14. The Protector
Irest my head against the plush back of the navy blue chaise I’m lying on. As prisons go, this one is a lavish upgrade from the one I found myself in over a week ago, but the fact remains, it is still a prison and I am an unwilling captive. It doesn’t truly matter though. I have nowhere else to be and no one else to live for, now that my Nightstar is gone.
My thoughts return to memories of Dinah and I, living in that house out of the prying and malicious eyes of the Brotherhood. We were so happy once in our little cocoon.
“Teach me how to shoot, Sammy.” Her beautiful gray-blue eyes meet mine with so much life in their depths, and the sweet sparkle of waning innocence of the youth she is leaving behind. The one the Order would love to deprive her of with their sick expectations. I wish she could be carefree for longer. I wish we didn’t live in a world where someone was always trying to take everything from her. It’s not fair, but it is the reality that we have to accept. There is no other choice.
Not for her, not for me, not for anyone else. This is the world we live in, under the governorship and power of the Brotherhood of the Sacrament. They rule with an iron fist and have no mercy for anyone, least of all a young woman, or a lowly guard from one of the outlying areas. We are all tools to be manipulated and used in their arsenal, to control the world and its population. Mere ants under their booted feet.
Her request is not an innocent one. She knows that women are forbidden to learn how to fight or handle weapons. My teaching her could result in me swinging from a rope by my neck, outside of the capital, if it was discovered. The Brotherhood wants their females weak, docile, and utterly dependent on them.
“Why do you want to learn, Dinah?” I question as I put distance between us. The constant reminder is always at the forefront of my mind that I am her guard, and she is my prisoner. That she will one day be someone’s Sacred Wife, and this is as high a station in life as I will ever achieve. Soon, they will come for her and take her back to society, to prepare her for her role. The one where she becomes some high-ranking Order man’s wife and possession.
A rare jewel amongst the endless rubble that surrounds us.
I need to remind myself not to become so invested in what happens to her, not to get so attached, but it’s almost impossible with spending every moment in her company. She has wiggled her way into my heart, making herself comfortable and inhabiting the once frigid and empty space. She’s a determined little thing, and it seems, I am not strong enough to resist her.
Her face becomes shuttered, some of the light dimming in her eyes, as if she is witnessing some image that I can’t see, reliving the horrors that give her nightmares at night. “I need to be able to protect myself, Sammy. You won’t always be there to do it.” Her words are daggers penetrating deeply into my soul, and forcing my heart to clench painfully, as if a great weight is oppressing it.
I want to immediately deny her words; in fact, it’s on the tip of my tongue to do so, before I swallow them down like a bitter pill. She’s right, I won’t always be there to defend her. The best I can do is prepare her to protect herself. Give her the tools to ensure her own survival, even if it could lead to my death. After she is taken from me, nothing will matter anyway. I will have nothing to go on for.
“Come with me, Dinah. I will teach you all that I know, so that one day, you can be a fierce warrior like the ones you love to read about in your banned books. I’ll make sure that you always have a way to fight off your enemies.”
I failed her terribly, and she paid the price with her life. We should have never left there. We were happy and safe together. I should have never allowed her to convince me to proceed with her vigilante justice, no matter how righteous it was. I should have grabbed her and run far from the Brotherhood, and deep into the rebel’s lines, to keep her safe from harm. Should have, could have, would have, all of them mean nothing now.
The regrets I have are many. They fill me up until there is not an inch of me not overflowing with them, as they suffocate me with their sorrow. All the things I should have done no longer matter. There is no reset button on life; I won’t get another chance at a life with Dinah. She’s gone, ripped away from me, her life ended too short.
The sound of the lock disengaging and the door opening greets my ears, but I don’t even bother to raise my head to acknowledge it. There is only one person who continuously enters this space, and I don’t give a flying fuck about his presence.
“Still wallowing, I see.” His sarcastic, deep voice meets my ears and has me rolling my eyes at his attempt to rile me up. Fuck him.
“Are you all done pretending to be the grieving husband for the day? Traitorous motherfucker,“ I answer him, with not a hint of interest in my voice.
A deep sigh leaves his lips, before the sound of the door closing and being locked sounds in the air. I can feel his frustration with me, know that he wants me to cooperate, but fuck him. I have no intention of making this easy on him.
“Must you always be such a cunt?” He moves forward, his heavy footsteps echoing off the hardwood floor before he drops himself in the chair to my right. I can see the fringe of the mourning robes he’s still wearing, and their sight not only offends me, but also enrages me. How fucking dare he come in here wearing those, as if he was indeed the one who loved and mourns for her. As if she wasn’t mine, and he hadn’t taken her from me.
My body snaps up, and before he can prevent me from attacking him, I strike out with my casted hand, slamming it into the side of his jaw and forcing his head back with a crack. Satisfaction fills me with the sound, but it’s not enough; nothing will ever be enough, now that she is gone. “You have a lot of fucking nerve, wearing those in front of me, you piece of shit.”
He rubs the side of his face where I hit him, his emerald green eyes filled with a deep, tempestuous storm of emotions, as he clenches his jaw and restrains himself from hitting me back. Come on, coward, hit me back, end my life so I can finally join her.
“Your fucking hand will never heal if you keep slamming it into my face, asshole. Hitting me isn’t going to change anything, Sammy.”
“Maybe not, but it sure makes me feel better,” I spit out as I sit up, preparing to hit him again. I can’t even fucking look at him, without the desire to rip out his throat overriding all my senses. Death. I crave his and mine. Why won’t the fucker just let me go to the afterlife to be with my Dinah?
