“Thank you,” I manage.
His footsteps retreat. Murmuring voices filter from upstairs, then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Truck engines starting. Driving away.
And then silence.
I don’t know how long I sit there on the bathroom floor. Long enough for my legs to go numb. Long enough for the tears tostop. Long enough for the shock to fade into something harder, something that feels almost like anger.
Finally, I push myself up. Splash cold water on my face. Avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror because I don’t want to see what I’ve become.
The glass of water Levi left is sitting outside the door, along with two white pills. I swallow them dry, chase them with water, and make my way upstairs.
The bedroom door is open. Calder’s sitting on the edge of a large bed, shirt off, revealing the damage Roman inflicted. Bruises are already blooming across his ribs. One particularly nasty one is over his stomach, where Roman’s boot connected.
He looks up when I enter. His good eye focuses on me; the other is swollen nearly shut.
“You should get some rest,” he says, voice rough.
“So should you.”
“Can’t. Hurts too much to lie down.”
I hover in the doorway, uncertain. This is supposed to be our bedroom. Our bed. The place where we’ll... what? Play house? Pretend to be a normal married couple?
The absurdity of it would be funny if it weren’t so insane.
“There’s another bedroom down the hall,” I say. “I’ll sleep there.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Calder shifts slightly and winces at the movement. “We’re married now, so we will share a bedroom. That’s how this works.”
“How this works?” Anger flares hot in my chest, burning away the numbness. “Your thoughts on marriage are very messed up. None of thisworkshow your family thinks it does, Calder. Your father just beat you half to death and promised toburn his mark into my skin. There is no version of reality where any of thisworks.”
“That might be true, but this is our reality, sweetheart.” He meets my gaze steadily with his one good eye. “We aren’t playing by society’s rules anymore. You’re a Bishop now, bound by Bishop rules and laws. You want to survive the next week? You play the part. All of it. Including sharing a bed with your husband.”
“I’d rather sleep on the floor.” It’s a lie, and I know I’m being stubborn, but I’m tired of being ordered around and told what to do.
“If you want to sleep on the floor, then sleep on the floor, but you’ll do it in this room with me here.”
The fury building since Roman’s hand connected with my face finally breaks free from my chest. “I’ve done everything you asked me to do. I lied to my father. I married you. I went to the rodeo. I’ve played the perfect wife, and even let your father smack me around. Is that not good enough?” I gesture at my face, at his battered body. I’ve never been hit by another person in my life. Never had to fear being abused, and now I wonder if that’s a fate I will have to learn to accept.
“You aren’t the only one sacrificing things, Saint. You aren’t the only one suffering.”
“Your father hit me, Calder. He hit me, and you let him.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been hit by another person a single day in my life, and now I wonder if that’s something I’ll have to learn to endure.”
His gaze sharpens, and the predatory look he gives me might have a reaction if I weren’t already afraid for my life. “I let him?” A disbelieving laugh escapes him. “I didn’tlethim do anything. Any bigger of a reaction on my part and he would’ve hurt you more.”
“You brought me there knowing what he’d do?—”
“No, I brought you there to keep you alive!” He half shouts the words startling me, then his voice drops to something cold and lethal. “Do you really think so little of me that I took joy in watching him put his hands on you?”
“I don’t know.” I can feel the tears burning at the back of my lids.
“This isn’t how I would’ve done it, Saint. If I made the choice to make you mine, if there wasn’t an urgency to save your life and keep you safe. I would’ve done it the right way. I didn’t want any of this to happen.”
All the emotions and pain I’ve been trying to bury rupture at once, too sharp, too loud to contain. “That might be true—” The words splinter apart, my breath hitching. “But that’s not what happened.” I try to swallow it down, but it’s useless. A broken, wounded sound claws its way out of me. “You don’t understand—” My chest caves inward, and a sob punches out of me so hard it folds me at the waist. “Why didn’t you just do it?” I choke out. “Why didn’t you kill me? It would’ve been kinder than this… than what I’m being put through.”
