Chapter 12 Calder
Calder
Being inside Saint’s father’s house feels like I’m walking into a trap. Like I’m setting myself up.
“Is everything okay? What’s going on?” Pastor James asks, using that calm, measured tone that men of God employ. This is it. The moment when he agrees to do this, or I force him.
The how doesn’t matter, so long as it happens. Either way, I’m not leaving until her father signs the marriage certificate.
I look at Saint, waiting for her to speak, but when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out.
Damn it. I reach down, take her hand, and squeeze it to remind her that I’m here.
That doesn’t seem to help. Her expression becomes almost blank, and I know the words we discussed are now stuck somewhere between her brain and her tongue.
If I’m going to make this happen, I need to step in. To take control.
“Pastor James,” I say, keeping my voice respectful but firm. “Saint and I have some important news to share with you. We both know it’s going to be difficult for you to accept at first, but we hope that with time it will change.”
His gaze, which is mostly on me, narrows with suspicion. “What news? What do I need to accept?”
“Saint and I are together. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”
“What?” Disbelief coats his words.
“It’s true,” I confirm.
Ignoring me, he turns to Saintlyn, the color draining from his face almost completely. The hope that I’m lying clinging to his soul.
“Please tell me.” He shakes his head. “This, isn’t— Is this true?”
I contemplate what will happen next if Saint doesn’t agree, but thankfully, she does, and nods her head in agreement. I sigh internally. Thank fuck.
Pastor James releases a long, shuddering breath, the light in his eyes dulling for a moment. “How long?” The question cuts from his throat. “How long has this been going on?”
“Around a year,” I reply smoothly, feeding him the story we crafted. “Remember when she broke her wrist, and I took her to the hospital?”
“Yes.” The word was barely audible.
“That’s when she confessed her feelings to me. It wasn't until after her eighteenth birthday that we started spending time together. I’ve come to see her a few times when you were away at your meetings and retreats. We tried to keep it under wraps because we knew you wouldn’t approve.”
The initial shock gives way to anger and helplessness. “You’re damn right I don’t approve. She’s—” He cuts himself off, jaw working. “You’re a Bishop. You know what that means in this town. What your family—”
“I know your thoughts on my family and me already.” I interrupt, letting an edge creep into my voice. “No need to rehash your disdain. We aren’t here for that. We’re here because we love each other, because I want to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.”
“My blessing?” He lets out a short, jagged laugh that cuts the air in half.
“You want my blessing to—no. Absolutely not. I don’t know what lies or stories you’ve told my daughter to make her believe you’re a decent man who’s worthy of her love, and the Lord’s, but I won’t allow this nonsense to go on.
” His gaze snaps to Saintlyn, hard and unyielding.
“Go upstairs. Pack a bag. We’re leaving town. Tonight.”
“Dad, please—”
“Now, Saintlyn.” His hand clamps around her arm, yanking her toward him. “I’m not discussing this with you. You will be coming with me, and that’s final.”
I reach for his wrist and squeeze until the bones protest. “I thought we could keep this civil,” I murmur, watching his features pale. “Guess not.”
“Get your hand off me,” he spits, trying to pull free, and my grip only tightens. “I cannot believe this! I won’t be letting my daughter go anywhere with you.”
“Actually…” I pause and reach under the back of my jacket with my free hand, “You’re going to let me do more than that. You’re going to marry us.”
The gun I brought clears my waistband easily.
I point it directly at his chest. Close enough that he can see down the barrel. Close enough that there’s no mistaking the threat.
“Wait. Please. Think about what you’re—”
“The only person in this room who needs to think is you.” I release his wrist and steady my aim. “Saint and I want to get married. Today. Right now. And you’re going to sign the license and make it official for us.”
“I will not sign my daughter over to you.”
“Then things are going to get real ugly. The Bishop kind of ugly.”
The crude threat hangs between us without the pretense of civility. Just raw, barely contained violence.
“You wouldn’t.” The words rip out of him, but the way his gaze darts away with uncertainty tells me that he’s not so sure I won’t do it. “Not with Saintlyn right here.”
“But wouldn’t I?” My voice turns deadly. “It’s the perfect opportunity to show my soon-to-be-wife what happens to those who don’t give me what I want.” I smile coldly.
“She isn’t yours.” Pastor James argues. “My daughter is good, holy, a child of God. She would never choose a monster like you.”
