20. Sawyer
SAWYER
Luna’s chin lifts as she turns around, porcelain cheeks blushing in the cold.
The soft beam of the moon casts down from the clear night sky and highlights her hair with streaks of silver. When a breeze lifts a strand, it’s as if she shimmers, and I get it—why Thorne chose her name. Not lazy. Felicitous.
For a moment, I just stare.
Then my stomach rolls.
Luna’s mouth opens, but whatever she has on her tongue cuts off as I jam a finger against my lips. I hurry to the railing, palms braced against cold concrete as I empty my stomach, my body convulsing so sharply that after a minute my back aches. It feels as though it’ll never end.
Eventually, it does. I’m left with saliva dribbling from my bottom lip onto the wet grass below while Luna’s tentative hand runs a stiff circle between my shoulder blades. It should feel strange, but all that registers is pity.
A minute passes while I stay hunched over the barrier, Luna’s attempt at comfort growing increasingly awkward. I’m not sure which of us it confuses more.
“What was that?” I keep my voice low. Not quite neutral.
Luna’s hand stills. She takes a strong step back
“I’m sorry,” she says, more controlled than I managed. “I know the way we honor our dead isn’t a common practice in your world. I don’t expect you to understand… I hope Aubry and Liberty are okay.”
I wipe the saliva from my chin and pluck my lip. There’s not enough toothpaste in the world to take the taste away.
“I don’t think they’re ever going to be okay.” I pivot and perch on the edge of the railing. “I think between the two of us, we’ve pretty much fucked them up for good.”
She looks away.
“But I wasn’t talking about the… I’m not asking about the meal.”
I watch for her brow to crease, but her skin stays smooth. Her lips never purse. She doesn’t even look at me.
I’d hoped I was wrong.
“Why does your father touch you like that?”
Her shoulders lift and fall. But she’s far from clueless. “Like what, Sawyer?”
Like what…
“Like he owns you.”
Still no change in her expression. Only a flutter of movement, a shiver prompting her arms to cross. “I don’t know what you mean.”
As if contagious, a breeze sweeps a deep shiver through my chest. My hands—snugly tucked inside the bugged jacket—flinch. For a second, I consider taking it off.
I don’t.
I’d regret the offer.
She wouldn’t accept it.
“Does…”
I look up at a cob web strung from the porchlight to the roof.
Do I even want to know?
“Luna… Does your father have sex with you?”
Her answer comes a beat too late.
“No.”
I frown. She doesn’t look at me to see it.
“No?” I push off the railing and hover closer. Like a statue, she doesn’t budge. “Or not recently?”
She opens her mouth but doesn’t speak. The slender hands wrapped around her bicep contract with a squeeze.
She closes her mouth and peers at the jagged crack along a pillar.
I could press, but something in her eyes holds me back. An innocence that only glimmered before. She’s the same devil I fucked days ago—but for the most horrific moment, she looks like a girl.
Breakable. Naive.
She’s the woman from before, faking her tears and mimicking cries, her identity still unknown. I’d seen the abuse beneath her calculating exterior, but it never occurred to ask what kind.
It shouldn’t make a difference. But it does.
“How old were you when it started?” My voice is soft. Genuine—though she’ll question if the concern is fake. I would too.
My eyes draw to the sloped tendons of her neck as she swallows, yellowed bruises publicly exposed for the first time in days. The outline of my hand is barely visible in the dark, but it holds my stare.
“As I’ve told you many times, I don’t expect you to understand my world… Stop judging it with the same rules as you judge your own.”
“I’m not judging you—or your people. I’m judging your father.”
“Well don’t.” She backpedals a step as if on impulse. Her head turns as she laughs. “Your acting is pathetic today.”
I rear back as something flicks my sternum.
“I’m not acting… I’m trying to understand you. I’m concerned for—”
“Don’t,” she growls. Her hands squeeze her arms so hard, she nearly curls them into fists. I’m not sure she’s capable of looking at me. “Don’t pretend you care about me. Just don’t, okay? Just stop it.”
“I do care about you.” I inch closer. She steps back. “You’re a human being. You’ve been brainwashed and abused your entire life. Of course I care about you.”
Something in my voice sounds wrong. Forced, somehow—my mind shifting left and right, lost in the confusion.
I hate this woman.
But then I don’t.
She’s my enemy.
But then she’s not.
“I’m brainwashed?” she spits with a bitter laugh.
“Look around you.” I wave a hand. “What do you think this place is? Truly, when you look, what do you see?”
“My home,” she’s quick to say.
“It’s a trafficking ring, Luna.”
She rolls her eyes. Her lips flatten.
“Look. Just look, and you’ll see it. You don’t initiate women because your father doesn’t need to. He breeds sex slaves. That’s how he avoids the authorities.”
Luna shakes her head. “Just stop.”
“Why do you think the girls aren’t taught to read? He wants you ignorant. And isolated. I know you’re smart enough to recognize that.”
“Stop.”
“You own a copy of the DSM. You know the characteristics of a sociopath. You’re not seeing it because he’s kept control over you your entire life, and I get that it hurts, but come on, Luna, deep down, you already—”
“I said stop!” Her hands fly up as she screeches, and her eyes pin me with a glare. Desperate. Scared. Not angry.
A thought flashes that seems to slow time, seconds stretching wide as I stand stock still.
This is the thing that could break my captor.
There’s a play here. Luna stares at me with eyes I’ve never before seen glossy, her expression cracked and pleading. Pleading for silence, for mercy.
In my hand is a chisel, and all it would take is a careful sentence to make the first crack in the Ice Queen’s exterior.
In days she would shatter, and like an artist handed fresh clay, I would be there to arrange the pieces—no different than the first one hundred and seventy six times I’ve played this game.
There may never be a better opportunity.
But for reasons I can’t understand…
My shoulders fall with an exhale, eyes dancing around Luna’s face. When I go to her, she cringes. Her eyes slam shut as her body stiffens like she’s sure I’ll deliver the final blow.
I don’t.
I can’t.
I wrap my arm around her and cradle her head as I bring it to my chest. Her body is hard as steel, but she doesn’t pull away.
As a minute passes, little by little, she works her arms around me. Her chest shakes with a single tearless sob that—on habit—I question if it’s real. If it’s even possible.
I run my hand down her hair as I plant my lips to her head. “Shhh, it’s okay.”
Her arms wrap around my waist and squeeze, head burying deeper against my pec. We stay that way until the door opens and Thorne steps outside.
Luna jumps so far back, even I startle. She swipes beneath her eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. “Hi.” Her arms cross. “Is everyone okay?”
Thorne moves his glare between us. The longer he stares, the angrier he looks, until finally, he storms down the steps.
“Thorne,” Luna calls after him. He doesn’t look back.
When Luna turns toward me, it’s clear the moment’s over. She opens her mouth but seems lost for words.
“Go.” I nod after Thorne. “I should check on Aubry anyway…”
Her mouth closes with a grateful sigh. She turns, and there’s a moment of hesitation where I think she might stay.
She looks back at me, white hair glimmering in the light of the moon, the blue of her eyes catching an angelic glint that shallows my breath.
Without another word, she hurries down the stairs and strides after Thorne.
There will be another chance.
This time, I won’t miss it.