I settle back against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “When I was fourteen, my parents married me off to an elder in the church.”
“You’re married?”
“Not anymore,” I rasp. “He was mean. Violent. Abusive. When I wasn’t cooking and cleaning after him and his kids, he was trying to put another one in me so I wouldn’t leave.”
Rowland growls. “Where is he? Tell me where he lives?”
“Utah. Last time I saw him, he was dying from a knife wound, trapped in a burning house. From a fire I started.” I tilt my head to gaze at his profile. “So how could I ever judge you for killing in self-defense?”
Rowland’s arms tighten around me. “You did it because he hurt you.”
“Every day for years.” My throat thickens, and my eyes sting. “One day, his punishment got so bad, I hit him with an iron candlestick holder. He went down hard and swore to have me exorcised in front of the congregation. That’s when you get beaten by a bunch of members while they’re screaming prayers. He said it would bedifferent this time because I’d be branded. I couldn’t let that happen.”
He breathes hard, his chest rising and falling against my back. “Did they… Did they do this to you before?”
“Multiple times, but they never left permanent marks.”
“So you killed him before he could hand you over to them.”
“It was the only way I knew to survive.”
We sit together in silence. I wait for judgment, for horror. For him to realize I’m just as fucked up as his brother.
Instead, Rowland presses his lips to my temple in a kiss so soft, so reverent, that it takes everything in me not to cry.
“How did your parents even allow this to happen?” he asks.
I sigh. “My dad was just as brutal as that old bastard.”
“And your mother?”
“She was even younger than me when she married my dad. That life was all she ever knew.”
“But she must have guessed you’d be miserable with that elder?”
My heart sinks, because he’s right. Mom knew exactly what was in store for me when she persuaded me to marry Brother Matthew. “The congregation has a way of punishing mothers whose daughters don’t comply.”
“I’m so sorry.” He strokes my hair. Slides his fingers down the side of my neck. “We’re so similar. Both survivors, brought together by fate.”
He’s right. We’re two broken people who’ve escaped hell and found each other in the wreckage.
“Red,” I say.
“What?”
“Our safe word. If either of us says ‘red,’ everything stops immediately.”
He nods. “Red to stop.”
“And Rowland?” I turn to face him again, making the water slosh. “Next time you want to try something new, tell me first. Communication is important.”
His lips curve in a small smile. “There’ll be a next time?”
I smile back, my heart fluttering. “You can bet on that.”
Should I be terrified that I’m aching for this man?
THIRTY-NINE
