“Oh, I am angry with you, son.” Roman starts walking around the table, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling prey. “I’m furious with you. I’m also curious about this girl who’s made you so stupid you’d risk everything for her.”
He stops behind Saint’s chair. She goes absolutely still.
“Stand up,” Roman orders.
Saint doesn’t move. It’s probably because she can’t move because she’s too afraid to.
“I said stand up.” Roman clamps down on her shoulder and yanks her to her feet. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floor, a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard.
“Don’t touch her.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Roman’s smile is cruel, and I already know I’ve made a huge mistake. “You get married, and suddenly, you think you’re the man of the house? That you can give me orders and run the show?” He grabs me by the hair, and my scalp screams as he pulls my head back. I grit my teeth, trying to swallow down the pain.
“Answer me!” he snarls in my face.
“No, sir.” I press the words out through my teeth.
I can barely make out Saint’s face from the position I’m in, but there’s no mistaking the fear that’s etched into her features. “Good, then you’ll keep your mouth shut while I do whatever the hell I want to your little wife.”
I hate it. Hate that I can’t fight back. That Saint has to witness me like this, weak and powerless. He releases me with a shove, and I adjust myself in my chair. No matter what happens, I won’t let him hurt her.
Done with me at least for right now, he moves on to survey Saint in a slow circle, inspecting her like livestock. “I’m not sure what all the fuss is about.” His gaze narrows with interest. “She’s mighty sweet and innocent-looking. Far from your type, if you ask me.”
I’m tempted to pipe up and tell him he doesn’t know what my type is, or even what matters to me, but I don’t want to instigate him any more than I already have.
“You don’t care about our opinions, though. Do you?”
It’s a trick question. No matter what answer I give him, I’m wrong. “I do.”
“Wrong,” he murmurs and reaches out to stroke Saint’s arm. “But is she worth risking the family for? Worth risking everything we’ve built?”
“Yes,” I say, and there’s too much truth in that single word for this situation.
Roman stops in front of Saint, tilting her chin up with one finger to force her to look at him. “You must be something special to make my son so stupid. So tell me, girl—what is it about you that’s worth all this trouble? You got a magic cunt or something?”
Saint’s breathing is shallow, rapid. But when she speaks, her voice doesn’t shake. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask your son.”
The defiance in her tone makes my heart stutter, even as pride wells up to pump it with heat. All for her.
Roman’s eyes narrow. “You’ve got a mouth on you. I don’t like mouthy women. Especially not women who marry into my family without permission.”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter. You don’t really say no to a Bishop,” Saint says, and fuck, she needs to stop talking. Needs to shut her mouth before Roman?—
The slap comes so fast I barely see it.
The crack of palm against skin echoes through the dining room like a gunshot. Saint’s head snaps to the side, and she staggers, would’ve fallen if Levi hadn’t caught her arm.
Everything goes white.
I’m on my feet before I realize I’m moving, chair clattering backward. My hands are fists, my vision tunneling down to my father’s face, to the hand he just used to strike her.
“You piece of shit?—”
Kade’s on me in an instant, pinning my arms back. “Don’t,” he hisses in my ear. “You’ll make it worse.”
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
“Calder,” Sawyer’s says, sharp and commanding, “stand down.”
