“Wait. Please. Think about what you’re?—”
“The only person in this room who needs tothinkis you.” I release his wrist and steady my aim. “Saint and I want to get married. Today. Right now. And you’re going to sign the license and make it official for us.”
“I will not sign my daughter over to you.”
“Then things are going to get real ugly. TheBishopkind of ugly.”
The crude threat hangs between us without the pretense of civility. Just raw, barely contained violence.
“You wouldn’t.” The words rip out of him, but the way his gaze darts away with uncertainty tells me that he’s not so sure I won’t do it. “Not with Saintlyn right here.”
“But wouldn’t I?” My voice turns deadly. “It’s the perfect opportunity to show my soon-to-be-wife what happens to those who don’t give me what I want.” I smile coldly.
“She isn’t yours.” Pastor James argues. “My daughter is good, holy, a child of God. She would never choose a monster like you.”
Something dark and sinister fills my chest. The need to not only prove that she chose me, but that she is mine, and that there isn’t a single thing he can do about it. Wrapping an arm around Saint’s middle, I pull her in front of me, securing her against my chest. She fits against me like she was made to be there, small hands wrapping around my wrist, trembling. It’s like she wants to pry loose but doesn’t dare.
My palm spreads low over her stomach, pressing down until she knows she’s not going anywhere.Possession. Proof.A reminder to both of them who she belongs to.
Lowering my head, I smile slowly and deliberately, ensuring her father sees it, then I bring my lips to her ear, and well grazing the sensitive flesh, I speak in a whisper, “Tell him, Saint. Tell your daddy how much you love me.”
She shivers, whether from fear or from something else entirely doesn’t matter. I’ve hit my mark with the distinct tightening of her father’s jaw. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my sleeve, and her breath hitches.
“Please…” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to her father or me.
I shift the barrel of the gun down, aiming it at his knee instead. “I suppose I don’t have to kill you. There are other ways to make you suffer. Maybe I'll make it so every time you take a step, you remember the day you tried to take your daughter from me.”
“Stop.” Pastor James holds up his hands, actual fear shining in his eyes. “Please, just stop. Let’s talk about this. There has to be another way?—”
“I’m not in the mood for talking and, even if I was, this isn’t up for negotiation.” I move the gun a little closer. “Sign the fucking license, or I’ll pull the trigger.”
“Dad, please. Please just do what he says,” Saint speaks, her voice cracking.
“Saintlyn, no?—”
“He’ll do it!” Even though I can’t see Saint’s face, I know she’s sobbing. The way her words are clogged with emotion, and the ragged breaths she takes. “He’ll hurt you, and it’ll be my fault. And I can’t live with that. I can’t lose you. Please, Dad. Please just sign it.”
Pastor James looks at her, really looks at her, and I can tell the instant it all clicks into place. That this isn’t about love or choice but instead survival. His daughter’s survival.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head. “I can’t just hand you over to him, to them.”
Fuck.I don’t want to blow his kneecap apart, but I’ll do what I need to do. I flip the safety on the gun. The click is obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Dad!” Saint’s entire body vibrates. “Please! I’m begging you. Just do it. Just sign the papers and let this be over.”
“He’s going to hurt you,” Pastor James frowns, his voice raw with grief. “I can see it in his eyes. He’s going to destroy you.”
“Then that’s my business,” Saint says desperately, and the words cut through all the pretense. The truth lay bare. “Please. I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die. Just...please.”
The silence stretches on, and I keep the gun trained on his knee, my finger resting on the trigger. One wrong move and I’ll do it. I’ll cripple him right here in front of his daughter just to prove a point. I have no other option.
Pastor James sees it too. He knows I’m not bluffing. That I’m exactly the monster he always warned Saint about.
“I don’t like this Saint. I don’t like it all.” He shakes his head. “Where’s the license?” he asks finally, his voice hollow. Defeated.
I release my hold on Saint, pull the folded document from my jacket pocket, and hand it to him. It’s already filled out with our names, ages, and the date. All that’s missing is his signature as the officiant.
There’s a disgusted look on his face, and I feel his pain. I understand it all too well. I didn’t want to have to do it this way either, but survival makes people do crazy things.
