Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“Wait here,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, and then hurries off to the front of the church.
The warmth seeps into my frozen limbs, but my insides stay brittle, ice tucked beneath my ribs because—
Oh, right.
That still happened.
The alley.
His father.
The checkbook ready like I’m a whore who can be bought.
I should tell Bane. The words rise in my throat like bile.
Hey, so funny story—ran into your dad tonight. He tried to buy me off like I’m a stain on the family name he thinks he can bleach out. And then his goons shoved me up against the wall and scared the shit out of me.
My mouth even opens.
But nothing comes out.
Because—what do I say? How do I say it?
Bane’s never even mentioned his father. Are they close? Estranged? Somewhere in the middle, where it’s just awkward family reunions and suppressed childhood trauma?
If they are close, dropping this on him would be like tossing a grenade into the middle of their relationship.
If they’re not close… well, same grenade, different shrapnel.
And honestly?
There’s a part of me—a dark, ugly little part—that thinks… of course Bane has a father.
A real, living, breathing father who gives a shit about him. One who’s willing to throw stacks of cash at me to protect his son. From me.
And here’s the kicker: he’s not wrong.
If I were Bane’s dad, I’d pay me off, too. Hell, I’d throw in a bonus just to make sure I stayed gone.
Bane has someone in his life who’d bother. Someone who thinks he’s worth protecting. Sure, my brother pretends he cares—or he used to—but maybe it was always more about his ego than about me. I’ve been everyone’s afterthought for so long that I’ve practically evolved into it—a walking, talking footnote in everyone else’s life.
But not to Bane.
When he looks at me, it’s like I’m not a punchline. Not a mistake.
He called me brave.
Me.
So, if telling him about his dad risks breaking that? I’d rather swallow the secret and let it burn a hole straight through me.
Besides, Bane’s obviously got this whole mysterious past he never talks about. Dropping this on him could unravel things he’s worked hard to keep stitched up. Maybe his father’s tied to all that darkness he hints at—the vague references to a life left behind, like shadows he can’t quite shake.
And if I pull on that thread and unravel him, too?
No.
I won’t be the reason he falls apart.
I’ll be his shield. His poison-taster. I’ve been drinking poison my whole life. What’s a little more?
I stand up straighter, squaring my shoulders against the weight of my own thoughts.
I can handle it.
I’ve always handled it.
And if his father comes sniffing around again, I’ll handle that too.
Because Bane sees me like no one else ever has.
And I’ll burn before I let anyone take that away.
THIRTY-THREE
BANE
She doesn’t believe me about who’s the villain and who’s the hero here. I see it in the way her arms wrap around herself and the distressed furrow in her brow.
It’s all wrong.
She doesn’t see what I see when I look at her.
I need to hold up a mirror to make her see the truth. For once in her life, she needs to see the fucking truth.
Because I know what happened to her even if I don’t know all the details. People have taken and taken and taken from her since she was too young to fight back. They’ve told her who she is and isn’t allowed to be. A story was written for her that she never had a say in.
And fuck, do I understand.
I understand because they did the same damn thing to me.
Conditioning is a hell of a thing. It carves deep grooves in the mind—grooves that feel as permanent as the ones on an old wax record. The lies repeat, over and over, until they feel like a song you’ll be humming under your breath until you take your last exhale.
But it’s still a lie.
And I need her to know she can rewrite her story.
“It’s time you understand—you get to be whoever the fuck you want, Moira.” I step forward, framing her face between my hands, holding her still so she can’t look away. “Tonight, we set you free.”
Her brows knit tighter. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll see. Do you trust me?”
She hesitates, searching my face, and then—so slowly, so cautiously—nods. “I trust you. Even though you have secrets.”
The words punch through me, landing somewhere deep.
She swallows, glancing away. “Some things have… happened recently. I don’t want you to think I’m lying. I just—I want it to be like what you haven’t told me about your life before you became a priest. So you know those things are there, but I’m just not telling them to you right now. Is that okay?”
Her eyes find mine again, open and raw.
I wasn’t expecting this.