Something dark and sinister fills my chest. The need to not only prove that she chose me, but that she is mine, and that there isn’t a single thing he can do about it.
Wrapping an arm around Saint’s middle, I pull her in front of me, securing her against my chest. She fits against me like she was made to be there, small hands wrapping around my wrist, trembling.
It’s like she wants to pry loose but doesn’t dare.
My palm spreads low over her stomach, pressing down until she knows she’s not going anywhere. Possession. Proof. A reminder to both of them who she belongs to.
Lowering my head, I smile slowly and deliberately, ensuring her father sees it, then I bring my lips to her ear, and well grazing the sensitive flesh, I speak in a whisper, “Tell him, Saint. Tell your daddy how much you love me.”
She shivers, whether from fear or from something else entirely doesn’t matter. I’ve hit my mark with the distinct tightening of her father’s jaw. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my sleeve, and her breath hitches.
“Please…” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to her father or me.
I shift the barrel of the gun down, aiming it at his knee instead. “I suppose I don’t have to kill you. There are other ways to make you suffer. Maybe I'll make it so every time you take a step, you remember the day you tried to take your daughter from me.”
“Stop.” Pastor James holds up his hands, actual fear shining in his eyes. “Please, just stop. Let’s talk about this. There has to be another way—”
“I’m not in the mood for talking and, even if I was, this isn’t up for negotiation.” I move the gun a little closer. “Sign the fucking license, or I’ll pull the trigger.”
“Dad, please. Please just do what he says,” Saint speaks, her voice cracking.
“Saintlyn, no—”
“He’ll do it!” Even though I can’t see Saint’s face, I know she’s sobbing. The way her words are clogged with emotion, and the ragged breaths she takes. “He’ll hurt you, and it’ll be my fault. And I can’t live with that. I can’t lose you. Please, Dad. Please just sign it.”
Pastor James looks at her, really looks at her, and I can tell the instant it all clicks into place. That this isn’t about love or choice but instead survival. His daughter’s survival.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head. “I can’t just hand you over to him, to them.”
Fuck. I don’t want to blow his kneecap apart, but I’ll do what I need to do. I flip the safety on the gun. The click is obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Dad!” Saint’s entire body vibrates. “Please! I’m begging you. Just do it. Just sign the papers and let this be over.”
“He’s going to hurt you,” Pastor James frowns, his voice raw with grief. “I can see it in his eyes. He’s going to destroy you.”
“Then that’s my business,” Saint says desperately, and the words cut through all the pretense. The truth lay bare. “Please. I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die. Just... please.”
The silence stretches on, and I keep the gun trained on his knee, my finger resting on the trigger. One wrong move and I’ll do it. I’ll cripple him right here in front of his daughter just to prove a point. I have no other option.
Pastor James sees it too. He knows I’m not bluffing. That I’m exactly the monster he always warned Saint about.
“I don’t like this Saint. I don’t like it all.” He shakes his head. “Where’s the license?” he asks finally, his voice hollow. Defeated.
I release my hold on Saint, pull the folded document from my jacket pocket, and hand it to him. It’s already filled out with our names, ages, and the date. All that’s missing is his signature as the officiant.
There’s a disgusted look on his face, and I feel his pain. I understand it all too well. I didn’t want to have to do it this way either, but survival makes people do crazy things.
“I can’t marry you without witnesses,” he says, grasping at any reason possible not to move forward. “By law, I need two witnesses to make it legal.”
“Fuck the witnesses. I’ll handle that part. All I need is for you to sign the document.”
“Saintlyn,” he tries one last time, his voice breaking. “I’ll figure something out. We’ll run, we’ll hide, we’ll—”
I move in front of Saint and shove the barrel of the gun against his chest again. “Sign. The. Fucking. License.”
“Dad!” Saint scrambles, grabbing her father’s arm. “I want this. I love him. Please. Just give us your blessing.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes a second later, all I see is broken despair. “I’ll sign the paper, but I’m not going to give you my blessing.”
“Great.” I snarl and take a couple of steps back. “Make it quick.”
He drops the license onto the coffee table, grabs a pen from the small dish in the center, and signs his name across the bottom. It’s done. Saint James is now Saint Bishop.
The wife I forced into marriage at gunpoint. I put my gun away and snag the document off the table, folding it before sliding it into the pocket of my jacket again.