: Chapter 53

“What the fuck were you doing to her?!”

Baret lands another punch to Saint’s jaw, sending it snapping to the side and the bright red blood of his split lip to splatter across the wood floor, giving my brother dearest everything I’ve been dying to.

“You sick bastard!” he yells again, sending a knee into his abdomen.

I race to Briony, helping to untie the belt still wrapped around her ankle while they continue to wrestle on the floor. Saint lands a punch to Baret’s face, causing his nose to crack. Briony is trembling with terror, attempting to steady her breaths, yet frightened by the unknown as she rubs her red and raw little wrists.

I was waiting for him to show up after planning the accidental intrusion all along. When I texted him from Briony’s phone stating that Saint was there at the house with her alone, acting strange, she was still entertaining him downstairs. I’d been waiting for him to show up and put a stop to the assault after gaining the footage we needed, knowing her cry for help would have him running.

He may not be her blood, but he’s grown up with her. Bonded the way true family does. He cares for her like a brother should, and even if I’d rather have her only depending on me in this life, Baret is essential for the plan. She needs someone else close to her on the inside when I’m gone.

Nox was right. The masked man couldn’t stay hidden forever. One way or another, my truth was bound to be exposed. I’ve come this far staying in the shadows, but secrets can’t stay buried forever. Not when men like my father, Alastor, and the bishop still walk this earth.

Briony instinctively clings to me, but I push her off, tossing her hands to the floor. Not because I don’t want her touch this time, but because new eyes are watching.

My beautiful doll, dark in her revenge and twisted ideas. She’d had Saint in her grasp. Taunting and teasing with her gorgeous beauty and naïve, faked innocence. But the truth of the man before her was far from her knowledge. She had no idea of his own devious plans, nor would she believe me if I told her.

Some things need to be discovered for yourself so you can form your own truths around them, similar to the secrets behind the closed doors of the bishop’s office.

Saint wasn’t who she thought he was. So I did what I needed to do and intervened the best way I saw fit. Together, we made it happen. Together, we laid the blueprint for the destruction of the institution. Together, we would bring them down.

What I wasn’t planning were the men on the heels of Baret, ready to shut this entire production down. Saint, the ultimate manipulator, had backup on standby.

“It wasn’t me!” Saint grunts, sending another fist into Baret’s face in retaliation.

I stand there casually watching the men duke it out, knocking into Briony’s dresser in the process and sending her framed photos and perfumes crashing onto the floor while I brace myself for the ultimate confrontation. The one I hear making its way up the stairs.

Baret rolls over Saint, crunching over the broken glass, and grabs his shirt with one hand. Straddling him, he sends another blow to his face. Crimson-colored blood stains the bright white uniform of the man thought to be pure and holy, but his sainthood is dissolving.

“I fucking saw you, you bitch!”

“You didn’t see anything.” The familiar, deep, velvety tone rings out from the hallway, making my blood boil on command.

Baret snaps his head up, his fist still gripping Saint’s torn uniform, both men panting with the evidence of their brawl actively leaking from their faces. Briony’s eyes widen in horror at the sudden intrusion as she scrambles from the bed, standing before me as if to protect me.

Fuck, the things I’d do for this woman.

Images of abdomens being torn and blood-curdling cries flood my mind, making my jaw tighten with urges beyond my control.

It’s adorable that Briony thinks she can actually save me. But I know better than anyone that this is where it ends. This is my sacrifice for my queen. I lay my cold, departed heart out on that table, hoping she has the strength to revive it. My final test for her.

Callum Westwood casually strides into the room breathing an air of confidence he doesn’t deserve to own, three of his hound-men behind him, and his hands in the pockets of his slacks with a slim fit vest over a button-up shirt. He runs a hand through his thick dark locks, pushing them back in line with the rest of his entire pretentious look. His eyes quickly lock with mine and it’s like peering into an aged mirror.

One without the unfortunate reflection of scars and pain I’ve endured. The broken, tattered mess that makes me everything I am in this life I’ve been surviving on my own.

Saint scatters away from Baret to the feet of his father, gripping his pant leg like a fucking dog.

“Fix your pants,” he demands to his son, never tearing his eyes off mine.

Baret’s eyes wander from Cal to me and back, his jaw practically on the floor beneath him, the uncanny resemblance making a clear statement all its own.

“Saint?” Briony calls out, staring oddly at Cal with her tone shaky and torn. “What is your father doing in my house?”

He won’t even look her in the eye, just continues staring down at the floor, still catching his breath from the fight as his shirt lies open and bloodied, looking every bit as pathetic as he is.

“What is your father doing in my house, Saint?!” Briony yells, her fist clenching as the coals within her light into the flames she’s always contained.

