Chapter 32 Saint #2
“They have enough.” I gesture toward Roman’s body, toward the blood pooling on the floor. “They have him. They have Kade’s confession about what just happened. They don’t need whatever else was on that recording.”
“I had immunity.”
“Did you?” I keep my voice steady even though my hands shake. “Or did they promise you immunity and plan to use whatever you said tonight against you later? I’ve seen enough crime shows to know how the FBI works. How they make deals that fall apart in court.”
“Reese gave me her word.”
“And Roman gave you his word too. Multiple times. How’d that work out?”
The words hang in the air between us. Harsh but true.
Behind us, footsteps pound through the house, heavy on the hardwood. Voices shout FBI identifications. The cavalry arrives too late to do anything except clean up the mess.
Calder stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. Really seeing me. Not the frightened girl he kidnapped, not the wife he tried to protect, but someone else entirely. Someone who just destroyed evidence to save him, who crossed a line she can’t uncross.
Someone who loves him enough to risk everything.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly.
“Probably not.” I walk back to him and take his hand. “But I did. And I’m not sorry.”
“Saint.”
“I’m not sorry Roman is dead either.” The admission comes out easier than it should.
“I know I should be. I know I should feel something other than relief. But I don’t.
He was going to kill us. He was going to kill you.
I would’ve watched him bleed out on this floor for hours if that’s what it took to keep you safe. ”
His hand tightens around mine. “You’re not that person.”
“Maybe I am now.” I glance toward the window, where red and blue lights are painting the driveway. “Maybe you made me into someone who can watch a man die and feel nothing but relief that it’s over. Or maybe it’s just that he was a bad person and I don’t think a single soul is going to miss him.”
“No.” He pulls me close again, and this time when his arms come around me, it feels different. It feels like he’s the one seeking comfort instead of providing it. “No. You’re still you. You’re still Saint. Don’t let this place, don’t let me, turn you into something you’re not.”
It’s too late for that. Has been too late since the moment he pulled me into his truck and drove me to that cabin in the mountains. Since the moment I fell in love with my captor and chose to protect him instead of myself.
The dining room door slams open, and agents pour in, shouting commands with their guns drawn.
I recognize Agent Reese among them, her sharp eyes taking in the scene efficiently.
I’ve seen her a few times at Porter family parties.
She spots Roman’s body. Kade on the floor.
The rest of us standing in various states of shock.
Her gaze lands on Calder and me, and something flickers across her face. Understanding, maybe. Or suspicion.
“Where’s the wire?” she asks, moving toward us.
Calder opens his mouth, but I speak first.
“It came off during the struggle. I don’t know where it went.”
It’s a lie. An obvious lie. But Reese doesn’t push. She stares at me for a long moment, then nods and turns away to coordinate with her team. Sawyer had taken the device while Calder questioned me. We met eyes over Calder’s shoulder in a moment of understanding.
Maybe she knows. Perhaps she doesn’t care. Maybe having Roman Bishop dead is enough, even if it means losing some evidence against Calder in the process.
I don’t know. Don’t care.
All I care about is the man standing next to me, alive and whole and mine.
An EMT tries to approach Roman’s body, but it’s clear there’s nothing to be done.
He’s already gone, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, blood soaking into the expensive Persian rug beneath him.
Kade is being led away by agents, his hands behind his back.
His expression is blank, almost as if he’s numb.
He doesn’t look at any of us as they take him out.
Doesn’t acknowledge that he saved us all by pulling that trigger.
Levi and Sawyer are being questioned separately. Agents are taking statements and documenting everything. Elena is escorted to another room by another pair of agents. This is going to be a long night. Probably a long week. But it’s over. The worst is over.
“We should go,” Calder says quietly. “Before they decide to arrest me too.”
“They’re not going to arrest you.” I lean into his side, feeling bone-deep exhaustion settling over me. “You were working with them. And I’m hoping Reese will take care of you.”
“Had.” He looks down at me. “Past tense. Because someone destroyed the wire that was recording all my cooperation.”
