“Boy, I tell you what, you got a fine mind when it comes to remembering. Yeah, I bet where you come from they put that God-given gift to good use.”
The saint seemed to shrink into himself and resumed eating. The sex witch—Stormy—held Big Country’s gaze, silently communicating with him in the same way Sabrina did with him.
Stormy nodded in understanding at the saint. “It hurts when people who say they love you don’t care about what makes you extraordinary. It’s worse when they make you feel like crap for not being who they want you to be.”
Zeus felt a sharp pain in his gut as if her words had pierced him. Every eye in the room was glued to Big Country’s woman, Stormy. “Well, I for one am honored to have seen a glimpse of how brilliant your mind is. My name is Stormy, Stormy Redmond.”
Unshed tears filled the saint’s eyes and Zeus saw how vulnerable the younger man was, if he could be brought to tears by a few kind words.
“I’m Cornelius Shepherdson, and I am blessed to meet you, Stormy.”
Big Country reached out, gently freed Stormy’s hand from Cornelius’ and held on to it. His smile held but his eyes had gone flat. Zeus understood the reaction. Other men didn’t get to touch the softness of your woman’s skin while looking at them like they were an answer to a prayer. That path lead to mortal wounds…or the loss of a hand, at the least.
“I reckon it ain’t often you see a lot of beautiful women, being in the saint business, but trust me, cousin, unless you’ve been raised to navigate the treacherous winds and waters of womanhood, it’s best that you abdicate those blessings to men who know of such things backward and forth and from the inside out.” Big Country cast a triumphant glance at Lynx and London.
“I don’t understand,” Cornelius replied to Big Country.
“That’s because he’s part idiot,” Stormy said, snatching her hand away. “Don’t bother trying to understand the ramblings of idiots.”
Zeus snorted and gathered his and Sabrina’s plates. He had a feeling Big Country would end up paying more for Stormy than he could afford.
Ignoring the humor from the main table, Big Country leaned closer to the saint.
“What made you choose to camp out on our mountain?”
“I did not choose, the Shepherd chooses, and I obeyed. This is my sojourn, my time of learning God’s purpose for my life and fulfilling it.”
“How old are you, cousin? Finding one’s life purpose sounds like a whole lot of pressure for someone so young.”
“I’m twenty-three. All the brothers at the Shephard’s Keep have long since found their path. It is what’s required to ascend in the order.” The saint’s eyes roamed over Big Country. “Um, pray forgive my curiosity, but what happened to your clothes?”
“I run hot, cousin,” he said, looking at Stormy’s breasts. “I run real hot. You done eating?” Big Country asked as he stood. Cornelius nodded, folding his napkin in his plate. “Good enough, Cornelius, Stormy and I’ll see you back to your room so you don’t have to worry about these heathens bothering you.”
The saint looked at Zeus, Bride, and Cizan, then stood. He nodded to Mama. “Thank you for the meal.”
Mama smiled as she also stood, escorting them to the front door. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Cornelius. Trust me, while you’re here I’ll make it my purpose to feed you well.”
“Thank you,” he said before exiting the bar, Stormy following close behind. Big Country threw a sober look at the Brood before closing the door.
The saint was a watcher like Zeus, but he did more than watch, he remembered everything he seemed to pay attention to. He remembered faces, he’d remember all their faces if his words were true. He would know Sabrina’s face and be able to place it if someone asked him to. And someone would eventually ask.
Standing close to Sabrina, Zeus’s blades twirled through his fingers at a dangerous speed. He nodded to no one in particular, playing out possible scenarios to their conclusion before he spoke.
“The only way that man leaves this mountain will be by way of death.”
The grim faces of the Brood told him that they had already come to the same conclusion.
Her heart raced but her breaths were calculated, steady in preparation, as she walked up the stairs, step by agonizing step. Perhaps she was imagining an indiscretion where there was none.
She was too quick to judgment at times, a consequence of being a tool of God, but her ability to discern where others lacked was a skill she’d mastered. To deal with their sickening weaknesses and idiotic choices had been an asset to her survival. This skill would be less necessary in her role as Lucas’s wife, but as she reached the second floor of the house, she determined that she may have to adapt the skill for her new life, if only to protect her relationship with Lucas.
She prayed he had not made an idiotic choice, but the constriction around her heart warned her otherwise, warned her that indeed he had. Why else come to this house,Stormy’shouse, during the darkest of night and stay well beyond the sun’s rising?
She wanted to scream at the interference of the devil in her plans, but she would not give into the theatrics of emotion; she would not judge him poorly without proof.
Lucas, beloved, please tell me you were not that weak, tell me you did not climb into her bed for a brief moment of pleasure when I would give you a lifetime of peace and happiness.
Entering the bedroom, she placed a hand over her stomach to settle the roiling disgust at the sight of the large bed in disarray, bedcovers on the floor, sheets bunched and disheveled, the stench of sex ripe in the air. The pain of betrayal was acute, worse than anything she’d felt since coming to live with her father. It wasn’t only Lucas’s betrayal, it was also the whore’s, the one who had pretended to be her friend, pretended she hadn’t known about the love between Delilah and Lucas.
