Blood Rush

Ch. 3: Under Arkham Bridge

Chapter Three: Under Arkham Bridge

Lila Valeska finished her fifth of vodka and sloppily made her way to her bedroom, slandering Delilah's name with a note that her performance could have been better since the overture hadn't rendered more profit. The table jumped in her way, and Lila clamored against it, uttering a drunken cry of pain. Jerome and Delilah, stationed by the couch a couple feet from her shared a look of annoyance as Lila disappeared through the threshold of her bedroom.

A lucky potential mate watched his soon-to-be conquest from the kitchen, passed a hand over his face. The suitor, a stranger from the audience who had attended the performances all night, curiously gazed at Delilah with hopeful eyes.

Delilah's shoulders tensed when the suitor approached her from behind, ignored Jerome who noticed once more the hungry look in the guest's eyes.

"Hey there, sweet cheeks," uttered the suitor in a slurred voice. He put a hand on Delilah's shoulder, his fingers trying to coax the youngest female Valeska to join him in a separate room rather than bone the mother.

"No," said Delilah with a note of disgust. She craned her neck away from him.

The suitor's hand fell away from her and he seemed to be upset that she didn't want his generous offer.

"I could show you a good time, Missy—"

"The lady said 'No'," Jerome remarked.

The suitor turned to look at Jerome, smiling.

"The lady doesn't know what she wants, little man."

"She does," said Delilah adamantly.

"Please," the guest cooed. "I've heard of you, all about what you can do. Tight ass and strong legs get you everywhere, huh?"

Delilah frowned, a look of anger.

But Jerome sighed irritably, grabbed Delilah's shoulder and ushered her to the exit, "Come on, Deedee."

"What," said the guest, "You trying to stop her from jumping my bones? I know when a lady wants it, how she wants it—"

"Touch her," Jerome warned calmly, "And I'll shove your beer bottle down your throat."

The guest swayed on his feet, murmured by the booze and hurt that Delilah—even if she had been the Prophet Whore—did not find him worthy of her company. And her brother wasn't going to leave her side.

He chalked it up as a loss, waved a hand carelessly, and then crossed the living room floor to finally follow Lila into her bedroom.

Delilah shuddered, an after effect of revulsion.

Jerome pursed his lips, staring after the stranger.

"I hate that fucking bitch," muttered Jerome. "Letting strangers come in...Doesn't care if anything gets stolen or what else she's got to lose."

Delilah's grimace loosened into a slight smile, and she grabbed Jerome's hand.

"Not us," she reminded him. "She doesn't love us. Doesn't care if she loses us. Not like she should. Perhaps in her own way, but not like she should."

Jerome felt a burning in his chest as Delilah wrapped her fingers around her brother's wrist, pulling him through the front door to lead him into the dark campsite by her two hands, locking eyes with him.

Jerome felt like he was under a spell. Of course, he wouldn't do anything he didn't want to do—But even if she was a gypsy, hypnotism really only works if the person deeply wanted to do the action in the first place.