“Then I guess we’ll figure it out together.” I take his hand and lace our fingers together. “Whatever comes next. We do it together.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Just stares at our joined hands like they’re some kind of miracle. Like he still can’t quite believe I chose this. Chose him.
Then he lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Together,” he agrees. “Always.”
Agent Reese approaches us again, and this time her expression is harder to read. “I need you both to come in for questioning. Tonight.”
“Of course,” Calder says. Always polite, even now.
“And Calder?” She pauses. “We’re going to need to talk about that immunity agreement. Given the circumstances.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “Understood.”
Around us, the FBI continues processing the scene, taking photos, collecting evidence, and documenting the end of Roman Bishop’s reign of terror.
I can’t believe it’s over. It doesn’t feel real.
We make it back to the house, and I run up to change into something comfortable, since I assume we’ll be spending a long time at whatever passes for an FBI office in Black Hollow Creek.
The police station maybe? Who knows. I’m drying my face when Calder enters the bathroom, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. He drops a black duffel at my feet.
“What’s that? Hush money? I think we’re beyond that.” It’s a joke, but Calder doesn’t even blink.
“No. It’s not hush money. It’s for you. Your mom’s quilt is already in there, along with some money and a burner phone. There’s enough to start over, wherever you decide.”
“Start over?” I blink and look at him like he’s grown a second head. “What are you talking about?”
Calder stares at me, a mixture of fear and guilt in his eyes.
“The idea of letting you go, watching you walk away, kills me. It physically hurts, but the thought of keeping you here. Trapped in a life you never asked for. Yeah, I’m selfish, but not that selfish.
With my father gone, I’ll step into the role of the overseer to the Bishop family.
I can’t put you through more darkness, more trauma, more things that are going to change who you are.
I fell in love with the church girl. The bake sale girl.
The can’t-play-pool-for-shit girl. Not.. . Mrs. Calder Bishop.”
I blink, my heartbeat picking up speed in my chest. “You...you don’t want me anymore because I’ve changed? I really didn’t get a choice here.”
He shakes his head and then scratches over his hair. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t want you to look back and regret being with me. At staying. I don’t want you to see yourself as a monster, like I am.”
I try to parse what he’s telling me, and the realization angers me. “Calder fucking Bishop, you do not get to put me through what you’ve put me through and then make this choice, another choice for me. How about you ask me what I want this time?”
He studies me, then resettles his shoulders like he hadn’t considered my reaction until right this second. “Saintlyn, what do you want? I know if you left, you’d have to go far and hide because I am still not entirely sure I can let you go, but I’ve already taken so much from yo—”
I step into him, and he instinctively wraps his hands around my waist. “Ask me.”
He grits his teeth, his jaw tight. “Do you want to stay here with me, Saint? Or do you want to leave?”
I kiss him in response, hard, deep, teeth scraping teeth, until we both come up for air. “I’m Mrs. Calder Bishop, and I’m not fucking going anywhere.”
He looks at me for a long moment, and I see everything in his eyes. Fear and love and gratitude and something that might be hope. He pulls me against him one more time, and this time holds me tight enough that I can barely breathe.
“I fucking love you,” he whispers into my hair.
“I love you too,” I say simply. Because what else is there? What else matters when the world has just exploded around us and we’re still standing?
He kisses the top of my head. “I can’t believe I get to call you mine. My brave, foolish, perfect wife.”
I simply stand in my husband’s arms and breathe.
And feel grateful that we get to keep breathing at all.
The preacher’s daughter who used to bake cookies for church functions.
The girl who used to have a future stretching before her like an open road.
She’s gone now. Died somewhere between the cabin and the branding and tonight.
In her place is someone new. Someone harder. Someone who can watch a man die and feel nothing but relief. Someone who can destroy evidence and lie to federal agents without hesitation.
Someone who chose love over innocence. Some might call that survival. Others might call it becoming a monster.
I call it loving Calder Bishop enough to follow him into hell and burn it down from the inside.
Every choice. Every sacrifice. Every moment that led me here.
Because this is where I belong.
Not in my father’s church. Not in my old life. But here, with this man, in the ashes of everything we burned to stay together.
And if that makes me a monster too, then so be it.
At least we’re monsters together.