14. Sawyer
SAWYER
The girl’s lower back arches from my touch as I lead her toward the bedroom, lantern lighting our steps like we’re courting in the eighteenth century.
A new floorboard groans with every step I take, while Luna makes no noise at all.
She hugs the dingy towel tightly around herself and floats, her steps so light, they’re silent.
Dancers' feet. The poster of poise. If she didn’t stand out so starkly—both in wit and appearance—she’d make an excellent assasin.
We cross the threshold into a bedroom bare of all but a simple queen-sized mattress on a hideous midcentury frame, bloated roses carved into the headboard like a garden built for the celibate.
I set the lantern on the floor and go to the window.
Dust rattles off the dark, heavy curtains as I draw them to reveal the first break of dawn.
It peeks from the horizon and scatters enough light into the room to unveil tiny particles of dust billowing in the air.
I cough onto my shoulder, step back from the window, and turn to find Luna right where I left her.
She studies the room as if mapping the exits, locating hiding spots, searching for sinister intent, all while sweet snowy skin glows with warmth from the lantern. Always observant. Almost calculating. And even more stunning—more so now that I know she’s unaware of it.
Time stretches without either of us saying anything. No one rushes to move. She’s closest to the door, and the house is black. She could hide from me if she wanted.
Her eyes finally draw to me as I walk to her with a towel securely wrapped around my waist. She backs up when I near but then chooses to root herself to the floor.
I settle in front of her, my face loosened into a blank mask while hers displays everything. Scrutiny. Distrust. Trying in vain to read my next move before I make it.
Her eyes close as I reach for her face and brush my thumb along the soft pink of her cheek. Wet hair drapes my hand, and instead of moving it, I let the white curtain shield her. For now.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Luna.” I step closer until the knot of my towel touches her stomach.
Her breath shakes as she opens her eyes. There’s something in the crystal that I don’t quite read until disgust thickens her voice. “I’m sure you’ve said that to all the women you’ve kidnapped and raped.”
My breath hitches. She flinches while my thumb carves a harsh path down her jaw.
I ease the pressure, force a smile, pretend her accusal is cute instead of grossly inaccurate. “I’ve never kidnapped a woman in my life… I’ve certainly never raped one.”
She puffs her derision, pink lips parting, sharp breath flicking my chin—no idea of the mistake she’s just made.
I am not a violent man.
But I am an educator. A developer. A realist who understands that pain is often the best teacher for the hardest lessons.
And from no fault of her own (the media has told her what to believe), Luna is in dire need of an education. Specifically, the difference between a monster and a man.
“I understand you think you know me, beautiful, but you don’t. Not everything you’ve heard about me is true.”
Her eyes narrow as she steps away from my touch. I let her. “You watched me nearly suffocate just hours ago. Right now, you plan on raping me. I don’t need someone to tell me who you are. You’ve shown me.”
My hand lowers to my side while my eyes flick to the door, the training room waiting on the other side of the hall.
“I wouldn’t have let you die, even by your own hand. I told you what would happen if you didn’t stay still. As soon as you passed out, I would’ve released you.”
“Oh so you could—”
“And as for raping you… That’s ridiculous. Don’t gamble if you aren’t willing to lose.”
Her jaw hangs while she searches for her next snide remark.
“But it’s okay.” I take a step toward her. Her shoulders slump as she watches me, slowly retreating. “I’m a forgiving person… I understand if you’ve changed your mind.”
Her back bumps the wall. “What are you doing?”
I’m close now, only a foot away, but I see her leg bending. She’s gonna try to knee me in the balls.
With one last step, I catch her knee and draw her close, lifting her up by her waist to throw her over my shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?!” she growls. “Put me down!”
I carry her from the room, my grip on her thighs punishing, matching her bruise for bruise as she slams her fists on my back. She’s stronger than she looks.
“Help!” she screeches at no one. “Somebody please, help me!”
My shoe bumps the railing in the dark, but I make my way to the training room as quickly as I can while Luna fights.
I can’t see shit, which means she can’t see shit either, so I still have the upper hand when I find the door to the room.
I throw it open, turn sixty degrees and walk four steps to the bench.
I lower her to it face down and plant my palm between her shoulder blades while her legs and arms kick so ferociously, I know she’ll tire soon. My count starts… and makes it to sixty-four before the first sob swallows her anger whole.
