30. Sawyer
SAWYER
“Do you want your hoodie back?” Liberty asks, her knees pulled to her chest while she boxes herself in the corner. When the tip of her sneaker dips in a puddle, she jerks back with a shiver.
I shake my head and tense my arms in a poor attempt to keep steady. “I’m from Alaska. We don’t get cold.”
Something too bitter to call a laugh pops from her mouth. As I turn to her, she looks away. A dimple forms on her chin like she’s biting her inner lip.
“You can’t help but lie, can you?” Her voice is hard but low. Disappointed, maybe. Her shoe dips in water once again, and she pulls her heels to her ass.
I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Count to thirty-seven.
“How would you even know I was lying?” I don’t know why I ask it or why I hold my breath waiting for her response.
“Angel told me you’re from California. And that you’re a baby about the cold.”
My breath releases. I open my eyes when somebody cries out in pain, but neither Liberty nor I flinch. In only an hour, she’s adjusted to the agony—despite every minute on my island being intolerable for her.
I wait for annoyance to surface…
Nothing.
“What else did he tell you about me?”
When she goes to remove the hoodie, I put my hand over hers and shake my head. I’d rather freeze to death than get another glimpse at her ripped shirt.
She drops the hem and leans against the dirt-packed wall. A crumb of rock falls on her head, so small she doesn’t seem to notice. I fight the urge to pick it off.
“What else did he tell me…” she repeats. "You drove a motorcycle throughout college. You never went home for holidays… One time, you gave a bunch of people the wrong answers on an exam so you could raise the curve.”
“That was Angel too.”
“It was your idea.”
When Liberty’s eyes meet mine, I face the Dregs. Numbers flick through my head as my teeth tap, an endless series of groans beginning from somewhere in the cell. It ends with a yelp.
“You’re upset,” Liberty observes. Tries to observe. She’s not that great at reading people.
I steady my jaw, tongue prodding the back of my clenched teeth.
“You were the only family Angel had for nearly two decades. Are you really surprised he’d talk about you to his wife?”
If he’d married literally anyone else—no.
I twirl a hand as if considering it. “The wife I supposedly enslaved…”
“Not supposedly, Sawyer.”
My eyes close before they can roll. Though, given the present moment… It’s hard to be irritated for long.
A breath sweeps past my lips so tight it's nearly a whisper.
I could leave it at that. I should leave it at that.
“Forgive me if I’m about to ruin your marriage, but I have to say something…”
No response.
Just be the fucking villain. Who cares?
I open my mouth; then force it shut. Only to open it again.
“Angel is the one who wanted you on my island.”
I peek at Liberty who sits with her head lowered, hair half shielding her face.
“If I’d known he’d been stalking you for as long as he had, maybe I would’ve pushed back harder—but I did push back. The amount of money it took to convince me was disgusting. Money Angel paid.”
I wait for her to call me a liar. Or cringe or sneer or something.
Instead, she picks at a snagged thread in her pants. She’s fit her finger through the thin, blue loop before she speaks.
“I know.”
I blink, waiting for more. As if I’ve misunderstood. When nothing comes, my chest expands. A burst of air rushes from my lungs.
“What?” The word comes out as a growl, and only now does Liberty flinch. A half beat passes before I give up on her response. “You know Angel is the reason you came to my island… Yet, I’m the piece of shit? What the fuck, Liberty?”
“I wasn’t the only person there, Sawyer. You kidnapped hundreds of—”
“Where was your husband during this?” My eyes pop wide as I twist toward her, still fiddling with that fucking thread. “His house was equal distance to the manor. Was I hiding all those victims beneath his nose? Did he not—”
“I know what he did, and I forgave him.” Her palms flatten on her thigh. When she glances at me, there’s something in her eyes just shy of hatred. “And while you have no right to hear this, I’m just gonna say it… I forgave you too.”
For seconds, I just glare. Wait for the other shoe to be hurled at my head—but the fire in her eyes softens to something I don’t know how to interpret. A bull sniffing a rose. I’ve never seen her so demure.
“I appreciated what you did for me during the fire. For us. I still hated you for what you’d done to Angel, and I couldn’t fathom how he could care about you. Or why he’d hire a private investigator to find you just so he could ‘make sure you were okay.’”
He hired a private investigator?
“We fought about it… A lot,” she laughs half-heartedly and looks at her knees. “My counselor said the stress wasn’t good for the baby, so I asked Angel to let you go.” The words rush from her mouth, tumbling so fast it’s as if she hopes I won’t notice the word baby.
I do. Loud and clear.
