Page 123 of At Her Will

Rev’s expression had that dangerous look he could get, but he was suffering beneath it. She understood why, but she couldn’treach for what she needed to help him. But he wasn’t asking for anything. Instead, when he touched her face, softly, his eyes held onto every part of her. He told her again that she was safe and okay.

Then he told her other things.

“You taught me to imagine the details of your face, to hold you in that heart chakra. But that don’t take no effort or practice at all. You all up in me, in every way.”

Something else was going on. She’d heard them talking over her, and the meaning of the words was there, if she could recall them. When she did, she wished she hadn’t.

He was leaving her. The anguish in him, the suppressed urgency, was the war between his need to seek her understanding, if not her permission, and realizing she couldn’t handle anything else right now. Particularly that.

She might understand at another moment, when she was far enough away from this one. But the knowledge throbbed under her heart, an overwhelming pain. He was going to confront his family. Which meant, in a convoluted way, he was choosing them over her, when she needed him with her, right now.

She knew it wasn’t as simple as that, that she wasn’t thinking clearly. But damn it, she shouldn’t have to. He needed to stay with her. Let the police handle it.

But he wouldn’t.

She’d taught herself, over and over again, to stand on the foundation she’d created for herself. It was the place from which she could handle whatever life threw at her.

Somehow, she dragged herself to that center point now. If she could get through the next few seconds, she’d reward herself with unconsciousness again.

“Go do what you have to do, Rev.” Her voice was hoarse. From the water, from screaming, from dehydration. “Thank you…for coming to get me.”

His confusion at her tone was brief. Painful acceptance replaced it. He relinquished her hand, but he didn’t just let it go. He guided it to one of Ros’s hands, folding her fingers over Vera’s, and holding both for a weighted second. He met her boss’s angry eyes. “I’ll be back to her, soon as I can be.”

When he rose, he gave them a grateful nod. “Thank you,” he said.

When he walked away, Vera pressed her head against Ros’s chest. She held out for about a minute. Maybe less. Just enough time for her to know he was gone. Then everything started to spill forth. Ros held her as Vera sobbed, her infamous control so beyond her grasp she wasn’t sure she’d ever find it again. She shook so hard that Tiger and Lawrence knelt on either side of Ros and wrapped them both up, holding her inside their strength.

She begged for the peaceful grayness to take her, and this time it did. Right as the ambulance lights flashed over them all.

Rev hitched a ride to his church in a pickup full of migrant farm workers. Though they might have known more English than they were letting on, his state of mind didn’t need translation. After offering him a bottle of water, they left him with his thoughts, his ass planted on the heated metal of the rusted bed, his feet propped on a coil of rope.

When he’d thanked Lawrence, the man had murmured, “We’ll take care of her.”

The agony that went through Rev like lightning splitting a tree hadn’t needed any translation, either. Lawrence’s mouth had tightened, his eyes showing he understood what Rev felt.

Taking care of her is supposed to be my job.

But he had another job, too. Leaving Veracity’s side when she needed her man, her sub, the person who wanted so much to serve her in all ways, tore him to shreds. But it had to be done.

He found them at the church, as he’d expected. Witford was sitting on the step in front of the pulpit, Tisha in one of the pews. Simon and Tyson were there. The Bible talked about lost sheep, but wolves could be lost, too. Maybe sometimes they were even more lost.

Rev walked down the aisle, holding Witford’s gaze. His clothes were still damp from the creek. He hadn’t realized one of the workers had wrapped a blanket around him until he got out of the truck. Rev hoped he’d thanked the man for his kindness as he handed it back.

Though he didn’t look toward Simon and Tyson, he stayed aware of them. They were looking at Witford for a cue, to tell them what he wanted them to do.

He came to a halt a few paces from Witford, Tisha in the pew to Rev’s left. She had her head down, hands clasped, body rocking as she prayed silently.

“When we leave here, we going to the police station,” Rev said. “You all are going to tell them what you did, and accept the consequences.”

He sensed Tyson and Simon’s shift. Witford looked toward them. The knife in Rev’s gut twisted, because he knew what that look conveyed.

“Whatever lies you thought up to cover yourselves, they lies.” Rev spoke evenly. “God knows when you lying, and that’s who you answer to. Right? So you stand away from the lies. If God in you at all, then you should be under a terrible weight of fear and regret. You go to the police, tell them what you did, be honest and let a lawyer get you what fits with that, and you’ll stand right with the Lord again.”

“Rev—” Witford began.

“You won’t speak to me.”

He didn’t raise his voice, yet the sound echoed through the nave, up to the ceiling, and rattled the windows. Tisha jumped, and all four heads snapped toward the window nearest her. One of the panes had cracked, leaving a jagged line like lightning.

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