Page 34 of Edging Sanity

Delilah, unsurprisingly, claimed she had no knowledge of anyone dying—though she did look entirely too happy to be given this information. She didn’t hold back when Rowan mentioned it, peppering her with questions about what he looked like, if she saw him die, if she killed him.

Rowan had only glared at Delilah. Of course she hadn’t, and Delilah knew that. But Delilah also knew that Rowan had killed before. She admitted as much to her back in her office. Rowan couldn’t bring herself to regret that though. It only brought them closer. It gave them something they both wanted. She swallowed, everything suddenly too hot as she remembered the feeling of Delilah around her.

Thankfully, Bronwin had accepted Delilah’s vague answers about what she wanted from investigating Rowan’s office. Rowan had been tense as hell while Delilah waved off that interrogation, giving nothing away. At that moment she knew they both wanted to keep each other. For now, at least.

Delilah’s voice drifted through her fantasies, describing—reliving—one of her kills as Bronwin tried to dissect her thoughts. Rowan leaned back against the cool office wall, hoping to quell the flush she worried was creeping onto her face. She tried to focus on the conversation happening around her, to listen to Bronwin poke and prod, trying to get Delilah to open up further under the guise of helping her.

Something was wrong with Rowan. She’d known it for a while, but it was being reinforced now as Delilah talked about killing, about mutilating her victims. The words were said with such a reverent, almost sensual, tone that it made Rowan squirm. She knew Delilah liked knives, and had used them for every single kill she’d made, but the way Delilah was talking about carving into flesh, the scent of iron swimming through the air as her victims screamed…

It made Rowan want to lose herself to that precisely controlled blade. She wanted to see Delilah wielding that power with her own eyes.

“Well, Delilah,” Bronwin said, breaking Rowan’s trance of delusion. Bronwin glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “I really appreciate how well you’ve opened up today. Where would you like to go for your outing?”

“Been a while since I’ve gotten to feel fresh air.” Delilah stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.

Bronwin gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid that is not possible at this facility.”

“That actually could be possible,” Rowan interjected. She hadn’t remembered it earlier, when they told Delilah she couldn’t go outside, but she’d run into one of the guards earlier. They stank of cigarettes, which reminded her of the smoking cove just outside.

“There’s an area where some of the techs and guards go to smoke. It’s away from the patients, outside, enclosed. I think it would be fine.”

She ran through her vague memory of the tiny patch of land. There were stone walls on all sides, surrounding it and hiding it from the outside world. It was out back with one way in and one way out. She assumed it had been built specifically as a smoking area away from patients, but she didn’t know the history of the facility—just that it existed.

Bronwin was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, so Rowan cleared her throat and continued. “We’ll have to clear it, obviously. It’s not large, but we could place guards at the door inside to block anyone from coming out while we’re there.”

“You’re sure it’s secure?” Bronwin asked, darting a gaze to Delilah, who was sitting patiently, waiting for the two to come to a decision.

The cobbled stone walls would, in theory, be scalable since it wasn’t meant to be a secure area, but Rowan knew Delilah wouldn’t try to get away. The only reason Delilah was even vying for these little outings was to get Rowan alone.

She nodded. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just have someone secure the area now, make sure it’s empty, and we can go.”

Rowan didn’t give Bronwin a chance to reply before she issued the order through her radio, forcing everyone to vacate the area. It took less than ten minutes to get Delilah alone at last. She closed the thick door blocking them away from the rest of the people inside the building. The quiet sound of birdsong and the rustle of wind through nearby tree branches was the only thing surrounding them now.

The sun was warm against the cool autumn air, and Rowan watched, transfixed, as Delilah tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the brief taste of freedom. Delilah’s chest rose with a deep inhalation. Rowan leaned back against the door, allowing Delilah the reprieve.

A smooth breeze picked up, wafting Delilah’s fiery hair around her in a way that gave her an almost ethereal look, her skin shining in the sun. Rowan would give Delilah as much time as she needed, despite the overwhelming desire to back her against that cobbled wall and feel her again.

When Delilah’s eyes finally opened again, they instantly pinned Rowan in place with the intensity of her gaze.

“How many people have you killed?” Delilah asked.

Rowan didn’t answer. Not because she was being obstinate, but because she genuinely didn’t know. Her military record had logged some of them, but she didn’t trust that the number was accurate. It wasn’t something she kept track of. But, Delilah would never understand that. Because Delilah relished her kills, she craved them, cherished them, tracked them. Rowan lived through two tours in a kill-or-be-killed situation—even though she was only supposed to be in intelligence.

“How many have you?” Rowan countered, refusing to let her mind go back there, not when she had Delilah right where she wanted her.

Delilah’s lips twitched in amusement. She slowly walked backward until she hit the very wall Rowan had fantasized having her up against only moments ago. Hypnotized, Rowan followed her, stopping just short.

“Do you always strangle them?” Delilah asked, clearly remembering—and understanding—Rowan’s unspoken admission in her office. “I’d have thought they’d met the wrong end of your bullet.”

That wasn’t the same though. The people she’d killed in the line of duty, they were different—leagues different—than the memory she’d relived for Delilah only days ago.

“Two,” Rowan admitted quietly, holding Delilah’s gaze. “There were two that I didn’t shoot.”

“Someone in your unit,” Delilah guessed, still none the wiser about Rowan’s true first kill.

“He deserved it,” Rowan said, choosing to keep Darcy’s revenge for herself. For now, at least.

“Don’t they all?”