Chapter 6
Lake
Saint is here.
He kissed me.
Now he’s telling me to move in with him.
That’s a lot for one morning. He spoke more in the twenty minutes it took me to eat than he has in his entire life. Saint has always been more grunts, groans, and growls than words. Not that I mind, I find the gruff sound of his voice soothing.
“You’re staring,” he comments from the woodpile next to the house as he chops logs. The loft fireplace is not gas, but wood-burning, so while I wasn’t cold last night because I had my own human furnace, I liked the ambiance of a fire.
“Sorry,” I whisper but don’t stop. He has on one of those tank tops men wear that shows off their sculpted arms as he chops away. The knowledge that Saint is a large man and experiencing it up close are two different things.
His muscles have muscles, and the lush hair under the shirt was soft and called to me as I fell back to sleep this morning.
There is safety in his power, and peace in his strength when I want it.
To so many people, Saint is terrifying, and he doesn’t receive the credit he deserves for being such a caring soul. He’s misunderstood in the worst ways.
“Didn’t say I minded.” His lustful, darkened eyes spear and hold me in their grip when I attempt to look away.
Something has changed within him. There’s a heat in his gaze that wasn’t there previously.
It feels like an offering, if only I were brave enough to reach for it and be willing to see where it leads.
Maybe if I weren’t so broken, I’d shoot for the stars with Saint. When I was younger, it was all I really wanted. To be his wife, carry his children, be a partner he could be proud of.
An easy silence surrounds us as he chops wood, while I stay on the porch, snug under an electric blanket, warm coffee in hand. The sharp rap of his chore, broken up by the sounds of nature settling after the heavy snowfall over the past 12 hours.
“You fell back asleep,” Saint says, eyes down and continuing his work. “You don’t usually.” I never have. Not once I’ve been awoken. I can’t. If I try, I feel their hands on my body, slick with sweat and sickness. “Talk to me, Lake.”
It’s the first time in years he’s asked me to tell him what happened. It’s also the first time it hasn’t felt like my heart and lungs were gripped in a vice, being slowly squeezed to suffocate me when someone’s asked.
At one time, summer camps had been my favorite thing. I found freedom in being away from my family, in meeting new people, and reacquainting myself with some I met before. Now, the memories are all tainted, and thinking about those years is god-awfully painful.
Opening up to Saint feels like slicing open those wounds again, but if I truly want to heal and want him to understand who I am now, he deserves the truth.
“It was so hot that summer. The humidity made my hair look like I’d stuck my fingers in a light socket.
Everyone slept with their windows open, hoping to catch a breeze.
We could hear the bugs buzzing, frogs jumping in the pond, and fish splashing around.
Branches moved with the breeze, and leaves swayed.
” Those noises I used to love now send a cold sweat down my spine.
“Sounds like home,” he says, followed by the loud thwack of a piece of wood splitting.
“I think that’s why I liked it so much. It reminded me of home but gave me some space.
” Staring into the cooled-off coffee, it reminds me of that night—the dark sky blurred by tree branches in the middle of the forest. “I got thirsty. My throat was dry, and sweat poured from me in buckets. It was…itchy, you know?”
He grunts, chopping another log in one mighty swing.
“They were waiting for you.” His voice stays low, but it leaks with renewed anger.
“There were hoses attached to each cabin; I wanted to wash my legs and arms off…cool down.” Bringing my legs up onto the chair, I wrap my arms around bent knees and lean my chin on top, staring off into the distance.
Frost rises from the lake in the middle of the cabins.
“I’d just picked it up when I felt a hand around my mouth as I was dragged back into a hard body.
I kicked and scratched and fought with all my might.
I tried so hard to get away.” Tears tighten my throat, and I vie to maintain control of myself.
With my eyes firmly shut, I grapple with the memories that flood back. The pain of twigs digging into the bottom of my feet, slicing the skin open. The way I was thrown to the ground and held like a hostage.
Saint’s firm hands grip my face, and he shakes me a little while barking out my name until I open my eyelids to meet his furious stare.
“You’re safe. They can’t hurt you. I’ll never allow anyone to get near enough to cause you harm.
” It’s not something he’s just saying, either; it’s a vow being forged in blood and steel.
“They took everything from me,” I sob into his hands, his thumbs wiping each teardrop away as they fall.
“I can feel the way their fingers dug into my skin as they held me down. Forcing themselves on me. The smell of their cologne lingers in my nostrils. Their eyes lit up every time I screamed and cried for help.”
“Tell me their names.” His tortured demand echoes around us, bouncing off the outside walls of the cabin and the porch overhang.
Brokenly crying into the chilly air, our breath billows like steam.
“It rained after they were done. It was like a cleansing, washing away their filth. But, still, I was left to rot, tied between trees like an offering to the creatures of the night. Only they were the true monsters. They took everything they wanted from me.”
Saint tugs me into his chest, holding me as I sob and scream. My body aches from long-standing pain, from the renewed memories I had always hoped would fade into nothingness. Unfortunately, it never goes away. Everything lingers like a rotten smell, and I can’t escape it.
“Please, Saint, please.” I cry out, begging for reprieve.
Standing me on my feet, he strips me down to my shirt and shorts before lifting and carrying me into a heaping pile of snow. Shocking me back into the moment and forcing my mind and body to remain present.
“I’m giving you until we go home to tell me their names, Lake. After that, I will dig until I find them. And I will find out who they are. But I want you to be the one to speak their reckoning into existence.”
Shivering, I stare up at him, nearly a foot taller than me, and I see the meaning in his eyes.
Saint plans to murder and maim my tormentors.
The only question is: Can I live with that on my conscience?