Page 36 of Lust

Roman returns, looking between the two of us, his eyes darkening and pupils dilating at Blake’s grip on my chin before placing a suture kit on the bed.

“You can let go now, Sydney. You too, Blake,” he says, and as I release my hold on Blake’s shoulder he lets go of my chin, and I move aside.

I quietly watch Roman stitch Blake’s wounds and marvel at not using any anaesthetic. Other than a few winces, Blake’s expression remains blank, and he doesn’t make a sound. Romanis methodical and clearly knows what he’s doing. Again raising numerous questions, which I seem unable to get answers to.

Once Roman has finished, I follow he and Blake to a kitchen where he grabs two beers from the fridge. After handing one to Blake, he turns to me.

“Beer?” I shake my head. “Okay, something else?”

“No, thanks. Just tell me what on earth is going on?” My frustration at knowing nothing and their casual attitude bleeds through. I don’t think either of them understand how disconcerting it is being in a house miles from home with two men who are not what I thought. Two men who are dangerous in all the wrong ways.

Blake gestures to a small seating area overlooking the expansive dimly lit gardens, and with a sigh, I walk over and take a seat. When Roman joins us, he places a glass of water on the table in front of me.

“Drink. You inhaled a lot of smoke.”

I look from the glass to him, watching as he takes the seat opposite me. “Yeah, that happens when your house it set alight and you’re trapped inside.” I can’t help the contempt in my words. He’s right, irritating me more, but I reluctantly pick up the glass and drink down half of it, my parched throat grateful for the cool liquid. Blake guzzles his beer, and I catch Roman’s small smirk as he sits, bringing his own bottle to his lips.

I cradle my glass and wait for one of them to speak. When it’s obvious neither of them plans to start, too busy drinking and probably working out what lies they can sell me now, I break the silence.

“Talk. Surely the alcohol has loosened your lips enough by now.”

“Maybe you should have a drink, then we can get answers too.” I frown at his cryptic reply, but before I can question whathe means, he continues, “What do you want to know?” Roman says unemotionally.

His response takes me by surprise, and now with the opportunity to get the answers I want, I struggle to order my thoughts enough to ask anything.

“Everything,” I state simply. “I want answers about who you are, why you’re pretending to be a reverend, why was my house attacked and Pa too? This all started when you two arrived in our lives, so I want answers.”

Roman scoffs, getting up and grabbing two more beers from the fridge. So I look to Blake for answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SYDNEY

“Blake?” I question, imploring him silently to give me something to explain all this. I am completely and utterly out of my depth and have no clue how to deal with all this. It’s driving me a little crazy. Combined with my growing attraction to two men I have no business being attracted to, or even knowing, and my recent questioning of my faith, I’m beginning to spiral.

“Is someone going to give me some answers?” I demand.

Roman rejoins us, handing another beer to Blake. Once settled in his seat, he looks to me. “Roman Stone, not a reverend”—he points to Blake—“Blake Cassidy, currently a builder. That’s who we are.” He takes a mouthful of beer. “Why we are here is a little more complicated. So, let’s start with a question I asked you before. What do you know about your mother?”

“What does she have to do with any of this? I don’t remember the woman, and Pa has told me nothing about her.” I don’t understand his obsession with the woman who gave birth to me. She’s dead.

Roman rolls his eyes and drops his head back to the chair. “Don’t you find that strange? To not who your mother was, not even her name.”

I want to argue with him, but it’s something I’ve often wondered since I was a kid old enough to realise I didn’t have a mum like the other kids in school.

“Pa doesn’t like talking about her.”

“No, I’m sure he doesn’t,” Roman mutters.

“Ro,” Blake says, throwing him a warning look. “Syd, I get this is all a bit confusing, but it’s important.”

“Important for who? Me, you, Pa? Is it going to help catch the person who put him in hospital or set my house on fire? If the answer is no, then it’s not important.” I take a deep breath. “None of this makes sense, and neither of you seem interested in giving me answers, well, answers that mean something.” I push to my feet, searching inside my bag for my phone. Finding it, I say, “I’m leaving. I’m sorry you got hurt, Blake, and thank you for getting us out, Roman, but I can’t be here.”

“You can’t leave,” Roman states, his tone peppered with warning, and it lights a small spark of defiance in me.

“The hell I can’t.” I march in the direction of the exit, but I don’t make it more than two steps before Roman is in front of me, blocking my path.

“Let me rephrase that in case you misunderstood. You’re not leaving.” His nostrils flare as he stands with his arms crossed, an imposing figure.

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