My chest tightens. The cold air thins as the temperature seems to drop ten degrees in an instant.
“But then,” Liberty says in a quaky voice, her pitch lifting. “He told me about your mom…”
The pressure in my chest grows until it’s hard to keep my head up. I look down at my knees; flex my fists to calm the buzz running up my arms.
I can feel Liberty watching me as if she proposed. Waiting for my … what? Anger? Gratitude?
“Congratulations on the baby. Boy or girl?”
She frowns. “Girl…”
“I bet she looks just like you.”
“She does… You know he wasn’t trying to betray you, right? We fought for months before he told me—”
“Stop.” I shake my head. “We’re getting distracted. Let’s just…” I take in a steadying breath and gesture toward the other Dregs. “Sit here and try not to get attacked.”
“He just wanted me to understand.”
“Cool.”
“It helped. It really helped me move past my anger and—”
“Good.” My voice comes out too harsh. “That’s… That’s really good, Liberty. I’m glad airing my dirty laundry helped you.”
“Why do you have to be like that?” The thin arches of Liberty’s brows pull together, full lips pouting. “I’m offering you an olive branch.”
“Keep it.” My lips spread into a tight smile, and I almost, almost leave it at that. But the more my mouth moves, the more desperate I am to spit the sour taste off my tongue. “If I wanted your approval, you wouldn’t be here.”
She huffs a laugh. “Talking to you is exhausting.”
“Then shut the fuck up.” My voice ricochets through the cell, louder than I intend.
Heads perk as several people look this way. I catch the eyes of a man wearing my ratted T-shirt, stolen weeks ago. He smiles.
“He bothering you, baby?”
I break from his gaze while Liberty wraps her arms tight around her knees, eyes pointed down. We sit in silence while tension weaves between us, our shoulders like magnets gently repeling one another, even as our legs occasionally brush.
When the Dregs lose interest, I close my eyes and lay my head back against the wall, hands grasping my shins.
Memories flood that are quickly replaced with a string of numbers. Each digit floats past in shades of green and blue.
My count is in the ten thousands when all hushed conversation cuts off at once. I open my eyes to see men kissing dirt, their arms stretched in front of them.
Liberty follows suit with a tremble in her shoulders that swells my throat. This is not a woman who bows—this is a woman who spits, who growls, who fights. I would know better than anyone how hard it is to break this woman…
I should’ve asked if she was okay.
She turns her head as I pat her back and jut my chin to signal for her to rise. As soon as Luna appears outside the bars, Liberty sighs so hard it pulls her torso forward like she’s going to fold.
“Come on,” I whisper, taking her hand to help her up. I guide her in front of me and pick the piece of rock from her hair as a Keeper opens the cell.
As we step out to meet Luna, hair shields her face as she half turns. I don’t offer a greeting. I avoid her eyes with as much conviction as she does mine.
She leads the way out of the mine, her gait not quite hers. There’s a hitch in her step, like someone cut an inch off one leg and filled her waist with concrete. I didn’t realize until now how familiar her poise had become.
When we get to the exit, she stops to speak to Aiden’s friend. Her poise may be compromised, but it doesn’t stop her shoulders from squaring.
“Who is the one who mated with Liberty without my authorization?”
Her voice is as deadly and cold as I’ve ever heard it. The tops of the Keeper’s pointed ears change colors as he looks at me. As if I owe him any help.
“Alaric, Your Grace,” he says at last. “But he had the authorization of The Chief Elder himself.”
“Ah.” Luna’s chin rises with a nod. She pulls something from her pocket, something reddish orange and cylindrical—a clay medicine bottle.
It clunks on a rock by her boot and cracks as she crushes it with her heel.
The sharp stench of gunpowder carries in the wind as a puff of black dust billows from the clay.
The Keeper’s cheeks fall as the whites of his eyes brighten. He stares down at the broken clay as if waiting for the black dust to deliver instructions.
“Let Alaric know he’s been challenged.”
With that, she leads the way into the snowy forest where the three of us walk without a word. Liberty and I exchange a look, the tension between us loosening.
After several minutes of silence, the smell of rotting flesh sours the air.
Liberty covers her nose and slows her steps as the source of the odor comes into view.
A coyote lies with its leg caught in a spring trap, its tongue sticking out and dead eyes staring ahead.
As I slow to Liberty’s pace, I pull my shirt over my nose and take a deep inhale.
My Father’s voice intrudes my thoughts. The memory is so far back, I’m not certain it’s real.
Every moron wants to be a bear. You should be a coyote. You can’t catch a coyote. They’ll bite off their leg to get free…