Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I tug my phone out of my pocket and see how much time has passed. Roughly six minutes. “It’s still too early.” My voice cuts through the silence. “We need to wait for the pill to kick in.”
“Don’t be soft, boy.” Roman checks the iron. Still orange. “Pain is part of the ceremony. Part of what makes the mark matter.”
“There will be pain, no matter what, but you don’t want her to move. If the brand blurs, then the process has to be restarted, and the risk of infection and mortality grows. If we go slow and do it the right way the first time, then we waste less time.”
I use his own logic and words against him, and it does the trick because he pauses. Roman hates imperfection. Hates anything that doesn’t go exactly according to plan.
“You’re right, son.” He sets the iron back in the brazier. “Let’s give it another five minutes. Then we will proceed, whether the drugs have kicked in or not.”
I move closer to Saint, and Sawyer and Kade step back, giving us space. She’s breathing too fast. Shallow gasps that mean she’s on the edge of panic. Her storm-blue eyes flit around as if trying to find something to focus on, a fine sheen of sweat slicking her pale skin. And she is pale. Even in the darkened interior of the barn, she looks washed out, her honey-blond hair a halo of gold around her face, hanging in a loose braid over one shoulder.
“Hey.” I stop in front of her and put my hands on her hips to anchor her. “Look at me.”
Her beautiful eyes find mine. They’re blown wide, and her lips are trembling. “Find something to focus on. It’ll help.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A memory. A prayer. Something.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “My mother used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep. An old hymn. ‘It Is Well With My Soul.’“
Of course it would be a hymn. Of course she’d choose something good and pure to hold on to during this nightmare.
“Then think about that,” I say. “Think about her voice. The words. Block everything else out.”
“Will it work?”
“It’ll work if you want it to work. No matter what, you’ve got this.” I come to a stand and back away slowly. Kade and Sawyer check their knots. The ropes aren’t tight enough to hurt but they’re secure. She won’t be able to move her torso when the iron comes.
Levi won’t meet my eyes. He’s staring at the ground, jaw clenched, hands shoved in his pockets. Elena looks like she’s about to be sick. Roman pulls the iron from the brazier. The tip is white now. Hot enough that I can feel the heat radiating from it even at ten feet.
“Saintlyn Bishop.” Roman’s voice takes on a ceremonial quality. “You’ve married into this family and taken our name. Now you’ll take our mark.”
Saint’s breathing is still too fast for my liking, and her eyes are closed. Her lips move silently. Either in prayer or singing, it doesn’t matter. She’s somewhere else, somewhere I can’t follow her. Roman approaches her, and I have to stop myself from pushing him out of the way. The iron casts ugly light across his face, making him look more demonic than human.
“Hold still, girl,” he says. “This’ll hurt.”
He pulls up the flannel shirt with his free hand. The smooth flank of her hip underneath.
It’s the perfect canvas for his cruelty. I grit my teeth as I watch him position the iron and then press it against her skin. My heart sinks into my stomach, and bile rises in my throat as the smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils. I want to look away, but I can’t. I won’t. I watch because I deserve to see this, to feel Saint’s pain.
Her eyes fly open, and her lips part on a silent scream. The ropes creak as her body tries instinctively to pull away. I hate myself. I hate my family. Hate that I’ve subjected such a pure, angelic creature to such horrible things.
Roman holds the iron to her skin, and the seconds tick by slowly.
One. Two. Three.
Rage simmers in my veins. Too long. He’s holding it too long.
I move before my brain can tell me to stop. “That’s enough.”
“Not yet.” Roman’s voice is calm. Pleasant. Like he’s teaching me how to properly season a steak. “If we don’t keep it on long enough, we’ll have to do it again.”
Four. Five.
Saint’s silent scream finally found sound, and I’ll never forget the way it sounded. Like a wounded animal being ripped apart at the seams. I can’t do this anymore. Can’t subject her to the pain.
Reaching for his arm, I yell, “That’s enough. Stop.”
He pulls the iron away just before my hand reaches him. There’s no missing the icy-cold satisfaction that fills his eyes.