Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“It’s enough when I say it’s enough,” he growls and examines the brand. “Nice clean lines. That scar will be beautiful.”
Beautiful? I’ve done so many terrible things in my life, but none of those things have left me with the guilt I’m feeling right now. I can’t look at Saint’s hip right now. Not without wanting to destroy my father. I allowed this to happen. I did this to her.
I direct my attention to her face. She’s not crying. Her big blue eyes are open, the pupils dilated and unfocused. And despite my own rage, guilt, and horror of the situation, I feel something else when I look at her now.
Pride. My angel didn’t break. Didn’t beg. Didn’t give Roman the satisfaction of watching her shatter, and that’s… there are no words to describe it. She’s far more than I deserve, far more than I ever expected her to be.
“Someone get the medical supplies,” Roman demands, wiping the iron clean like it’s just another tool. “Elena, you remember the aftercare, right?”
My mother steps forward with a large bag in her hands. I notice the way her fingers tremble as she pulls supplies out. Antibiotic ointment. Gauze. Tape. She’s just as traumatized by this as the rest of us are, even if she does her best to hide it.
Before she gets the chance to start tending to the wound, I step between her and Saint. I pull the knife I keep in my boot out and slice through the ropes with ease.
“Calder—” My mother starts, but I don’t give a shit about what she wants.
“She’s my wife, and her care falls into my hands. I’ll be the one to clean and bandage her wound. No one else.”
It’s not a request, and my tone tells her I’m not messing around. She doesn’t even bother responding and passes the supplies to me. I crouch down in front of Saint as exhaustion and the decrease in adrenaline cause her body to give out. Slowly, she sinks to her knees, her blue eyes on me.
There’s still a faraway look in her eyes, but I know she can hear me. I know that she knows I’m right here with her, shouldering the pain, wishing I could carry it as my own.
“Let me take a look at it,” I say quietly. “I want to make sure it looks okay and clean it up.” She doesn’t speak, but she does nod. I tug the shirt up just enough to keep it out of the way but not enough to expose her any more than necessary.
I swallow my guilt down and force myself to look at the brand that she will wear on her skin for the rest of her life. The Bishop brand is burned into her flesh just below her hip bone and is the size of my palm. The letter P is intertwined with a larger B.
Our family crest. Our mark of ownership.
The flesh around it is already blistering and red and angry-looking. I pull out some non-sticking gauze and gently cover it. It’s all we can do for now.
Saint hisses in pain through her teeth, her entire body tensing up. “I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice is hoarse, cracked. “I’m fine.”
It’s a lie. She’s not fine, not even fucking close, but she’s alive. She’s breathing, and soon enough, she will be safe and free of this family.
“Let me take you home,” I whisper as I reach down and take her small body into my arms. How can something so small and fragile hold such strength?
“Yes, let’s go home,” she whispers against my chest.
Home. She called it home. I don’t say goodbye, or even let anyone know I’m leaving. If they have a problem with it, they can take it up with me later. My only priority right now is Saint. I walk out of the barn and carry her toward the truck.
The farther away we get, the more the bullshit fades. I can’t see Roman’s satisfied grin in my mind anymore. I can’t feel the suffocating weight of Levi’s guilt. Or the haunted expression in my mother’s eyes. The noose around my neck isn’t as tight, and by the time we’re in the car, I can breathe again. Saint doesn’t speak on the drive back, and I’m too consumed with my own emotions and thoughts to say anything. I guess that’s a good thing since right now isn’t a good time to lose my shit. I need to be strong, at least for her.
I’m glad she took the pill I gave her. It’s kicked in by now, hopefully taking the brunt of the pain away. Thank God for small mercies. If I could’ve been branded a second time in her place, I would’ve. I never wanted this for Saint.
Back at the house, I get her from the truck and carry her straight up the stairs and into our bedroom. I gently set her on the edge of the bed, making sure she won’t roll off. Then I walk into the bathroom and grab a thing of pills from the medicine cabinet.