Chapter 12 Jace
Jace
I was going to fucking slaughter that man.
I couldn’t stop seeing it.
Didn’t matter where I went or what I tried to focus on—it all blurred under the same image burned into the back of my eyes.
Elior on his knees.
Shaking, with spots of red blooming through his torn white robe.
Held down like he was something dangerous instead of the gentlest creature I had ever known.
I’d left the chapel as soon as Father dismissed us, because I’d been seconds—seconds—from doing something unforgivable in the eyes of the FBI. My hands still tingled with the phantom need to grab that whip, to wrench it out of Malachi’s grasp, to put my body between Elior and those fucking demons.
But I hadn’t.
I’d stayed still like a good disciple.
I’d walked out with the crowd.
And now I was back in my room, pacing slow, tight circles like a caged lion.
I raked a hand through my hair and exhaled shakily.
Every time I blinked, I saw Elior’s pain.
Every time I breathed, I heard the soft, broken cries he tried—and failed—to hold in.
I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, hands pressed to my forehead like I could smother the memory if I held hard enough.
It didn’t work.
I was still replaying Elior’s shoulders tightening right before each strike and the way he tried to lift his head, like he wanted to be brave.
I hated Malachi for going through with it.
I hated the congregation for watching it.
I hated myself for letting it happen.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight enough to ache.
He’d looked for me.
Just once.
Before he faced away from everyone, he looked up into the crowd—searching. I saw the moment his eyes met mine. I saw the flicker of fear, and hope, and something unbearably soft and vulnerable before he looked down again.
He’d wanted me to stay with him in that moment.
He’d trusted me to.
And what had I done?
Nothing.
I was supposed to protect him.
Not because I was a government agent, and not because he was supposed to be holy, but because he was kind and gentle and believed people were good even when they weren’t.
Because he smiled like he didn’t know how rare it was for something to shine so bright.
Because he blushed at the smallest things.
Because he touched his fingers together when he was nervous and thought no one noticed.
Because he deserved peace.
And I’d let him suffer publicly for a sin that wasn’t even Silas’s.
It was mine.
My throat tightened painfully.
I thought of last night—of Elior writhing and shaking under my attention. I thought of the note I’d left on his desk because I was selfish and reckless and wanted him to know he tasted divine.
I’d wanted him to know it was me.
Instead, he’d probably woken up to confusion and shame, and then stepped into a chapel where his fucking father proclaimed him pure enough to take someone else’s punishment.
Father.
The word was bitter on my tongue.
Malachi didn’t love Elior. He loved the idea of him. The symbol. The control that came with wielding a living icon—not the boy.
Not the trembling, gentle-hearted angel who’d prayed under his breath while he braced for pain.
I pushed off the bed and paced again, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists.
If I’d had any less self-control, I would’ve gone to Elior immediately.
I wanted to see him.
God, I needed to see him.
Not to confess. Not to apologize. Not to explain.
Just to make sure he was still intact.
Still Elior.
Still mine.
My pulse thudded hard under my skin.
I stopped pacing and pressed my hand to my sternum, feeling the echo of that rage, that fear, that… devotion.
Elior didn’t know what had happened to him last night.
He didn’t know why his body felt the way it did.
He didn’t know the truth.
And after today… after watching him take pain meant for someone else… after seeing him so scared he offered himself without thinking…
I didn’t know how exactly to tell him.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty—the only thing that cut through all the noise, all the fear, and all the fury—I would never let him hurt like that again.
Not while I was still breathing.
And so, I grabbed my shirt, yanking it over my shoulders as I slipped out of my room, letting the door close silently behind me. The entire building was dim and still. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago.
I moved through the hall with the same practiced quiet I used on ops. Every step was silent, and my ears strained for any sound—a cough, a shifting cot, a door opening, anything.
Thankfully, I stepped out of the building without any issue, then made my way to the chapel.
Just like last night, the chapel door was unlocked.
The chapel interior was shadowed and devoid of life, pews empty of the witnesses of Elior’s abuse. My footsteps barely echoed over the floor as I walked through the sanctuary to the door leading to Elior’s quarters.
The door squeaked as I slowly opened it. When I reached his bedroom door, I froze, taking a quick breath before placing my hand on the knob and twisting.
And there he was.
