Chapter 9 Saint
Saint
The cabin feels different in the evening light.
Warmer somehow, though that might be because of the fire Calder built earlier.
I’m still on the bed where he placed me after our confrontation yesterday, still wrapped in the quilt my mother made, still trying to process everything that’s happened since that terrible night he kidnapped me.
At least I’m not still chained up like a dog.
His words from yesterday echo in my head, mixing with the memory of his hands on me—gentle when bandaging my wrist, devastating when touching me in ways I’d never been touched before. Ways that made me come apart while hating myself for wanting it.
I touch my bandaged wrist absently, remembering how carefully he’d cleaned the raw skin. How those same hands had killed Martin Everett. Had choked me and brought me here. The same hands that made me feel things I shouldn’t feel for my captor.
What is wrong with me? How can I hate someone and still respond to their touch like that? How can I be terrified of someone and still feel drawn to them?
Maybe I’m broken. Maybe being kidnapped breaks something fundamental inside you, makes you confuse your captor for your savior. Or maybe—and this thought is more terrifying— perhaps I was already broken.
I’ve been drawn to Calder Bishop for longer than I care to admit.
Since he took me to the hospital when I was seventeen.
Since I saw him do small bits of kindness around town that didn’t match the rumors I heard about his family.
Since I kissed him on my eighteenth birthday and he pushed me away for my own good.
God, what does it say about me for trying to rationalize this? That I’m searching for reasons my attraction to him might be okay?
A sound from outside draws my attention. I peek out the door’s window, craning my neck to see better so I don’t have to get out of the quilt and freeze. Calder’s getting out of his truck, his tall frame silhouetted against the darkening sky.
I study him the way I never could when he’s looking at me. Without those cold blue eyes pinning me in place, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he runs a hand through his dark hair in what might be frustration or stress. He looks... tired. Burdened.
I remind myself that it doesn’t make him a good man. Doesn’t make what he’s done to me okay. My heart pounds harder as his boots echo on the porch steps. The door opens, and he enters, bringing cold air and the scent of pine with him.
“Saint.” His voice is careful, controlled. Like he’s approaching a skittish animal.
I don’t respond, just watch him close the door and move to the hearth to add more logs.
The fire flares brighter, casting dancing shadows across the rough cabin walls.
My pulse jumps into my throat when he turns toward me.
This is it. Whatever plan he’s devised, whatever fate he’s decided for me—I’m about to hear it.
“We need to talk,” he says.
“You keep saying that. But talking implies a conversation, not you telling me what’s going to happen to me.”
He straightens, finally meeting my eyes. “You’re right. So I’ll ask instead. Will you hear me out?” I’m a little shocked by the sudden change. I expected commands, expected him to simply tell me how things were going to be. This is different, and I’m not sure if I should be grateful or concerned.
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, Saint. That’s what this is about.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity.
“I didn’t choose to be here. I didn’t choose to witness a murder. I didn’t choose to be kidnapped and chained up like an animal. Where were my choices in any of that?”
“You’re right. You didn’t choose this.” Guilt flashes in his eyes.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I’m sorry.
That you didn’t get a choice, but this is where we are right now.
I can’t go back in time and change what happened.
I’m trying to find a way forward, a way that keeps you alive. That has to count for something.”
“A way that keeps me alive? Why bother? So I can be your prisoner forever?”
“No.” He pulls out the chair from the small table and sits, the movement weary. “So you can have a life. Freedom. Protection.”
I should feel hope, should feel anything other than the despair I’m coursing through my body, but I don’t because I know better. What he’s offering me is a false sense of freedom.
The real truth is that as long as he’s in my life, freedom will cease to exist.
“What’s your plan?” I ask finally, because what else can I say?
Calder leans forward, elbows on his knees, those winter-blue eyes intense on mine. “Marriage.”
I blink slowly trying to decipher what he’s said, because I’m certain I must’ve misheard him. Marriage? That can’t be what he just suggested.
“What?”
