Page 3 of Praise Me: Priest

Mid-stride, I shiver, thinking about the older man who visits the shelter every day, asking to bring me on walks or leaving me expensive trinkets. At first, I accepted the gifts, bartering them for food later. When I realized Mr. Tandy expected physical affection in exchange for his gifts, I stopped accepting them. He persists, however, claiming he’ll marry me and bring me and my aunt to live in his big house. The very idea of sharing a home with the smarmy man makes my skin crawl and my aunt refuses to let me sacrifice myself.

But we grow more and more destitute each day, her illness not allowing her to work, and no local businesses are willing to hire a shelter girl who has no proper clothes.

Mr. Tandy is beginning to look like the only viable option.

“When I catch you, I’m going to chop off your hand!” bellows my hunter, his sword clanging off one of the stone walls. “That’ll teach you.”

Oh God, that last vow was made so close to my back, I’m as good as caught. This is it. I’m going to have my hand severed from my arm in a field and no one will care, save my aunt. Just another street urchin casualty. And I didn’t even get to taste the chocolate.

A hand fists in the material of my scarf, yanking and choking me where I’ve tied it around my neck. I’m jerked to a stop and thrown down into the grass, pain going through my elbow on impact, my noggin smacking off the hard packed earth, disorienting me.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” I cry, rolling over on my back and holding my hands up. “I’ll give it back. It’s in the pocket of my dress.”

He looms over me, a maniacal look in his eyes. “Too late. You’ve already gotten your filth all over it. No one will buy it now.”

“Please. I can work to pay for it.”

The man does nothing but laugh, but my exposed legs seem to catch his eye, and the mirth turns to something else entirely. No. Please, no. I know what that sick light in his gaze means, the tightening of the skin around his mouth. It’s lust. It’s the way Mr. Tandy looks at me. A mixture of discomfort and interest. Anger at my body for putting them in a state of discontent.

Considering the fluttering hem of my dress, he taps the sword against his outer thigh. “The question is, do I cut your hand off before or after I have my way with you?”

My heart squeezes up into my throat and I scramble backward, my feet slipping in the slick grass. “Just let me go, please. I have a sick aunt and she’ll be wondering where I am. She needs me to—”

“Shut up,” he spits, dropping the sword in favor of unfastening his pants. “You should have thought of that before you stole from me. Now you’ll serve your penance.”

Run.

Find some strength and run.

I flip over onto my hands and knees, crawling several feet, surprised to find my vision is cloudy. From hitting my head orlack of sustenance, I have no idea, but his hand claws into my hair now, twisting, making my sob in pain.

“Stay still,” he hisses—

There’s a loudoofsound, accompanied by the thump of an impact. A grunt. I’m no longer impeded by a hand in my hair. I’m free. My pursuer’s shadow no longer looms over me, and I’m surrounded by sunlight.Run. I must take the opportunity to run, but I can’t help but stop and look behind me, needing to know what or who saved me.

The last thing I expect to see is a priest holding my attacker by the throat.

Two feet off the ground.

I gape at the imposing figure, my apparent savior, the fury etched in his interesting features. Yes,interesting.Not classically handsome, more hardened. Weathered. Rough. He’s far from a typical priest. For one, he’s young. Maybe in his late twenties. And he’s humungous. Barrel chested with raw, visible strength and…my goodness, his hands. The one holding my attacker by the throat is more like a mitt.

“I sincerely hope you weren’t forcing yourself on this young girl,” the priest says through his teeth. “No amount of confession would absolve you of that.”

The man makes a choked sound, his feet kicking in the air.

“How does it feel to be at someone’s mercy?” asks the priest, tightening his grip. “Someone bigger and stronger than you. How does it feel to be powerless?”

His response is to turn purple, eyes bugging out.

“Remember how it feels to be powerless the next time you want to use your strength against someone smaller.” I watch in shock as the vendor is thrown several feet into a heap on the ground, gasping for oxygen. “Do not go near her ever again. Or I’ll finish what I started.” He bares his teeth in a mirthless smile. “No one would suspect me.”

“Y-yes, Father,” wheezes the man, stumbling to his feet and fastening his pants. He starts to pick up the sword, but the priest steps on the weapon, keeping it pressed to the grassy earth.

“Do I look dumb enough to let you pick up a weapon?”

“No, sir. Father, I mean. Sorry.” The man backs away cautiously, cowering in the shade cast by the giant priest. “I’m going now. I’m going.”

“Good.”

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