“Sawyer, please. I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too, beautiful.” I glide my palm over her back, easing the pressure little by little. She doesn’t try to break away.
“I can’t do this again,” she cries. “I really can’t do this again. Please. Please, let’s go back to your bedroom. I—I’ll be good.”
Bull-shit.
“Here’s the problem, baby.” I keep my voice soft as I caress her back. “At some point, someone who isn’t me is going to ask you to do something. If we don’t get your attitude in check, you’re going to forget your manners. Not everyone is as forgiving as I am.”
The cult wouldn’t hesitate to kill a disobedient whore.
Or …“seraph.”
After all, they only have room for those who bring value to the Shadow Sanctum.
“No, pl—”
“This is for your own good… I promise.” I pat her back before reaching beneath the bench for the body straps.
Luna cries as I pull the first one around her shoulders, securing her to the bench.
The next pins the bottom tips of her shoulder blades.
By the third strap, she’s shifting into hyperventilation.
“Just breathe, honey.” I lock the last strap into place. She doesn’t listen to me. Her breaths come so fast, I think she might pass out.
“I’ll be right back.”
“No, Sawyer, no,” she begs as I leave, the fear of loneliness in a cold, dark room even stronger than fear of pain. Pain she’ll gladly blame me for. Predictable but puzzling.
I count each step as I walk back to the bedroom, and this time, I don’t bump the rail. I don’t even slow down. It’s only been a day, but I could walk the entire house blindfolded.
As I step into the lit bedroom, the towel that was around Luna catches my eye. I rip off my own and pull on a pair of shorts along with a long-sleeve shirt. I’ve never been one for pants, but I’m regretting that with this goddamn lack of electricity.
I grab the lantern and make my way back to Luna, my mind beginning to ease.
My head was spinning when I arrived back at the house.
I couldn’t get the sound of the baby’s cries out of my head.
Even when I watched a security guard at the nearest hospital scoop him into his arms, I had chills all over my body.
I didn’t want to return. I wanted to get on a bus and get the fuck out of town.
But I can’t leave without the money. I’m ashamed I even considered it.
“Sawyer!” Luna screams as if I’ve traveled to space. “Sawyer!”
My name is halfway out of her mouth when I step into the room.
“I’m right here, beautiful.” I set the lantern down and turn on the camera before kneeling beside her. I push the hair from her face. She whimpers as she implores me, the pleas she no longer voices still soaked into her eyes. Her dry eyes.
My head tilts as I look for signs of tears … and find none. She looks scared, but not as undone as her voice wants me to believe.
Is she fucking playing me?
Selling fear for the sake of my empathy—empathy she’d claim I didn’t have?
“Please.”
I could laugh.
Instead, I smile sadly while trailing her hair line with my thumb. We’re two con artists caught in a game of survival—one of us with twenty extra years of experience. It’s so unfair, it feels wrong to be having fun. “Please what, sweetheart? What do you think I’m going to do?”
She blinks but doesn’t answer, just keeps that puppy dog look on her face. Slowly, I pull my hand away and stand. The girl whimpers as I pull her legs apart to situate myself on the end of the bench, resting her knees on my thighs.
I put pressure on her calves until her knees bend and her hips shift forward. Her pinned body digs into the cushion.
“Is it such a horrible thing to make you come?” I run my knuckles up the backs of her thighs before working two fingers inside her clenched pussy, tight with tension but warm, her earlier arousal smoothing my stroke. “Am I so cruel?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” My fingers pump a few times before pulling out to swirl moisture around her clit. She tenses, and her legs try to press together. I dig my hand into her thigh. “Don’t you think there are worse things in this world?”
“No.”
The certainty in her tone makes me pause. I let out a chuckle before continuing to rub.
“You think just because you aren’t hitting me, this isn’t torture. But I can take pain. I’d prefer you hurt me.”
She’d prefer I hurt her.
I seriously doubt that.
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not abusive.”
She barks out a laugh while shifting her hips, trying to get away as I work my hand between her legs to fuck her with my fingers. She’s breathless and angry when she speaks. “You’re as delusional as the women you’ve brainwashed.”
I hum and pretend to let the comment roll off me, quickening my strokes ever so slightly.
But it doesn’t roll off. They never have. My life has become this endless defense against accusations and misunderstandings from people who believe they know my life and my friends or “victims” better than I do.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m delusional.