Calder
The silencein the cabin isn’t silence at all—it’s a noose tightening around my neck, one shallow breath at a time. Saint lies on the bed with her back to me. Her breathing’s too shallow, too careful, for her to be asleep. She’s pretending, reaching for the escape of unconsciousness even though we both know it won’t come.
Not for her. Not for me.
In my head, all I see is her face. The fear. Her tearstained cheeks. The silent plea in her eyes. I can’t let this end with her in a shallow grave, but every plan I consider fractures, leaving me with the same result. She’s gone. I’m gone, or both of us are gone. No solution that doesn’t take a piece of us with it. No salvation. Just blood in different shapes.
Fuck.I may have finally gotten myself into a mess that I can’t get out of.
There’s a frigid bite to the air that smells like a blizzard. Montana’s weather, especially in the mountains, can be unpredictable at best. The cabin will freeze by nightfall if I don’t get a fire going. I stand, causing the chair to scrape against the floor, and Saint’s entire body tenses.
She doesn’t turn around, though. I pause mid-step and am hit in the chest by a wave of guilt. She didn’t ask for this. To be cuffed to the bed, to piss in a bucket. Even if it is her fault that she opened that door, she didn’t ask for any of this.
Dammit.Moments like these make me wish I had no heart at all. No conscience. I have no weaknesses, or at least I didn’t, until Saint came into my life.Fuck.
I told her I wouldn’t uncuff her, but I should. It would give her wrist some time to heal, and maybe then she’ll warm up to me.
Not likely, asshole.Scrubbing a hand down my face, I decide before I can stop myself.This is a mistake. I know it.
The thought comes sharp and clear, but I ignore it against my better judgment and pull the keys for the cuffs out of my pocket. Keeping her chained up indefinitely isn’t sustainable.
If she tries to make a run for it, I’ll catch her. No one is going to see her out here in these woods. I know I’m doing this for more than the reasons I’m feeding myself. Because the guilt is a clawing thing in my chest, and I’m praying releasing her wrist will allow it to sheath its claws enough so I can think.
I can handle her if she tries anything. I’m twice her size, trained in ways she can’t imagine. She’s nothing. Hell, I bet she hasn’t even thrown a real punch before.
I’ve got this.
I walk to the bedside, key in hand. “Saint.”
She doesn’t respond.
“I know you’re awake.”
After a few seconds, she slowly rolls over to face me. Her blue eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s a trail of tears on her cheeks. The sight of them feels like someone is jabbing a hot branding iron into my chest. I swallow the pain and push the fantasies of what that might have been a little bit further down.
“I’m going to uncuff you,” I tell her.
Surprise flickers across her face. “Why? Don’t tell me you had a change of heart?”
“No change of heart. I just know keeping you cuffed permanently isn’t an option, and I think it would be good to give your wrist a break.” It’s not a lie. Holding the key out in front of her, I continue. “But if you try anything, if you run, if you fight me, it’s going to end badly. Understand?”
She nods slowly, suspicion etched on her features.
“I mean it, Saint. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to.”
“I won’t.”
I don’t believe her. Saint is tougher than she looks, a true fighter. I expect her to fight. I’d be shocked if she didn’t. I unlock the cuff, and the metal clicks open. She immediately pulls her wrist to her chest, cradling it with her other hand even though I already bandaged it.
That fucking guilt digs itself in a little deeper. All of this is a necessary evil, at the expense of keeping her safe.
I don’t like it, but I shouldn’t feel guilty about it.Try explaining that to my brain.Rational thought doesn’t make the ache in my chest go away. I crush the thoughts and focus my attention on building a fire to keep us warm.
“Stay on the bed,” I order, taking a step back to give her some space. “Don’t move.”
She watches me with caution as I turn toward the wood stove. I keep her in my peripheral vision. I’m not stupid enough to turn my back on her completely.
Desperation makes people dangerous, even little women who are half my size.
