Page 73 of Debt of My Soul

Three loud bangs on the door startle me, and I drop my face cream into the single-bowl sink. I snatch it up and toss the jar into the cabinet before I slam it shut and open the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s been over an hour, and this is the only bathroom in this cabin,” Liam says.

I raise my eyebrows at him and offer him a slight shrug, wondering what his point is. He lifts his chin over to the toilet and my eyes widen.

“Oh, right.” I gather my ball of laundry from the corner by the tub and bolt out, stubbing my toe on the doorjamb. I yelp and stumble forward, but a large hand seizes my elbow before I go down.

Liam glares at me, his eyes skirting over my scoop-necked top and moving down to my shorts. With a quick jerk, I yank my elbow out of his grasp and turn with my laundry, well, his laundry, and open my mouth to ask where to put it, but the door slams in my face.

Despite the one-bedroom cabin being only one bedroom, there’s a tiny stackable washer and dryer in a linen closet, and I spend the next couple of hours washing the new clothes I purchased in hopes of keeping my mind off being treated like a possession.

Liam offered me a drawer in his dresser. And while he reheats the lasagna Mrs. Northgate gave us, I stalk to his room with my freshly cleaned clothes and nearly melt at the oddly cozy space.

It’s simple. A queen-sized mattress atop a rustic log frame bed. It must be cedar, because the closer I got, the more charming the smell. A green and blue plaid comforter is madeneatly on his bed while a matching cedar dresser sits across from the foot of it.

Going to my knees, I open the bottom drawer, although I’m baffled it’s still full after he said he cleared out a drawer. I try the next. Then another. Climbing the six-drawer dresser until I reach the top drawer that is, in fact, empty.

It’s slightly odd he’d give me the top drawer when bending down to the bottom one is probably harder on him than me due to his size. But I make quick work of putting my minimal clothes away. I spy a closet in the far corner of the room but leave my dresses folded in the drawer. I couldn’t care less about a few wrinkles, especially out here.

When I’m finished, I join Liam in the kitchen. We each have a plate of lasagna—him eating two helpings and me unable to stomach but a few bites. We don’t talk.

It’s night by the time Liam and I leave the cabin, and I follow close behind him as he leads me to this barbaric ritual. Still, he says nothing. The comfort he offered in the truck is nowhere to be found.

The air is warm, and it wraps around me but doesn’t help my shaking. Stars blink in the sky and there isn’t a cloud in the way to disturb them. Truth be told, it’d be a fantastic night for a bonfire. One with marshmallows and laughing friends, not drunk men fondling women and burning marks in people.

With my gaze squinting at the ground, I watch for roots from the massive oak trees. I’m so focused, I don’t notice Liam has stopped and I slam into his back.

He hisses but turns to address me. “Two other men are getting their mark tonight. It will be crowded.” Liam’s gaze struggles to keep mine because mine is pulled to the raging fire and swarms of people outside the clubhouse. “Fleur, listen to me. Stay close tonight.”

The terrorized part of me wants to bury my head in my hands and weep. Another part, the angry and annoyed this is happening side of me, wants to punch Liam in the face. Stay close to him? That’s not going to get me out of being stamped by that psychopath Blitz.

I’m sick of the whiplash with him.

We stalk around the clubhouse, not through it, and smack right into the noisy crowd. Music plays from outdoor speakers, and most of the men have a beer in one hand and a female clasped in the other. I look away, heat rising to my cheeks. This is insane.

The firepit is outlined in cinderblocks stacked four high and the sheer size of the fire roars and crackles over the music and loud voices. A drunk man stumbles into me, his warm beer sloshing up and over his open bottle and onto my periwinkle top. Thank goodness it’s not white.

“Well. I’m sorry, miss.” He hiccups and leans into my face. The stench of his beer-laced breath along with the vile body odor makes me take two steps back where I’m met with the front of Liam’s hard chest. I dart to his side, and when the drunk man tries to pursue me again, Liam grabs my hand and pulls me away. The man yells out a “hey, not fair” before spinning twice in a circle and making for another woman.

When we’ve moved away from the crowded area, I’m sure Liam is going to drop my hand. However, he doesn’t. His palm engulfs mine, holding fast and tight. The rough pads of his fingers rest on top of my hand and with each jolt of movement, they scratch and rub. I’m so focused on the sensation his hand over mine causes, I miss the fact we now stand in front of Darrin.

My stomach sours.

“Liam.” Darrin nods. “Meeting tonight after this. She’ll go first.”

It’s instinct that I tug away from where Liam’s hand is tightened over mine. I want to run.

He quickly releases me, but I don’t move. I can’t.

Oh God.

Ohgodohgod.

Blitz raises his hands and claps several times, garnering the attention of the crowd. Darrin steps forward and spews some utter nonsense about their tightly knit brotherhood and how special it is when someone claims a wife. It’s all crap, and I stop listening in favor of eyeballing the trees, wondering how far I’d make it.

I don’t want to do this. I thought I had this locked down, had my nerves controlled, but I’m afraid I don’t. I’m not brave. I’m terrified. Am I built for this sort of pain?

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