Page 65 of Forgive Me Father
Shoving him hard in the chest, I swipe my phone back, watching with grim satisfaction as he stumbles into a nearby table. Shutting off the screen, I shove it into my pocket, downing the rest of my drink.
“I’m not in the fucking mood for bullshit.”
His eyes flicker to the deep scar running down my wrist, then to the black ink snaking up and down my arm. For a moment, the bar is silent, patrons watching with bated breath. My cross, now untucked, gleams on my chest. I’m sure I could pass as some version of a Hell’s angel.
“You’re that pretty boy priest they just brought into Saint Michael’s,” The man slurs, sizing me up. “Tell me, where does it say in the Ten Commandments that you can keep a picture of a girl with tits like that in your phone—”
Before he can finish, I drive my fist into his jaw, relishing the crunch of bone against my knuckles. His head snaps back, and he slumps against a support beam, the room erupting in gasps as his friends scramble away from the pool table in the center of the room.
“Take it outside!” Renee yells, her voice cutting through the tension, trying to keep the bar from descending into chaos.
"Hey," One of the man’s friends shouts, grabbing my shoulder, readying to throw a punch. "What the hell do you think you’re doing—"
I twist his arm, forcing him forward and over my shoulder. He crashes to the floor with a thud, and I stomp down hard on his hand.
I hear the switchblade click open before I feel it. I sidestep just in time, the blade grazing my side. Curling my hand around the man’s wrist, I slam his head against the bar counter, watching the light go out in his eyes as he collapses.
"Father," Renee’s voice cuts through the chaos, pulling my attention to her. Her eyes are wide with fear. "Don’t give David a reason to trail this back to Eden."
Fuck.
This whole town is incestuous. All it would take is this bastard on the ground opening his mouth, and David would be up my ass. And worse, he’d go after Eden.
Pain explodes in my face as the man who’d taken my phone clocks me right in the eye, the force sending me backward.
The man’s companions lie unconscious on the floor, but he’s still standing, holding his sore jaw and sneering at me. "You fucking religious fuck!" he yells. "I hope I see that pretty thing walking down these streets so I can make her pay for what you—"
I grab a beer bottle from the bar and smash it across his head. He crumples to the floor, ale splashing over both of us. With all three men out cold, I fumble for my wallet, slapping two hundred-dollar bills on the counter for Renee.
I glare at her as I back toward the door, the bar eerily silent now, the kind of quiet that ensures most of this will be swept under the rug.
"So long as I’m around, David isn’t harming her or anyone else," I hiss, clutching my throbbing eye.
I nudge the door open and slip out into the night. Moments later, I’m in my car, punching the address for the reservoir into the console.
Chapter 18
Eden
No one warns you how miserable your first hangover is after months of avoiding alcohol.
The pounding headache behind my eyes is relentless as I try to piece together the events of last night. My throat feels raw and swollen as if I’ve had strep for days. Touching my tender neck, the memories of what happened in Roman’s car come rushing back.
I remember how it felt as he mercilessly thrust his cock down my throat, a mix of shame and arousal flooding my senses. But then the memory of vomiting all over myself and his car shatters that moment.
I sit up, opening my eyes to find I’m in an unfamiliar room. The room is bathed in the soft, golden light of a single lamp, the curtains drawn tight, barely letting in the morning sun. The space is impeccably clean, almost sterile, yet there’s a warmth to it. The walls are a muted gray, adorned with minimalistic art, mostly religious iconography, but there’s nothing ostentatiousabout it. A crucifix hangs above a small, dark wooden desk, the only clutter being a leather-bound Bible and a few scattered papers. Looking down, I realize I’m wearing nothing but a large shirt and my underwear, the smell of fresh laundry clinging to the fabric. Where the hell am I?
My phone sits on the nightstand, flooded with texts from Aiden and Luca, ranging from apologies to confusion about my whereabouts. Luca’s texts, in particular, are a stream of remorseful apologies. I quickly reply that we need to talk, then text Aiden, telling him I decided to crash at Zoey’s for some girl time.
Running a hand through my tangled hair, I cringe at the lingering scent of alcohol and vomit. Trying to piece together where I am, I quietly slip out of bed, noting the undisturbed sheets and pillow on the other side of the bed.
Creeping to the window, I pull back the curtain and blink past the pounding in my head. My heart drops when I see the church just a few yards away.
Oh fuck. I’m in Roman’s house.
“Glad to see you’re alive,” Roman’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, and I spin around, choking on my words as I see him standing in the doorway.
He’s wearing nothing but sweats, his tattooed, sculpted body on full display, making him almost impossible to resist. There’s a large cut on his side, held together by a butterfly closure. He holds a cup of water, his gold ring catching the light as he moves. His face is stoic, as if unaffected by the chaos from last night.