“A true hero.” Cal casually leans against the door frame, his pompous stature infuriating me with his head tipped back and his wrinkled smirking in place.

“Aero, run. Please,” Briony whispers breathlessly through gritted teeth before me. “Run.”

She’s fucking crazier than I thought if she really expects me to run. I’d never leave her. Never. Not as long as air fills these lungs.

I gently squeeze her little hand in mine before roughly twisting her arm back, causing her to arch her back and cry out as the barrel of my gun rests against her temple.

“No! Saint was raping her! He…he had her tied to the bed! A…a crucifix, oh my God,” Baret shakes his head, raking his hands down his face.

“I think you’re confused, son,” Cal says confidently. He grips the back of Saint’s shirt, pulling him up to a standing position next to him. Saint stumbles to his side with a broken look about him. “This man’s a hero. Saved young Briony, here from this criminal lurking the streets, brutally torturing those of the faith.”

I cock my head to the side, running my tongue along my teeth. I know this man, and I know exactly how he operates, which is working well for me.

“It wasn’t him that was torturing!” Baret yells, standing. “It was Saint!” He points to Saint, who gazes back at him, fear lining his posture. “He had her tied to the bed. He raped her! You stupid fuck!”

Baret charges for Saint when one of the bodyguards pulls a gun on him, causing him to take a step back with his hands raised. He’s a big guy, muscular in his own right, with his football-like build matching his all-American-blonde-hero look, but Baret brought fists to a gunfight.

“As I said,” Cal repeats from behind the guard. “I think you’re confused as to what you saw.”

Baret glares at Cal, then stares at the gun pointed at him before his gaze finds Briony again.

She must be pleading with her eyes enough to have him letting out an exasperated sigh and reluctantly standing down. She’s far too intelligent for the likes of these men. Briony’s piecing the puzzle I’ve formulated together, allowing it all to fall into place, understanding my reasons for being every bit the villain in this story. I had to play my part. There can only be one.

“I must’ve been confused,” Baret recites blandly, the fury in his expression not reaching his tone.

Cal smiles, the creases of his tanned face contorting into the diabolical grin of a man who’s smiled one too many times in the face of adversity. A smile that screams superiority and entitlement.

He tosses his arm around Saint, patting a hand on his chest. “Proud of you, son. You finally caught him. And just in time. She could’ve been hurt.” He nods his head at Briony and her cheeks flush with anger. “She owes you her life.” The sentence holds so much underlying weight. A marriage of convenience to a member of the congregation. A man of their choosing. An official lock and chain to the woman they’ve always needed to control and detain.

I eye the three massive bodyguards behind Cal.

I’ve taken on more. Not as big, but still, fuck, I could end at least two of them if I hadn’t thrown my blade into the wall in a mad fit of rage.

“Let her go,” Cal calls out casually. “It’s alright Briony. You’re safe now.”

Briony all but scoffs at him.

You could hear a pin drop with the way the silence fills the room. The only sound is the echo of a floorboard cracking beneath one of Cal’s bodyguards as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet, all of us waiting for someone else to move.

The eerie stillness is almost deafening. Briony’s finger rubs softly against mine behind her back, the stroke against my flesh sending a distinct sensation through me. Not one of pain. Not one of an ugly past. But a sensation that connects heartstrings, bonding her soul to mine.

I drop the gun from her temple, tossing it onto the wood floor with a dramatic thud before pushing her into the arms of Baret. And it’s on.

A piercing cry stings my ears, making its way deep into my blood. The same blood pumping through my veins, filling my raging muscles as I take a swipe at one of the approaching men. I put up the best fight I can, knocking one man to the floor, tearing through the flesh of another with my hidden switchblade, and successfully stabbing another in the thigh, before I’m simply overpowered.

“Teach him. Show him what happens when you fuck with the powers that be,” Cal murmurs before turning and leaving the room with Saint in tow.

They grip my arms, pushing me to my knees as they take turns punching me. I laugh like a madman in their faces, spitting at their attempts to ruin me, even as my eye swells and my wet hair slaps across my forehead, blood pouring from my face.

They desperately needed a villain, and now I gave them one.

The last sight I see before my lights go out is Baret’s arms wrapped around a screaming Briony, clinging to the door frame with a white-knuckled grasp. Her fingers slip off the wooden frame one by one until she’s pulled from my sight.

My doll.

My queen.

My everything.

I’ve done everything her pleading eyes asked. I’ve put my entire forgotten faith in the only one who’s ever seen me for who I am. Someone worthy of everything they’ve stripped me of.

I’ve given myself over to save her. My fate now rests entirely in the hands of the only one I’ve ever loved.

And I haven’t even had the chance to let her know.