Page 29 of Ravaged
Gerard turned to his wife.
“Think of Me, please dear,” Clara said.
Teagen closed her eyes, then opened them and smiled. Her hands moved fluidly, like a creature I’d never be able to understand, manipulating the strings into a melody that was gut-wrenching, playing like it brought her to life. Deprived of clothes, of standing, stripped of her humanity, dressed in a worn-out robe, and the woman still smiled. Still played music like it was the air she breathed. Like it was how she survived.
But there was a loneliness to her, to the way she searched through that song, as if the instrument itself was a part of her body that was afraid she would lose again. Who was I to deprive her of this? If Oliver screwed up, if Teagen had to die for her family, could I be the mobster who put her to rest?
Had something like that happened with my mother? Had Gerard let her go, when he knew he should have killed her?
With each flick of Teagen’s fingers, taunting and picking at the strings like they were pieces to my soul, I knew it was too late. I saw her as more than a prisoner. Because she was. She embodied melody, lightness, everything bright. The pleasure of the day, and dreams of the night.
And if I let her get any closer, I would lose myself in her too.