“I understand that it’s not the best option, and I know you aren’t going to like it. But logically, if we get married, and you become a Bishop, that gives you the level of protection we need to survive this.”
All I can do is stare at him, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for him to tell me he’s joking because he can’t actually be serious. Except Calder isn’t smiling. There isn’t even the slightest hint of humor in his eyes. His expression is serious, almost earnest.
Holy shit, he’s serious.
“I think you’re losing your mind,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper.
“Like I said, it’s not the best option, but it’s the only solution I can come up with that will keep us both alive.”
“Both of us?” I shake my head, trying to understand what he’s saying. My thoughts scatter like startled birds, unable to land on anything solid. He never said anything about himself. “What danger are you in?”
“The same danger you’re in. I defied a direct order to keep you alive. That’s betrayal. If my father finds out before I can get this done, we’re both as good as dead.”
“Ahhh. I get it now. This is about you,” I say bitterly, anger cutting through the fear. “About saving your own skin.”
“No, it’s about both of us.” He holds my gaze, unblinking. “We’re both dead unless I can give him a reason that makes sense. That he can accept.”
“Please explain to me how making me your wife is something he will accept?”
“If there is one thing my father respects more than anything, it’s the name of our family. Bishops take what they want—that’s what everyone believes. He won’t be happy that I disobeyed him, but he can respect a man, a Bishop, taking something and claiming it for himself.”
“What about my father?” My voice cracks. In my mind, I see my Dad’s gentle face, his kind eyes, his unwavering faith that good will triumph over evil. “You think he’ll just accept that his daughter married a Bishop while he was away?”
Calder’s expression hardens, and I see the shift, from the man trying to reason with me to the brutal enforcer who does his family’s dirty work. “I don’t think he’ll accept it if he hears it from someone else, but if you tell him. That’s different. He has to accept it because it’s your choice.”
“And if he doesn’t and reacts differently, then what?”
Calder shrugs. “Then I guess I’ll have to remind him about the debts he owes my family. Debts that could be called in at any time.”
I can barely contain my gasp. “Would you really threaten my father?”
“You bet your ass. I’d do whatever is necessary to survive.
” He leans forward, and I see the calculation in his eyes.
“After your mother passed away, your father fell behind on church payments. My father stepped in to help him out. Paid the debt off, and gave him a little money to help take care of you. All it will take is one word from my family, and everything disappears. The church, his home, his standing in the community. Is that what you want to happen? What you think he wants to happen? Is he willing to give it all up just to lose, anyway?”
There is no winning this battle. Rage and helplessness war inside me. “You’re a bastard.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” he growls.
“I’m fine being the bad guy. I’ll cross whatever line and threaten anyone I need to, to make sure we survive this.
” His voice drops, becoming almost gentle.
“And remember, there are numerous lives at risk here. My father’s already planning to frame Allie Porter for your disappearance.
He wants to make it look like you two ran off together.
If we don’t get married, then Allie’s life is over. ”
The blood in my veins turns to ice. Allie. No. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let her become collateral damage for the Bishop family’s crimes. “That’s nonsense. Allie had nothing to do with any of this.”
“I know that, but my father doesn’t care. He will do whatever he needs to do to make certain the family is protected. Strategize, deflect, and put the blow back onto someone else.”
I can picture it too clearly—Allie’s face plastered across the news, her mother’s heartbreak, the town turning against the Porter family. “I refuse to let that happen. I won’t let you drag her into this situation.”
“Then you’ll marry me. You become a Bishop, and both of you are protected.
” His blue eyes are hard now, calculating.
He knows he’s got me cornered, and he’s not backing down.
“But if you refuse, if you fight this, then Allie disappears too. Your father loses everything. And you—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but then again he doesn’t have to.
“I die anyway,” I whisper.
“We both die. Of course, not before watching everyone we care about suffer first.” He shoves out of his seat and moves toward the window.
The movement is predatory, restless. “I’m telling you what has to happen.
The only question is whether you will cooperate or if I will have to force you every step of the way. That’s the choice. Your choice.”