Lying on his stomach on the bed, face turned toward the doorway, hair mussed, eyes full of emotions someone as sweet as him should never have to feel.
The second he saw me, his lips trembled, and then the first sob slipped out of him, thin and helpless.
It tore straight through me.
“Elior,” I breathed, stepping inside so quickly the door swung shut behind me. I crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to my knees beside the bed.
He reached for me at the same time I reached for him.
His trembling hands found my shoulders as my hands framed his face. His skin was hot under my palms, damp with tears, and splotched red.
“Oh, baby—hey, hey,” I rasped, leaning close without touching anything that might hurt. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Elior’s face crumpled. “I-I-I tried t-to be b-brave,” he choked, voice wobbling around every word. “I tried so hard—”
“I know,” I murmured, thumbs brushing away the tears spilling down his cheeks. “You were brave. Braver than anyone in that room.”
He shook his head violently, crying harder. “No. No, I wasn’t. I was s-so scared. Jace—” His voice broke on my name. “It hurt. It hurt so much. Everything hurts. I don’t k-know what to do.”
My breath left me in a painful rush.
I leaned in closer, forehead almost touching his temple, hands still cradling his cheeks. “I know,” I whispered. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Elior sobbed again, muffled and aching, trying to hide his face in the pillow until I gently guided him back so I could see him.
“No hiding,” I said softly. “Not from me.”
His lip trembled, his pale lashes clumped with tears. “I didn’t want you to see me cry,” he whispered.
“Too late,” I said, voice breaking on a rough exhale. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He reached out blindly until his fingers wrapped around my wrist, squeezing like he was scared I’d move away from him.
“I thought… I thought you wouldn’t come tonight. But I hoped. I hoped so much it hurt. It was you, wasn’t it? Last night? I’ve been so scared that it wasn’t. Please, tell me it was you.”
I closed my eyes briefly, a tremor running through me. “It was me, cherub.”
Elior gave a trembling, shuddering breath and nodded. Then, he whispered, small and hoarse, “It hurts to breathe.”
I swallowed hard, grateful that he didn’t seem to want to discuss the night before. We would, eventually. Just not now. Not like this. “Can I lift up your shirt, baby? I need to see.”
He nodded, a lone tear slipping from his eye. I inhaled, squeezed his cheeks gently, then let go. I stood up, then sat on the edge of the mattress, lifting his soft t-shirt. Inch by inch, I revealed his battered back, my fury reigniting with every wound.
“Okay,” I said quietly, keeping my voice calm for him. “Did someone clean these up for you? Did they give you anything for the pain?”
He nodded against the pillow, tears dripping soundlessly now.
I brushed his hair back from his damp forehead.
“I know it’s tough, but I need your words right now, cherub.”
He let out another soft sob, nuzzling into my hand. I petted him gently as he tried to find the words to tell me what had happened.
“I b-blacked out when Father f-finished, when they let my arms go,” he sniffled.
“When I woke up, I was in here, l-like this. S-Sister Dahlia was wiping my back and it stung really bad, so—so I started crying and then—then I noticed F-Father was sitting in a chair by the window. He said I shouldn’t cry because—because I honored the Light. ”
“Good, baby, keep going,” I encouraged him, my hand sliding down to lightly massage his nape.
His eyes slipped shut as he relaxed into my hold.
“Father left then, and Sister Dahlia was crying, but w-when she saw me looking, she stopped and told me she’d cleaned my back so it won’t get infected.
Then she gave me some medicine to help me feel better, and helped me drink a cup of water.
” Elior’s voice weakened as he spoke, growing smaller and smaller until it was barely a breath.
“She kept saying she was sorry,” he whispered.
“Over and over. I told her it was okay, but she shook her head. I wanted her to stay with me but she was gone before I could ask.”
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths before responding, just to be sure none of my anger slipped out with my words.
I smoothed my thumb along the back of Elior’s neck, feeling how tense his strained muscles were, and said quietly, “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner, cherub. I had to wait until it was safe. But, I’m here now, okay?”
Elior swallowed, his voice rough. “Okay.”
“And I’ll stay as long as you want me to tonight,” I said, leaning down until my forehead touched the edge of the pillow near his temple.
He let out a fragile little shudder.
I closed my eyes. His breath warmed my cheek. His tears dampened my fingers.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I murmured.