled in the middle of the room, gun spinning with her, coming to rest on Vivian’s form. “I knew it.”
Zeke stepped toward her, holding up his hands when she jerked and trained the gun on him. “Can’t I touch you?” he pleaded. “You’ve been teasing me for months with your letters. How you acted with John at the restaurant. Right now. Let me touch you, Delilah. Please.”
Bile rose when the woman smiled at him and reached out for his hand, wrapping it around her waist and sliding it lower, holding it against the juncture of her thighs. Zeke didn’t flinch, didn’t break. Vivian couldn’t help it though. She hated when tears dropped to her shirt, staining the fabric with dark spots, while Delilah’s laughter filled her apartment.
“Let’s do it together,” Delilah urged, leaning back into Zeke as he wrapped another arm around her shoulders, draping a muscular forearm over her collarbone.
“Whatever you want,” he murmured, nuzzling against her neck.
“This is just like that dream I had,” Delilah said with a smile. “Do you remember the letter I sent about it?”
Delilah may not have noticed Zeke’s stillness, but Vivian did.
“How could I not remember it?” he covered.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Delilah said, lips curved in a sickening smile, eyes faraway. “Only a hero like you could save me.”
She looked up at Zeke, waiting for him to continue the dialogue. When he didn’t, her smile faded, lips trembling.
Only then did he smile back at her, a dark, terrifying twist of his lips. “Fuck you.”