For a stupid second, I thought maybe he’d…stay.
That he’d lie beside me. Put his arms around me. Hold me like in the movies, and whisper something cruel but soft. Kiss me even if it hurt.
I want to laugh. I want to scream.
I feel stupid. Dirty. Exposed.
“Can you—” my voice trembles, shame bleeding into my throat, “can you untie me?”
He says nothing.
My wrists ache. The rope burns against raw skin. I twist, but it only tightens.
“Priest. Please.”
He doesn’t even blink. Just looks at his watch.
Finally, his cold eyes snap to mine. But they aren’t eyes, they’re voids. The blue almost gone, replaced by pitch-black nothingness.
“I half-expected the virgin thing to be another lie. With all the other shit you’ve been hiding.”
I still.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Then I hear it—heavy boots. More than one pair. Coming up the stairwell.
No.
“Untie me!” Panic rises fast in my throat. I yank at the rope, my skin splitting and slicking with blood. “NOW!”
He doesn’t move.
“I don’t think so,Arlo Voronin.”
My heart stops.
No. No. No.
The crash of my front door being kicked in splits through the apartment.
“What did you do!?” I shriek, thrashing against the restraints. “PRIEST! What did you fucking do!?”
He doesn’t flinch.
Six men storm into my bedroom. Vests. Riffles. Knives.
Sovereigns.
My legs kick uselessly. My body writhes against the bed like a trapped animal.
“You fucking bastard!”
“Get her up,” he orders, voice devoid of emotion.
Two men rush forward. One unties the ropes, the other grabs me by the arms. I try to claw, to fight, but I’m weak.
“This is a day of celebration for the Sovereign,” Priest says, turning his back to me. “Not every day we bring in a traitor’s daughter.”
