Page 21 of Devious Roses
The fact that she’s decided to keep this latest nightmare from me is what concerns me most. Not that she had the nightmare in the first place. Why would she think she needs to hide it?
I help her prep our room, dimming lights, summoning the cats, dialing up the heat. I’m really waiting for the right moment to prompt conversation. Probe ’til I figure out what’s going on.
“How’d that new client take the news?”
“Sasha? She wasn’t happy.”
“She’ll adjust. It’s what’s best for everybody.”
Especially you.
Delphine sits down on her side of the bed. “I ran into her today when I went to group therapy.”
“You see the same therapist?”
“It’s not that surprising, I guess. It’s what Keeney specializes in,” she says in a tone weighted by fatigue. “It’s a sexual assault and abuse victim’s group. But I didn’t want Sasha there. Something about it… bothered me.”
I come around the corner of the bed to sit next to her. “You think it’s because she was your client or because the two of you have so much in common?”
“It felt as if… two different worlds colliding. My professional life and…that.”
“You’ve helped those kinds of clients before.”
“This is different. Her family background is a lot like mine. The difference being that her grandfather never protected her the way my father did. So she wound up at the Mill. She seems to think it bonds us in some way.”
I reach into Delphine’s lap and tuck her hand within mine. “And do you agree? You feel it bonds you?”
Her brows knit. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I want to help her, but it’s uncomfortable being around her at the same time. I got off easy. I was for sale and then I was able to kill the man who bought me. I didn’t really suffer.”
“Says who?” I challenge. “Just because you got away doesn’t mean what happened wasn’t traumatizing. From what you’ve told me… it was close enough. Closer than what ever should’ve happened. That I should’ve let happen.”
“Jon, you couldn’t do anything. You tried. Lucius was always going to put us through hell.”
Though logically, I know her words are probably true, it doesn’t change the fact that the guilt lives with me. My plan failed. My men didn’t protect her. She was still taken. Presented on stage in a bird cage up for sale. Fuckingbranded.
I have an untold, unresolved level of rage about the situation I’ve never adequately addressed. Rage from the first attack in the alley that I still haven’t. Stabbing Cesar De Trolio fifty times and leaving him to bleed out in a puddle of his own blood wasn’t enough. It still doesn’t square the horrors that have happened to me and my wife.
We’re both struggling in that way. Though we pretend otherwise. It’s an elephant in the room that we can’t seem to get rid of.
“She’s no longer your client,” I say after a moment, forcing myself to remain calm. “That’s for the best. You won’t have to deal with her case. Maybe you can look into another therapist.”
“You were involved in a shootout tonight, Jon. Why are you so concerned about me?” She leans into me ’til her head’s resting on my shoulder. “I’m much more concerned about my husband being shot at.”
“I’ve been through worse. It’s more important you’re okay.”
“Hmmm… we’ll have to agree to disagree. I don’t like it when my husband is shot at. It makes me want to shoot back.”
“The only time I want you shooting back is when you have to. For your survival. You don’t get involved otherwise. Here, now’s a good time to show you. I’ve picked up extra firearms to store in our loft. It’ll ease my mind when I’m not around.”
I grab her hand and lead her into the living room to show her the black case. She comes along, but it’s with a puzzled air.
“I already have my weapon. I carry my Glock with me almost everywhere.”
“You keep your Glock in your purse. What happens if you’re in the kitchen? Or in the bathroom. Our home needs to be strapped.”
“You already have the gun you keep in your office… and our bedroom.”
“Those are mine. These are for you. They’re better designed for a female grip.”