This is it. The moment when I destroy any chance of him trusting me again. When I become complicit in my own captivity. When I choose survival over truth. I open my mouth, and the lies Calder scripted for me sit heavy on my tongue, ready to be spoken.
God forgive me for what I’m about to do.
Calder
Beinginside Saint’s father’s house feels like I’m walking into a trap. Like I’m setting myself up.
“Is everything okay? What’s going on?” Pastor James asks, using that calm, measured tone that men of God employ.This is it.The moment when he agrees to do this, or I force him.
Thehowdoesn’t matter, so long as it happens. Either way, I’m not leaving until her father signs the marriage certificate.
I look at Saint, waiting for her to speak, but when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out.Damn it.I reach down, take her hand, and squeeze it to remind her that I’m here. That doesn’t seem to help. Her expression becomes almost blank, and I know the words we discussed are now stuck somewhere between her brain and her tongue.
If I’m going to make this happen, I need to step in. To take control.
“Pastor James,” I say, keeping my voice respectful but firm. “Saint and I have some important news to share with you. We both know it’s going to be difficult for you to accept at first, but we hope that with time it will change.”
His gaze, which is mostly on me, narrows with suspicion. “What news? What do I need to accept?”
“Saint and I are together. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”
“What?” Disbelief coats his words.
“It’s true,” I confirm.
Ignoring me, he turns to Saintlyn, the color draining from his face almost completely. The hope that I’m lying clinging to his soul.
“Please tell me.” He shakes his head. “This, isn’t— Is this true?”
I contemplate what will happen next if Saint doesn’t agree, but thankfully, she does, and nods her head in agreement. I sigh internally.Thank fuck.
Pastor James releases a long, shuddering breath, the light in his eyes dulling for a moment. “How long?” The question cuts from his throat. “How long has this been going on?”
“Around a year,” I reply smoothly, feeding him the story we crafted. “Remember when she broke her wrist, and I took her to the hospital?”
“Yes.” The word was barely audible.
“That’s when she confessed her feelings to me. It wasn't until after her eighteenth birthday that we started spending time together. I’ve come to see her a few times when you were away at your meetings and retreats. We tried to keep it under wraps because we knew you wouldn’t approve.”
The initial shock gives way to anger and helplessness. “You’re damn right I don’t approve. She’s—” He cuts himself off, jaw working. “You’re a Bishop. You know what that means in this town. What your family?—”
“I know your thoughts on my family and me already.” I interrupt, letting an edge creep into my voice. “No need to rehash your disdain. We aren’t here for that. We’re here becausewe love each other, because I want to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.”
“My blessing?” He lets out a short, jagged laugh that cuts the air in half. “You want my blessing to—no. Absolutely not. I don’t know what lies or stories you’ve told my daughter to make her believe you’re a decent man who’s worthy of her love, and the Lord’s, but I won’t allow this nonsense to go on.” His gaze snaps to Saintlyn, hard and unyielding. “Go upstairs. Pack a bag. We’re leaving town. Tonight.”
“Dad, please?—”
“Now, Saintlyn.” His hand clamps around her arm, yanking her toward him. “I’m not discussing this with you. You will be coming with me, and that’s final.”
I reach for his wrist and squeeze until the bones protest. “I thought we could keep this civil,” I murmur, watching his features pale. “Guess not.”
“Get your hand off me,” he spits, trying to pull free, and my grip only tightens. “I cannot believe this! I won’t be letting my daughter go anywhere with you.”
“Actually…” I pause and reach under the back of my jacket with my free hand, “You’re going to let me do more than that. You’re going to marry us.”
The gun I brought clears my waistband easily.
I point it directly at his chest. Close enough that he can see down the barrel. Close enough that there’s no mistaking the threat.
