14. Sawyer #2
“Yes, Head Keeper.”
Luna takes the cat as I get up and leave, and as soon as I’m out the door, I allow my face to crack. My breath shudders as my lungs pang, as if they’ve been punched.
What the fuck did Liberty do?
I get back to my room, sit on the bed, and count to one hundred before I grab the trash can and head back to Luna’s room. I don’t knock on the door this time when I enter.
Luna swings around in her computer chair, all three screens lit up with whatever ‘work’ she’s doing.
A bulky turtleneck has replaced the camisole.
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace.” I go to the nightstand and carefully slide the glass into the bin, the clanking filling the silence.
My back grows rigid beneath Luna’s gaze.
She stands and walks to me. “What are you doing?”
“I figured you didn’t keep a trash can in your room.” The last of the glass in the can, I give the nightstand several more drags of my hand to remove invisible dust only Luna would be able to sense.
“Why would you assume that?”
Wiping my hand on my pants, I stand.
“Because you don’t keep trash in your room.”
Glass shifts in the metal bin as I go to walk around her, but she grabs my arm to stop me. When I look at her, she squints. “What are you doing?” she asks, the accusation thick in the last word—as predictable as sunrise. Because Luna isn’t stupid. She isn’t easy.
But she has a vulnerability. And for reasons I don’t yet understand, it’s me.
Glass rattles as I set the bin down and run my hand through my hair. I release my expression, letting fear—real fear—show.
Not too much.
Just enough.
“I don’t know.”
Luna frowns. “What do you mean you don’t know? What’s wrong?”
With one comb through my hairline, I drop my hand to my side. A damp blond lock falls just above my brow.
Christ, I’m sweating.
“Sawyer…”
“I’m scared.” I keep my voice low. Not quite a whisper, not shaky, but low and convincing. “I…”
Her brows pinch with concern. She shakes her head. “What?”
“I can’t do what you want.”
The concern slips away. Her face hardens; her lips pinch. Her chin lifts just a little higher. A palpable wall raises between us, but I don’t think I’ve fucked up just yet.
“Why?”
“Because, Luna. I fucking care about them. The same way I cared too much to leave you here; I care too much to sit back and keep my mouth shut while you murder them.” I wave my hand at the wall—really the library, where the computer is and all The Shadow Sanctum’s cattle wait for me to herd them to a slaughterhouse.
“I get that you have to do what you have to do, and I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t made the same choices…
But they have been here a day. If you’re going to kill a trouble maker after a day, I can’t bring you more. ”
No bluffing.
“We both know I don’t want to die. You’re right, I’m a selfish bastard. I’m fucking terrified of going back to the mines, but I’d rather you execute me alongside Liberty tomorrow than dig the graves of women I promised would be safe here. I swear on my mother’s grave, that’s not a bluff.”
I let her search my expression for bullshit, and for once, let it all hang out. Leave nothing covered.
That.
That’s the key to this woman.
She can sniff out a lie, but she’ll fall for the truth every time.
“If you think I chose wrong, I’m sorry. It’s my fault you can’t trust my judgment. I’ve been awful to you, but…”
My mouth hangs open while I pretend to search for words. I trace Luna’s face, no less stone-like.
But her eyes have softened. She wants to fight. She knows she should fight.
I take her face in my hands before she can act. “Please.”
Her lips part as her hardened composure cracks, but she senses it. Like an alarm bell ringing in her mind: something’s wrong.
She rips from my grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
I follow as she backpedals into the wall. My hands plant on either side of her head, and I lean in like I’m going to kiss her. But not quite. I hover an inch from her lips as her jerky, cinnamon breaths flutter against my mouth.
“Get away from me, Dreg,” she tries to growl. But it’s pained. She’s confused.
“I want you to trust me again.”
Her hands press to my chest like she’s going to push me away, but she doesn’t turn her head when I graze her lips. Her eyes close as her mouth opens. “I’ve never trusted you.”
“Yes, you did. Before the other night, you did… Let me fix it. Please.” I cup her jaw as I kiss her with the softest of pressure, lips gently molding to hers.
She’s stiff.
Then she melts.
Then just as quickly, she rips away, her hand flying to shield her mouth.
“No.”
“It’s okay,” I coo, letting my eyelids be heavy. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Sawyer, no.”
“Luna, yes.”
“No!”
My eyes widen as I’m shoved backward with more force than I’d ever expect. Luna seethes in front of me, anger so potent the air quakes.
I raise my hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Get out.”
“Luna, I—”
“I said… Get. Out.”
My jaw hangs loose, hands lifted as if she’s holding a gun. A second passes that’s too long. My thoughts move too slowly, too erratic to form a clear path forward—what to do, what to say.
I see my mistake clear as day: I pushed too hard, too fast.
I overwhelmed her.
Embarrassed her.
“Aiden!” Luna yells, though I know for certain he isn’t out there. He’s at home, with his wife. Celebrating something—kid’s birthday, full moon, whatever.
“Okay,” I finally say. My head bobs with a relenting nod. I slowly lower my hands and leave, flinching when Luna slams the door behind me.
My hands shake as I go back to my room. I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, the Keepers on the lawn no longer relevant.
My head spins, first with ideas, then with dread. I can’t even bring myself to think about Liberty or the horror she’ll no doubt feel. Instead, my thoughts skip ahead. Then backward.
To Angel.
To the hatred in his eyes the last time we saw each other. To the pained cry that’ll rattle the birds as he learns what happened to his wife. And who was responsible.
You’re my brother, Sawyer, he said to me year three of undergrad.
Drunk off cheap beer, lying on golf turf as we listened to the creak of a pair of swings not yet settled.
Hands behind our heads. Eyes pointed at the cloudless sky, not quite as cluttered with stars as I like, but a decent view for Cambridge.
You’re the only family I have.
My throat swelled. I didn’t respond. He didn’t even know my real last name.
I almost told him, two days later back in our apartment with the temperamental oven and thrift store coffee maker. I opened my mouth, his back turned.
I left before he ever faced me.
Closing my eyes, I try to clear my thoughts, but one sneaks through. And when it does, it’s the only one that seems to matter.
What will I do when he tries to kill me?