Page 39 of Edging Sanity

Riley sighed dramatically, the smile on her face betraying the false regret in her voice. “Hate to tell you she’s moved on, but…”

She didn’t get to finish whatever bullshit trailed-off sentence she was going for. Before Rowan had registered what she was doing, the anger consumed her. The alcohol clouded her judgement, her awareness, as she snapped. Her hands closed around Riley’s throat. Her vision tunneled, focused only on the now sputtering woman, whose face had lost all sense of humor.

Riley clawed at Rowan’s arms, but the alcohol numbed that pain and Rowan barely noticed. Riley’s struggling was growing weaker, her last-ditch attempt at saving herself resulted in pathetic raspy, whispered words. “Delilah will never forgive you for this.”

Only a few seconds later did the words hit through the haze, the realization of what she was doing. Someone grasped Rowan’s arms, tugging her off. She released Riley, who slid down the wall, coughing and holding her neck. Around them was pure chaos as patrons rushed in to help, almost too late. Bodies were shoving against each other, the crowd growing and pulsating around them quickly enough that Rowan wondered where they had been before the cop stepped in. She looked down at Riley, regret swiftly washing over her.

Until Riley looked back up and met her gaze with a smug smile. Rowan glared at her as her hands were pulled sharply behind her back, metal cuffs slung around her wrists, and a voice she didn’t recognize was stating her arrest.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

Less than two months later, Rowan found herself in her new, semi-permanent home. She had to give it to Riley, she worked fast. Rowan wouldn’t have thought it possible to be stuck with attempted murder charges in such a short period of time. Apparently, with so many witnesses and all the evidence against her, it was a fairly quick process. She didn’t stand a chance.

Rowan had been on her bed all morning, hadn’t bothered to get up, and no one had bothered to get her up. It had been a week since she’d been in this hell. No news: nothing from Riley, nothing from Delilah.

Her blood boiled when she thought of Riley, of the venom in her smile as she accused Rowan of all sorts of bullshit in that courtroom. She’d thought about her own defense, how weak it had been, how the lawyer assigned to her had barely even done their job.

Most of all, she thought of the last words she heard from Riley, uttered in a bustling hallway in passing after the judge sentenced her. She’s not done with you.

There could have been an easier way to get them together. Rowan almost wished she’d killed Riley, especially since it had been an entire fucking week and she hadn’t heard even a whisper of Delilah’s presence.

Her sister had been by to visit, though Rowan hadn’t dared ask about Delilah—not that she thought Em would know anything. Her sister had been beside herself with worry through the whole ordeal, the trial, the sentencing. Guilt had gnawed at Rowan to see her so broken up, to see Em watching Rowan at her lowest, the worst version of herself.

Just as the fleeting notion came to mind that Rowan should write to her—she hadn’t gotten computer privileges yet—the cell door groaned open and light footsteps entered. Rowan didn’t bother moving, she didn’t even open her eyes. She didn’t have any friends in this place, but neither did she have enemies. Must be the new cellmate she’d been threatened with.

Her visitor didn’t speak, and Rowan listened with increasing irritation as the footsteps padded closer. She finally peeled her eyes open when the shadow loomed directly over her, blocking out the shit cell light overhead. Her glare was met with achingly familiar green eyes. A smug look was already painted across that perfect face.

The knife in Delilah’s hand glinted, catching Rowan’s attention before shooting back up to meet Delilah’s stare. Rowan licked her lips, adrenaline flooding her veins as heat traversed her spine and settled right in her center. An aching desire filled her within seconds.

She didn’t bother asking how Delilah had gotten the knife smuggled in here; she knew by now not to question her.

Rowan tracked Delilah’s movements, staying so still she was almost holding her breath, as Delilah joined her on the bed, straddling her lap. Automatically, Rowan moved to steady her, to feel the heat of Delilah’s skin underneath her palms again. But she was stopped by a single, quiet, “Don’t.”

Rowan froze. Her hands had barely unclasped from behind her head, her abs tensed from lifting to release them. She watched Delilah cautiously, relaxing back into the thin mattress, the knife on full display. The smooth, polished wood handle and bright, clean blade looked good between Delilah’s fingers. Like it was made for her.

Without speaking, Delilah slowly brought the sharpened tip of the knife to the divot at the base of Rowan’s throat.

“Do you trust me?” she asked in a low whisper, her eyes flashing with delight.

“No,” Rowan answered simply, watching Delilah’s smile widen. She was aching for her touch, aching for that knife to know her body, to draw her blood, to let Delilah bathe in it.

Delilah pressed the tip in, digging it into Rowan’s throat until her skin split beneath the sharp ire of the blade. Hot blood welled up and Delilah drew the knife down Rowan’s sternum, pausing only when Rowan’s shirt prevented further travel. The cut wasn’t deep, but it still burned pleasantly.

Pressure increased as Delilah tried to cut her shirt open, seeking to bloody Rowan’s chest and stomach too. With a thin snap, she succeeded. The shitty fabric of the prison garb gave way as the threads eagerly undid themselves, tearing apart at the knife’s behest.

The burning continued, blood trickling from the wound as Rowan’s heart beat furiously in her chest, her eyes still locked on Delilah’s face as she carved further and further until Rowan’s shirt was cut clean in half. Delilah removed the knife from Rowan’s skin, pushing the sides of her shirt open, bearing Rowan’s naked chest to her for the first time.

Cold air tightened her nipples and goosebumps pimpled her skin despite the heat surging through her body. Delilah sat back, admiring the view, the blood staining Rowan’s chest.

Anticipation weaved between them: Rowan waiting for Delilah’s next move as the knife remained delicately held aloft, Delilah lording the power she’d always wielded over her.

“Delilah,” Rowan pleaded, her voice thin, weak, as the need choked her throat. She hadn’t thought they would ever have this again.

She hadn’t needed to beg as much as she’d anticipated, because no sooner had the word left Rowan’s lips than Delilah slammed the knife into the mattress, dangerously close to Rowan’s head, and licked the blood at her throat. Rowan groaned, struggling to keep her arms where they rested behind her head, closing her eyes and bucking her hips just once.

Delilah’s soft laugh reverberated through her sternum as teeth scraped against her clavicle. The rough fabric of Delilah’s shirt stung against Rowan’s fresh cut as they pressed together. Her mind was already growing hazy with lust, singularly focused on Delilah’s weight on top of her, of that soothing tongue gliding across the burning wound. Rowan rocked her hips against Delilah again, pleading silently for more.