His pale face, now sporting a red mark that is already swelling, greets my eyes. Gone is his golden pallor; his once healthy visage has been replaced with deep grooves of pain next to his stern mouth, and dark shadows frequent the space underneath his eyes, showing me that he’s suffering from nightmares, just like I am. Even though the sizeable mourning robe covers his large, powerful frame, I can still tell he’s slimmer than he was before. I guess murdering the love of my life has had an impact on his appetite. Good, I hope the fucker starves and withers away, even though that would never be an adequate punishment for what he’s done.
No, not even a violent death would be enough to compensate for what he has taken from me.Nothing can bring her back, and there is no satisfaction in anything else, not even his death at my hands.
My eyes trail down to the white ribbon across his chest with Dinah’s name neatly scrawled across it in black calligraphy. I reach forward, my fist wrapping around it, and I tear it from his frame until it’s clenched in my hand. He doesn’t deserve to even have her name on his body. She was mine, and he took her from me. He betrayed her.
A grunt leaves his lips, but he doesn’t retaliate against my treatment. No, Ezekiel Rothesay wants to die as much as I do. The only thing keeping him going is the knowledge that Abraham Mercier is still out there in the hands of the rebels, and his psychotic father has Gabriel Camrose’s only child in his clutches.
“If you can be fucking reasonable for a moment, I have news.” He sits up, his eyebrows furrowing and forehead creasing as he places his forearms on his thick thighs, daring to move closer to me. Maybe this fucker does have a death wish, after all.
All the tattoos that scale his throat and forearms are on vibrant display in the room’s bright light, with the sleeves of his robe pulled up. If you look closely, you can see the disguised skull tattoo he has on his scalp, which his dark hair hides. Even if I don’t want to see it, and will never admit it out loud, the asshole is stunning to look at. He is the perfect blend of masculinity, ruggedness, and perfectly crafted features.
Regardless of that perfection, if I had a blade, I would slit his fucking throat from ear to ear, and watch him bleed out on his father’s expensive hardwood floors.
What a pity I don’t, but I guess there’s always tomorrow. That is, if his father doesn’t murder us both before then.
His jaw clenches as he watches me stare at him, I am sure in anticipation of my next hit, but when I slam my fist into his face again, it won’t be while he’s expecting it. That takes all the fucking fun out of it. He bites down on his bottom lip, and a hint of color rises to his high cheekbones as he stares at me from lowered thick lashes, and spreads his legs wider in the chair, his hand trailing to rub leisurely and seductively against his throat.
“Knock that shit out, or I’ll break your fucking teeth. You can’t seduce me, asshole, I see the real you, and you’re a fucking monster.”
He rolls his eyes and shrugs, as if my threat is of no consequence. “The Holy Father knows it wasn’t the rebels who killed Dinah. He himself threatened me during the mourning ceremony. He also suspects my father had a hand in it.”
My shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug, unsure what to make of his words. “So? What’s your fucking point, dick? We both know they weren’t responsible, because you and your cunt father were.”
“Pay attention, Sammy. If the Holy Father knows for a fact that it wasn’t the rebels who killed Dinah, he will be coming for us. He all but stated behind his threat that he would see me dead. We have to move up our timeline of getting out of here. If I die at the hands of one of the Holy Father’s henchmen, you won’t be far behind me.”
His eyes widen, and he crosses his arms against his chest, his posture becoming rigid. “We need to find out where my father is hiding that child and get him to the rebels. Hopefully, they will take the child, and release Abe to me in exchange.”
A sarcastic snort leaves my lips at his simplistic plan. He’s fucking serious. I observe as his thumb rubs aggressively against his other fingers, before cracking them in a tightly clenched fist, denoting that he’s not as calm as he’s trying to portray. “You think they will just allow you to trade that kid for Abraham? What’s to stop them from killing you and just taking him?”
“You.” His eyes glare into mine. “They know you, have had dealings with you in the past, and trust you. You’re going to help me negotiate the exchange, and then the three of us,” he points at my chest, “You, me, and Abe are going to murder as many of the Brotherhood leaders as we can, starting with my father.”
“Why?”
“Because, Sammy, they have taken far too much from us already, and she would have wanted them all to die painfully. The Unholy Ghost has to finish what it started; it needs to free the populace from the control of the Brotherhood, and the only sure way to do that is to destabilize those in power at the top.“ His hands motion something dropping down from a vast height and splattering. “Take out those at the top, and the rest will crumble.”
“How do you mean to accomplish that, Ezekiel, hmm? Your father has me under lock and key here as a prisoner, and you under constant surveillance.”
“I have a plan, but I need you to trust me. If I can get you out of here in the next couple of days, I need you to promise me that you will help me get Gabriel’s son, and not run off to immediately kill my father, or turn around and slit my throat.”
“I’m not promising you shit, Ezekiel, other than one day soon, you will die at my hands, so will your demon of a father.“ I roll my eyes at his demand, and a pent-up, rage-filled sigh leaves my clenched lips. “I will help you get Gabriel’s son to safety, because Dinah would never have forgiven me if I didn’t. I’ll help you negotiate with the rebels to free Abraham, because he fucking loved her too, but after that, your life is fair game, and I plan to end it painfully.”
His hand reaches forward, suspended towards mine in the gesture of a shake. Neither of us looks away, seeing the reality of the deal we are making. He’s agreeing to die at my hands, and I’m agreeing to make sure his lover is free. I take his hand, grasping it tightly in my own and squeezing it as ruthlessly as I can, while meeting his somber face until a grimace crosses his features at my treatment of his fingers.
“To the Unholy Ghost killing as many Brotherhood scum as possible.”
“To the destruction of the Order.”