“Say what you need to say,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Tell me how you’re going to make tomorrow bearable. How you’ll be gentle. How it won’t be as bad as I think. Go ahead.”
He looks at me for a long moment, and in the truck’s headlights his eyes are the color of winter ice. Cold and clear and beautiful.
“If you have no intention of stopping it,” I continue, voice shaking now, “if you’re really going to go through with this, then maybe I should just let it happen. Stop fighting. Make it easier on everyone.”
“No.” The word comes out sharp. Final.
“No? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“You need to go through the motions,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing each word carefully. “Like you’re going to go through with it all.”
I stare at him. “You want me to lie.”
“I want you to pretend.”
“Pretend.” The word feels wrong in my mouth. Too simple for what he’s asking. “Pretend I’m okay with being violated in front of your family. Pretend I’m a good little Bishop wife who knows her place. Is that what you want?”
“I want you alive.” His voice drops lower, urgent now. “I want you to trust me.”
“Trust you.” I laugh again, the sound breaking somewhere in the middle. “Trust the man who kidnapped me. Who married me by force. Who stood by while his father branded me. Who’s driving me home to prepare for my own public—” I stop at the word rape. Then continue. “That’s who you want me to trust?” It’s stupid, I know, but the fear is making me lash out, and I need…I don’t know, reassurance, I guess, that he really is the guy I’m…falling for.
I’vefallenfor? Oh God.
He moves closer, close enough that I can see the tension in every line of his body. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You’ve already let things happen to me.”
“I know.” The admission comes out rough, like it costs him something. “I’m not denying what I’ve done, or what I’ve let happen. But tomorrow night, I’m ending it.”
“Ending what?”
“All of it.” He sighs, his shoulders sinking heavily. “I’ve been in contact with an FBI agent. Special Agent Reese. We were going to use the ceremony to get Roman. That’s obviously not going to work now, so I’ll need to figure out how to adjust things.”
The words don’t make sense at first. I hear them, but they slide off my brain like water off glass. FBI agent. Cover. Get Roman.
“What?”
“The barn was supposed to be wired,” he continues, voice low and urgent. “Audio and visual. The FBI would be listening to everything. I’m going to bait Roman into admitting crimes on tape. Anything they can use to arrest him. Take him down. That was the plan at least… but now…”
I take a step back, then another, until I hit the side of the truck. The metal is cold through my jacket.
“You’re working with the FBI.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“A few weeks. Since the branding.” He shoves his hands into his pockets like he’s trying to keep from touching me. “I couldn’t tell you because I couldn’t risk anyone finding out. Not that I thought you would tell anyone. It’s just the more people who know, the higher the risk becomes. I didn’t want to drag you into even more danger.”
My mind spins, trying to reconcile this information with everything I thought I knew. Calder, the obedient eldest son. Calder, Roman’s enforcer. Calder, who follows orders and never questions his father.
Calder, working with the FBI to take down his own family.
“I thought,” I start, then stop. Try again. “I thought maybe you were just going to kidnap me again. That we’d run away and disappear.”
He shakes his head, and his expression softens, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t run, Saint. I’m a Bishop. This is Bishop land. This is where I belong.”
“But Roman?—”
