13. Luna
LUNA
Idon’t like her.
As we walk side by side through the snow-covered meadow beyond the Bower, Liberty’s strides lengthen to push the slightest bit in front of me. A light sweater clings to her arms as she swings them confidently, despite the single digit temperature. The blanket I offered lies in a heap at the house.
Long brown hair slaps her back as she moves, makeup smudged chin raised like a warrior. Long, baby blue nails extend past her fingertips as unnaturally sharp tips—like claws designed for a princess.
Prideful.
Aggressive.
Impulsive.
All qualities that define this woman. None well-suited for a captive.
I increase my strides to fall in line with Liberty and am not the least bit surprised when she speeds up. As I slow, she slows, one pace ahead of me at all times.
Maybe there’s something I’m missing.
There must be something I’m missing.
Sawyer may be attempting sabotage, but this woman recognized him. She was on his island; she was his at one time. He chose her.
After another couple minutes, Liberty’s arms seem to stiffen. Her hands ball into fists, and her steps quicken. It takes a beat to realize she’s trying to keep herself from shivering. My own toes tingle with cold, despite being wrapped in wool.
I glance down at Liberty’s feet, ankles red and frost bitten. Thorne found her jogging on a road near her home, so she’s wearing tennis shoes and socks that hardly show.
“We should get you boots,” I comment, the first words spoken since leaving the Bower. In truth, no words are needed. This exercise was meant to assess the woman. It’s already done.
She doesn’t respond.
I continue forward, letting my fogged breath lead the way.
How long should I let this walk last?
“You know he’s going to fuck you, right?”
My brows shoot up as my steps slow to a stop. Liberty walks a few more feet before turning. But she doesn’t look at me. She glares at the Keeper following until I glance behind me to give him the stand back cue.
“Excuse me?” I ask as I face Liberty.
“Sawyer… I don’t know what you want from him. I don’t know what your game is. But I think you should know he’s going to fuck you. And you should kill him before he can.”
I study her, eyes scanning the sharp contour of cheekbones. Bootcamp Barbie. Very serious. Hard to take seriously.
“You don’t believe me?” the hellcat scoffs.
I shrug. “Mr. Hansley is in a compromised position.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “And I left him to die in a burning building, but here I am, less than a year later in…” She splays her hands.
“The Shadow Sanctum.”
“... Still being haunted by a cockroach who won’t stop infesting my life and who will infest every part of ‘The Shadow Sanctum.’ I promise you. You should kill him before it’s too late.”
“You seem invested in that decision.”
She stares at me seriously for a few seconds. Not as her ally, but as an executioner. No care for whether I’m hers—just as long as I’m Sawyer’s.
“Obviously.”
I glance at the woman’s trembling fists.
Sawyer chose her…
What did he see?
I meet Liberty’s gaze. “Tell me why.”
Her eyes narrow as she walks the few steps toward me. “You don’t already know?”
I stand silent. She looks like she wants to continue. Or scream.
“He enslaved me.” Her jaw clenches as she looks around pointedly. When her eyes meet mine, they’re so wide and manic, I’m afraid they may burst. “Twice.”
I shake my head and inject as much soothing calm into my voice as possible. “You aren’t enslaved, Liberty… Just the opposite. You’re free.”
Her narrowed eyes pinch until they’re nearly shut.
“The Shadow Sanctum is not like Sawyer’s Hell. We aren’t trafficking women. We’re a community of people committed to living a simple life of peace. And prosperity. In our culture, there is no poverty. No burden. No repression. We—”
“Could you get to the part where you tell me why the fuck I’m here?”
Tactless.
Cupping my hands in front of me, I calm myself with a breath. Images flash through my mind—chains, beatings, wrists cuffed to bedposts.
My voice: Have a bit of compassion.
“We have an issue Sawyer believes you can help us with… Our population’s genetics are too similar. We’re in need of new women to add to our gene pool.”
She continues to glare. Seconds tick by while she crosses her arms, shuffles her feet. Processing. And processing.
Then, as her jaw parts and her glare falls, she gets it.
“You’re breeding us,” she whispers like it’s a horror she’s afraid to speak aloud. Somehow worse than the sexual slavery she was expecting.
Anger melts away as her face twists with grief. I look just to her right. Swallow hard.
I should have let Sawyer do this part.
“Sawyer believes—”
“You evil bitch,” Liberty whispers, her bravery returning with a gasp. “You evil fucking bitch!”
She runs at me like an actual bull set on a red cape, and it’s too easy to deflect. I twist at the last second and send her to the snow with a shove between her shoulder blades.
Louis is there to collect her before she’s able to get up. I listen for crying. Or screaming. Or wailing. Anything of the sort but am amazed when she simply jerks away from Louis’s touch and turns a glare on me.
Hatred.
Pure, fiery hatred blazes in her eyes just before Louis jerks her up and throws her over his shoulder. She doesn’t make a sound as he carries her back to the Bower, but I’m not naive enough to believe she’s subdued.
She’s already planning.