5. Sawyer #3
“So is this it?” she asks, her voice both empty with her breathless inhales and sharp with a crack, the ricochet of pleasure and shame mingling. Still, the broken pitch is slight. I can tell she’s trying to be strong. She’s almost there. “Is this what training is?”
Her voice is so hopeless that my chest deflates with an exhale.
If pleasure was enough to settle her instincts, this would be easier for us both.
Orgasms, kindness, encouragement, a lie or two, maybe a little make-believe—and it might even feel like home.
If they’d chosen a more compatible girl, it very well could’ve been that simple.
But this one is a fighter, and fighters never bend unless there’s pain. Unfortunate, but true.
Pleasure plus pain. Over and over again until the two are so intertwined, it’s hard to tell them apart—flinches become sighs, tension equals lust. One can no longer exist without the other.
That’s her best shot at survival. And mine.
Seconds of silence pass before the girl rolls her head to face me, handcuffs clinking as she adjusts. The anger that warmed the blue of her eyes has dimmed, the color softening until it’s hardly visible; an unsettling showcase of vulnerability. “What the fuck is this place?”
I force a sigh, an apology of sorts, though it’s relief I feel. Not because of the question but the solidarity it implies, the first hurdle conquered. “A very well-guarded cult… I’m sorry, Luna.”
Sitting up, I retrieve the key Thorne slapped on the nightstand.
She stiffens but doesn’t jerk or even flinch as I work the cuffs, my thumb grazing the thick blue vein jutting down her wrist. When her hands slip free, she yanks her sweater down to cover her stomach, then hurries to pull the comforter up to her waist.
“What do you people want with me?” she asks, sitting up, back hugging the headboard. Voice small—scared.
My sigh is genuine this time. You people.
“They want to make you what’s called a Seraph.
It’s a sexual purifier, which basically means…
” I let my mouth hang open a moment, hand twirling as if to brace for the words too nasty to say.
But that must be said if I want to stand a chance of distancing myself from the cult.
“Like… fucking the demons out of people.”
I rub the back of my neck, head hanging. Embarrassed. Empathetic. Disapproving. “It’s sick. It’s twisted, but it’s your new reality. I’m so sorry. I really wish I could stop them.”
She stares blankly, horror freezing her face. She agrees, honesty is often cruel.
“They’ve given us a week together, but I’ll do everything I can to get you more time. I might be able to extend training to three weeks.”
She blinks, nose creasing. “Wha…” She shakes her head. “Why? What do they want you to… What does that mean?”
“It means over the next few weeks, we’re going to prepare you for your new role, as a Seraph… I promise I’m trying to help you. If they do it, they’ll hurt you. I’ve seen what they do to other girls, and it’s horrifying, Luna. I don’t want it to happen to you.”
She stares off another minute, her arms wrapping around herself as her lip fights a tremble. I don’t think she’s considering what I just said. I certainly don’t think she’s grateful.
They could not have chosen a worse person to mold.
New York City girl. Self-made. Probably has never done drugs under peer pressure. Eats pad thai on Thanksgiving because fuck you for telling her what to do.
“There has to be some way out of here.” Her voice is low, more pathetic than hopeful. She wants me to tell her there’s a chance.
“If you find one, let me know… Believe me, I’ve looked. This place is a hundred acres of boobytraps and electric fences. There are more guards than I’ve been able to count, and I’ve never made it to any part of the fence line without running into one.”
She shakes her head. “There has to be a way.”
I just stare at her instead of answering this time. In truth, I do hope she gets away. After I’m gone.
I lift my hand to her shoulder but freeze before I can touch cashmere. My index finger twitches—hesitating. Hovering. Then I rest my hand back on the bed.
Physical contact is crucial in the beginning. The power of intimate touch during moments of heightened awareness is truly unmatched. It’s a safety signal for an overwhelmed nervous system, an imprint of calm within chaos.
But right now, I think I’d be pushing it if I tried to hold her. I don’t think she’d let me.
“I know you must think I’m a terrible person, Luna. I don’t see that changing. But it’s important to me that you know I have your best interests at heart. I don’t want to hurt you… If you resist me, they’ll kill you. Then they’ll kill me. So, in a way, we’re in this together.”
Her hand slides down her face before she turns toward me, expression hard as stone. A rejection stronger than words.
“Will they really kill you?” she asks. Not the ‘go fuck yourself’ that I was expecting.
I nod, confident yet resigned. I’m not even sure if it’s a lie or what the intended consequence might be for failure. I’m too proud to ask and too prepared to worry.
“Then I guess it’s me who should be sorry.” Her eyes run the length of my torso, sizing me up before returning to my face. “Because I'm not going to be anyone’s whore.”
My front teeth tap, three even beats that pulse through my skull, silence encasing us as cold and procedural as this girl’s life is about to get. Part of me—the bastard part—likes that she thinks she stands a chance.
I wait a moment before nodding what she must think is resignation. She can have the victory, for now.
“Come on.” I stand and nod toward the door. “I want to show you around.”