I move closer to Saint, and Sawyer and Kade step back, giving us space. She’s breathing too fast. Shallow gasps that mean she’s on the edge of panic. Her storm-blue eyes flit around as if trying to find something to focus on, a fine sheen of sweat slicking her pale skin. And she is pale. Even in the darkened interior of the barn, she looks washed out, her honey-blond hair a halo of gold around her face, hanging in a loose braid over one shoulder.
“Hey.” I stop in front of her and put my hands on her hips to anchor her. “Look at me.”
Her beautiful eyes find mine. They’re blown wide, and her lips are trembling. “Find something to focus on. It’ll help.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A memory. A prayer. Something.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “My mother used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep. An old hymn. ‘It Is Well With My Soul.’“
Of course it would be a hymn. Of course she’d choose something good and pure to hold on to during this nightmare.
“Then think about that,” I say. “Think about her voice. The words. Block everything else out.”
“Will it work?”
“It’ll work if you want it to work. No matter what, you’ve got this.” I come to a stand and back away slowly. Kade and Sawyer check their knots. The ropes aren’t tight enough to hurt but they’re secure. She won’t be able to move her torso when the iron comes.
Levi won’t meet my eyes. He’s staring at the ground, jaw clenched, hands shoved in his pockets. Elena looks like she’s about to be sick. Roman pulls the iron from the brazier. The tip is white now. Hot enough that I can feel the heat radiating from it even at ten feet.
“Saintlyn Bishop.” Roman’s voice takes on a ceremonial quality. “You’ve married into this family and taken our name. Now you’ll take our mark.”
Saint’s breathing is still too fast for my liking, and her eyes are closed. Her lips move silently. Either in prayer or singing, it doesn’t matter. She’s somewhere else, somewhere I can’t follow her. Roman approaches her, and I have to stop myself from pushing him out of the way. The iron casts ugly light across his face, making him look more demonic than human.
“Hold still, girl,” he says. “This’ll hurt.”
He pulls up the flannel shirt with his free hand. The smooth flank of her hip underneath.
It’s the perfect canvas for his cruelty. I grit my teeth as I watch him position the iron and then press it against her skin. My heart sinks into my stomach, and bile rises in my throat as the smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils. I want to look away, but I can’t. I won’t. I watch because I deserve to see this, to feel Saint’s pain.
Her eyes fly open, and her lips part on a silent scream. The ropes creak as her body tries instinctively to pull away. I hate myself. I hate my family. Hate that I’ve subjected such a pure, angelic creature to such horrible things.
Roman holds the iron to her skin, and the seconds tick by slowly.
One. Two. Three.
Rage simmers in my veins. Too long. He’s holding it too long.
I move before my brain can tell me to stop. “That’s enough.”
“Not yet.” Roman’s voice is calm. Pleasant. Like he’s teaching me how to properly season a steak. “If we don’t keep it on long enough, we’ll have to do it again.”
Four. Five.
Saint’s silent scream finally found sound, and I’ll never forget the way it sounded. Like a wounded animal being ripped apart at the seams. I can’t do this anymore. Can’t subject her to the pain.
Reaching for his arm, I yell, “That’s enough. Stop.”
He pulls the iron away just before my hand reaches him. There’s no missing the icy-cold satisfaction that fills his eyes.
“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.
