Chapter 5
Sawyer
Sunset painted the walls in strips of rust and crimson, a reminder of the hours I had left to tell him the truth.
Shadows moved with me as I paced, frantic, with the impending confession burning a hole in my throat.
Menace. He would never forgive me for hiding something like this.
He would hate me as soon as I revealed who I was.
My restless eyes landed on the door. I wanted to run again, but there was nowhere else to go.
My stomach growled. I hadn’t been able to eat anything after breakfast. The excitement of the opportunity of being able to teach.
The thing I’d wanted to do all my life and thought I’d never be allowed to and the impending doom of my confession kept me from eating.
Menace said he’d bring dinner. I had to try to eat, or I’d be sick before I could tell him everything.
My stomach clenched. He’d storm out the minute I said my real name.
He’d walk away and leave me to a life of exile.
My heart slammed against my chest. Every moment I lingered here put him and his pack in more danger.
The afternoon sun turned a darker red, blood pooling beneath my feet.
A knock. The sound split through my head.
I froze, imagining him on the other side of the door.
Tall, imposing, the hard glint of his eyes.
He’d hate me. Throw me out. Abandon me to the fates.
I’d rather die than see him walk away. Tears burned.
Breath shallow. Maybe if I hid here, he would give up, leave before I had to explain. God, how ridiculous was I?
My hand was on the doorknob, pulling it open before my heart made the choice.
He stood like an omen on my doorstep, large and shadowed.
His tee clung to his chest, and his leather cut showed the mark of his authority.
I wanted to fall into his arms and forget who I was supposed to be.
Wanted to dissolve into the strength of him until the rest of the world faded.
But I couldn’t. I opened my mouth to speak, to say what? “Hi.”
Menace stepped inside, and the apartment shrank around me.
As much as I ached to be near him, the reminder of how temporary this was gnawed at me.
This would be the last night. I swallowed hard against the burn in my throat.
It was a moment before I realized I was staring and that he hadn’t said a word.
He carried a bag from Ms. Pearl’s. He held it up for me to see. “I brought burgers. Best in town.” His smile almost relaxed me; it was so disarming. I tried to keep my hands from trembling as I took the bag and unpacked the burgers and fries onto paper plates.
He glanced at the food, then back at me. The dark shirt stretched across his shoulders in a way that left my pulse uneven. I thought of how hard it had been to resist him, knowing what we were to each other. Knowing I would have to leave.
“Sure smells good.”
We moved to the couch, his presence as much an accusation as an enticement.
This shouldn’t feel awkward. He’s had his tongue down my throat, for Pete’s sake.
But I was too afraid of the pain when I finally told him.
I put space between us, praying he’d be as far away as possible when he looked at me like I was a traitor.
We ate in silence, the rustle of wrappers unnaturally loud.
“Wine?” I asked, more to have something to do with my hands than because I thought he’d accept.
“You’re shaking, Sawyer.” His voice was deep, steady. I almost wanted to believe it held a hint of tenderness, but that wasn’t possible.
“Just a little bit cold,” I lied.
He leaned back against the couch. There was more distance between us than just space. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” He talked between bites.
His hazel eyes pierced me, so sharp I felt like they left marks. A knot in my chest twisted tighter. “I’m…” A coward. “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t. I was the opposite of fine, and he knew it.
We finished eating, or I pretended to. My stomach felt like an acid pit, threatening to consume me. Menace looked as if he had all the time in the world, his arm resting casually on the back of the couch. His seeming indifference pushed me closer to the edge.
I rose and poured another glass of wine, clinging to the small hope that alcohol might calm my nerves.
The kitchen was small, U-shaped, the island a peninsula.
I didn’t turn around, waiting for the wine to stop sloshing.
Waiting for my heart to stop pounding so hard I could hear it echo off the walls.
When I sat down again, he hadn’t moved. If he was impatient, he didn’t show it. But the set of his jaw and the narrowed line of his eyes left no doubt.
“Menace…” I hesitated. His name tasted bitter. It would be the last time I spoke it.
“You know, Sawyer is not my actual name.” It spilled out before I could stop it.
That caused him to move. His arm came down as he turned on the couch to face me.
He gave a short nod, indicating he already knew that.
