20. The Protector
Chapter twenty
The Protector
Sammy
I stare sightlessly at the dark gray door across from me, as I lie on my side on the hard, cold stone floor. I woke up what feels like hours ago, no longer confined by the steel cuffs those assholes had placed on me, my body aching and sore, and to the voice of the woman that I tried to mercilessly kill with my bare hands. The very woman that I swore I would protect with my life, when I pledged her my fealty years ago, and yet here I am doing the exact opposite. I drag my hands ruthlessly down my face, wishing I could tear my skin off with the motion. No part of me desires to keep breathing, to keep existing, and living this nightmare that I find myself trapped inside of.
“I love you, Samuel Wendover. I have from the very beginning, and nothing you do or say will change that. I’m so fucking sorry for everything that has occurred. Please come back to me. I can’t live without you.”
Her words replay over and over in my mind, with the sound of her anguish and grief, poured into every syllable, clearly present even through the obstacle of the steel door that kept us separated. I would like to believe that they are just false statements performed by a great actress and manipulator, attempting to force me back under her control, but now that I don’t feel the burning of Noah’s poison racing through my veins so strongly, doubts are beginning to creep in, like spiders laying webs that shroud everything in a thick film. Could she mean those words? Is it possible that she does, and has always loved me, and never led me astray? No, the images Noah, and his despicable guards, showed me replay in my mind. Her down on her knees for Abraham, while I was suffering. Her upset with Ezekiel, because he was attempting to marry someone else to replace her. At no point does she ask for me. No rescue attempt was ever made, and I was left to fucking rot, while she continued on with her life as if I had never mattered to her. Now she’s claiming that she loves me, and wants me to come back to her. Fucking lying whore.
I slam my fist into the stone floor before me, my skin splitting open once more, and the hit of pain helping to claw back some of the panic that is racing through my body. Lies, it’s all lies. Everyone is attempting to deceive and manipulate me. I can no longer tell the truth from fiction, and right now, they all are monsters in my eyes. I watch as scarlet beads of blood drip down my fingers from my mangled knuckles, and stain the floor before me, one drop at a time, ridding me of my life fluid, and bringing me closer to death, but not quickly enough. This world won’t let me go so readily. I haven’t suffered enough in its eyes. The only truth that I can be certain of is that I am still alive, still breathing, and, unfortunately, still a prisoner, regardless of who holds the key to my cell. I search the room through bleary eyes for something I can use to end my suffering, but nothing useful becomes evident. Of course not, because that would be too easy. Would she mourn me if I was gone? Somehow, I doubt it, since she has them to keep her warm at night. The thought of them touching her, fucking her, and hearing her moans, makes me want to smash my skull into the wall, until my brains are scattered along the dirty surface.
Freedom, maybe that would be better than death? What would I do if I was free? Would I run far away from these serpents that circle me and want my death, or would I go after the ones that have hurt me, seeking retribution? I have no family left out there. My mother’s gone, and my sister is lost somewhere in the nothingness of the Brotherhood, where lowly people like us don’t matter, and die in unmarked graves. The only thing I had left in this world was my Nightstar. She was my beacon of hope, and my guiding light, ensuring that I had a purpose to keep breathing. Who am I without her?
The sound of a key turning in the lock has me rapidly sitting up, and causes my head to spin, as I fight to contain the pained moan that threatens to release from my split lips. I look around frantically, for anything I can use to defend myself, from whoever has come seeking me, and the only things I see are canned goods on shelves. I reach forward and grab a can of peaches, hiding it behind me to use as a weapon. For a second, my traitorous heart hopes that it’s Dinah once again, but I dismiss that thought, and remind myself that I am in this predicament because of her. While she sleeps in a luxurious bed, I’m here on the cold, hard floor like an animal. We are an animal, a rabid one, my mind supplies.
The door opens wide, and the brighter light forces me to flinch and squint, which makes me irrationally angry that I’ve shown any kind of weakness. When I can finally look, without seeing double, and the light feeling like it’s piercing my skull, I get a glimpse of my visitor, and my wrath automatically rises to the surface like a spark in a pile of kindling. Ezekiel Rothesay stands towering in the doorway, dressed in all black like fucking Hades of the underworld, with his tattooed arms on display, folded across his broad chest, and a neutral expression on his bruised face. Just looking at him causes disgust to permeate through me. I should have never let my guard down around this asshole. I trusted him to save us both, and he used my naivety against me, and left me behind at the unhinged mercy of his father, while he rode off into the sunset with my lying whore of a lover. Kill him, bludgeon him with the can, a voice whispers inside of my head, and I tighten my fists, attempting to silence its specter voice.
