Page 17 of Cast Stones
I suppose it’s meant to put me on edge.Idiots.I spent the first eighteen years of my life in solitude waiting for my sweet rose to bloom and then twelve more waiting to watch her wilt.
Patience is my greatest strength.
A click toward the front of the tiny room draws my gaze upward. I clasp my hands together, the sweat between my palms gathering like an unholy baptism. I know it’s her before the shock of red hair passes through the threshold.
She’s the only one who ever broke my shield. The only one who could ever draw blood from steel.Fucking weakness.I hate her for it.
Hate. Love.
Aren’t they one and the same?
“Luca,” she says, those green eyes giving nothing away as she steps inside the room and takes her seat across the table. She’s wearing another black pantsuit, layered and thick like a bulletproof vest. I stare at her, saying nothing as she opens that damn brown folder, shuffling papers as if today is any other day. As if she didn’t just close the door on her own Judgment Day. “I trust you slept well.”
Something has been off with her all week. I can’t name the color, but the shade is familiar. It darkens her eyes and marks her face. Her make-up is way too heavy, almost like she’s disguising herself from me.What did I say about masks, cara mia?
Each time I’ve asked her, she’s given the same canned answer.“What do you think is wrong, Luca? You’re compromising my ethics.”
Which is a bullshit answer. She has none. I took them when I took her.
This is something else…
“Madi,” I nod. “And no, I haven’t slept in ten years.”
She doesn’t react, instead, strewing papers out on the table before folding her hands behind them. “This is our last meeting before the trial begins. I have to know that you’re clear on everything we’ve discussed. That you know exactly what to say when I put you on the stand.” It’s not a question as much as a confirmation. She knows damn well I know what the fuck to say. I should be the one asking her that.
She’s the one who looks like she’s about to throw up.
“Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed or hidden that will not be known.”
She entwines her fingers, her knuckles turning white. “Donotquote the Bible to me right now, Luca. You’re the one on trial, not me.”
Capturing her gaze, I lean across the desk as far as my restraints will allow. “Are you sure about that?”
Madigan’s jaw tightens. She’s not only fighting me, but she’s fighting herself, and that black seed I planted within her years ago. The one that has taken root and grown with time. I can see the twisted, gnarled branches coiled behind those veiled eyes—hidden only by a layer of skin and defiance. She can deny it all she wants, but we both know I stole more than her innocence that day.
I stole her salvation.
Breaking eye contact, Madigan presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. I watch as she lowers her arms, folding them across her chest and slowly rising to her feet. “I’ll do everything I can,” she says, pacing the perimeter of the room, “but you have to know it doesn’t look good. Normally, I have months to prepare, but since all the media coverage and public outrage pressured Judge Harris to expedite the court date, I haven’t had sufficient time to craft a credible defense.” She stiffens as she realizes she’s paced her way by my side. “It-it could go either way.”
“You’ll think of something.”
Her nostrils flare as she slams her palms onto the table, my chains rattling with the impact. “You’re not listening to me!”
“No,cara mia, you’re not listening to me,” I growl. She’s so close, my breath blows the piece of red hair that falls from behind her ear. “If I go to jail, so do you. I’m not fucking around when I say both of our lives are on the line, so I have complete faith you’ll come through for us.”
She lets out a brittle laugh. “Faith? Isn’t that that what started all this?”
“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
She freezes, so stunned that her mouth falls open, a short burst of air expelling from her lungs. The verse is sacred between us, a steel-tipped blade slashing deep horizontal and vertical lines across her chest.Bleed for me. Wear the mark you gave me.“When this is over, you have to leave me alone,” she says, closing her eyes. “Leave the state, whatever. Just get out of my life. Go away.”
“Is that what you really want?”
Madi’s eyes slowly flutter open. She doesn’t move—doesn’t attempt to pull away. A thick current of tension sizzles between us, coating the walls of the small room with dark promises of the past. Memories of forbidden flesh and sinful screams.
She remembers.
I can’t forget.