Maybe he knew everything. The blood felt thin in my veins, my skin going pale and cold.
I closed my eyes against the intensity of it.
He was still in the same position when I opened them, waiting.
“There’s so much I have to tell you.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t break his gaze.
“That I need to tell you.”
My voice cracked, my fingers wet against the wineglass.
“Start anywhere,” he said.
My heart was running faster than I ever could. I’d tried. “You’ll hate me,” I said.
He just looked at me, that hard hazel stare that seemed to see through layers I hadn’t even begun to uncover. “I could never.”
“Oh, I think you could.”
It was hard to say what felt heavier—my heart or my voice. They both struggled, gasping for breath.
“Have a little faith in me,” he said.
I was trembling again, but it didn’t matter. I had to get through this. “My entire life is a set of strings, all attached to someone else’s hand. All manipulated and jerked into a dance I’ve never been able to stop.”
His silence tore through me. I put the wineglass down, worried it would shatter. Everything felt close to breaking.
I forced myself to keep going, to move past the suffocating air and his stoic expression. “I never had any choices.”
A pause stretched between us, taut as a wire. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.
“Everything was decided for me. The clothes I wore. My hair color, length, style. Friends, schools, hobbies, everything. I never had any say. Everything was carefully curated specifically for me. To create the perfect daughter.” The person I was supposed to marry. “I thought…”
I thought he would have interrupted by now. His gaze was unflinching, cutting.
“Until finally there was a decision made for me, I would not allow. No one but myself would be the person who got to decide who I loved. I would be the person to decide whom I gave myself to. Me and me alone. There was only one way I thought I could be free. That was running.”
He still said nothing. The wine was still in my throat, acidic.
“Are you going to say anything?” I asked, voice hoarse.
“I’m allowing you to finish.”
He did not know how much it hurt to continue. No idea how heavy the truth was.
“I can’t,” I barely spoke.
“You can. You’re doing well; keep going.”
I drew a breath that didn’t feel like mine.
It came out in a rush, a confession against the sanctity of silence. “I’m not like Juliet.” The glass in my hand was close to breaking. “I’m not an afterthought. I’m the opposite. My father always knew where I was. Every minute of my life.”
I saw his jaw tighten, his fingers drum against his thigh.
“Everything was arranged. There was no escaping him. No negotiating. It was like…”
“Like what?” Menace asked.
“A political arrangement.”
His face was hard, closed. But I saw it change, recognition settling in.
My chest was a cavity, dark and empty. My words had been gutted from it.
“I ran because they were going to make me marry someone.” My voice cracked again. This time I didn’t bother fixing it. “Because they wouldn’t allow me to say no.”
He watched me, calculating. The way I’d expected. But he didn’t tell me to get out. Not yet.
“Who?”
His patience was a knife, slow and brutal.
I couldn’t look at him when I answered.
“Someone my father thought would strengthen his power. Someone who didn’t care whether or not I loved him. Someone cruel. Someone who needs heirs.”
His eyes burned. I could feel them on me, a heat worse than his silence. My breath felt as final as a tombstone. “It was a strategic match,” I said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His voice was rougher than before. He was beginning to see. Beginning to understand.
“I was afraid.”
His posture stiffened. He was beginning to put the pieces together.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of everything. I’d just been pulled from the nightmare of that lab. I didn’t know if my father knew that I’d been locked up in that cell. Afraid of what people would see when they looked at me. Of what you would see.” I cried.
I waited for him to say something. For him to cast me out with the rest of my secrets.
But he didn’t.
“You’re thinking of how you can run now, aren’t you?” he asked.
A short, bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Trying to,” I said. “But not getting very far.”
A choked sob climbed its way into my throat.
“When you broke down that door to my cell, it was like I’d been freed from more than what Dane had done to me. Something broke inside me when I looked in your eyes. I should have just told you who I was and had you return me. But I was selfish. I dared to hope.”
His face was in his hands.
“Please,” I said. “Please look at me.”
He lifted his face to me, a million unsaid words in his eyes.
I drew another breath, preparing for the last cut.
“I’m not Sawyer Galloway.”
This was it. I had to get the words out.
“I’m Princess Savannah Calloway.”