“I see you’re finally awake. We can’t give you anything for the pain you’re probably feeling, since we don’t know what you might be on, and don’t want to end up killing you in the process of helping you.” He reaches behind him, pulling something from his back pocket, and I scramble to my feet, preparing to have to fight him off. My head spins as I stand up, and I end up crashing my shoulder into the cement wall for my effort, causing all my air to whoosh out of my lungs, and a pained grunt to sound in the air between us. “ Easy, Sammy. I’m not here to fucking hurt you.”
A snarled chuckle escapes me. “A Rothesay not wanting to hurt me? Pretty sure that’s an oxymoron, fucker . You sons of bitches have been actively attempting to end my miserable life, since I had the misfortune to lay eyes on you, and your monster of a father.“ I force myself to stand tall, the can clenched in my hand, as I push my shoulders back and bare my teeth at him, despite all the pain that is ricocheting through my limbs. “Come on then, cunt, finish the job!”
I know I don’t stand a chance against him, despite our evenly matched heights. I’m armed with a can of peaches as my weapon, and despite some visible bruising and injuries, Ezekiel is still in better shape than my abused and malnourished body. It won’t stop me from trying desperately to end his traitorous life though. I refuse to cower to anyone, and if I am going to die, I’ll go out fighting. A blur flies through the air and smacks me in the chest, before falling to the floor and rolling near my feet. I risk removing my eyes from the enemy, before me to glance at what the prick threw at me. A water bottle? What. The. Fuck.
“I am not my father, Sammy. I mean you no harm, and I don’t want to fight you.” My mouth is drier than the fucking desert, and tastes like ass, but even still, I refuse to take anything this snake is offering. I kick the bottle away from me, and it rolls underneath the large shelving unit holding all the canned goods. “That’s a shame, Ezekiel, ’cause I definitely want to fight you. I want to rip that betraying heart of yours right out of your fucking chest.”
He releases a frustrated sigh, and drags his tattooed hand through his dark, thick hair, yanking roughly on the strands. “I never betrayed you.” I get a good look at his features, and even from the distance between us, I can see how weary he looks. “I see this was a mistake. You’re not ready to see reason. You’re too fucking busy believing the lies my father has fed you, and wallowing in self-pity. I never took you for being weak-willed or exploitable, but I guess I was wrong. Oh, and I never thought the man that threatened to murder me, over the woman he loved more than life, would lay down and just die, or become her murderer.” He turns in the doorway, dismissing me with a shake of his privileged head, prepared to seal me back inside this hell, and I dart forward before he can shut me away. “You don’t get to keep turning your back on me, fucker!” I shout, and attempt to pummel him with the can. My blow lands on his shoulder instead of the side of his head, and he shoves me backward until I stumble, crash into the wall, and land uselessly on my ass once more. Now that I don’t have the drugs racing through my system, I’m feeble and weak, and humiliation fills me at my state, and how easily he was able to knock me down.
Ezekiel’s hands clench at his sides, ready to strike at me, as his nostrils flare, and those green eyes that haunt my nightmares stare down at me, with venom in their glare. “ Pathetic. Where is her protector, hmm? Where is the man who would have set fire to the world to protect Dinah Camrose? Oh wait, Dinah Rothesay now, that’s right, she’s mine, my wife . Mine to now guard and protect from those who wish her harm, since you have abandoned your post.“ He squats down, his elbow resting on his knee, as if I pose no fucking threat to him. “You know what is so fucking horrifically amusing, asshole? She never stopped looking for you, not for even a moment. She led Abe and me into a fucking ambush, trying to save you. She made a bargain with the fucking devil, in exchange for your release, and yet you tried to fucking murder her the minute you saw her.”
He stands up again and spits at my feet. “You’re not worthy of her, or her sacrifice. Instead of holding true to the love she has for you, you allowed yourself to be convinced of the worst. She never betrayed you, and despite my and Abe’s best efforts, you are still the man she loves the most. She would burn the world down for you, prick, even now after you fucking tried to murder her.” He turns his back on me and grabs the edge of the door, prepared to shut it in my stunned face.
“You might want to think on that, you unhinged, fucking bastard. You tried to kill the woman who would have gladly gone to her death to save you.” He slams the door, and I hear the lock being engaged again, as I sit sprawled on the floor with my heart racing in my chest, and bile rising up my throat. If even half of what he claims is true, it’s devastating to me, and causes my chest to squeeze tightly, as if a herd of elephants were sitting on it. I grab onto my ragged hair, and pull hard enough to rip strands out, as tears slide down my face unbidden.
No, no, no, no, this can’t be real. What the fuck have I done?