Page 48 of Of Sinners & Salvation
“Good,” Angel says. “Now that he’s gone, let’s get this operation underway.”
“Still not sure why he was here,” I say. “But you were right. They are trafficking girls. I can’t just leave them here. Whoever wants to come—”
“Wherever one of us goes, we all go,” Father Salvatore says, cutting me off, his words filled with finality that slices straight through my heart. For them, it’s not even a question. And not just my brother and my boyfriend, not just my childhood best friends, but our father too. The father of all of us, the one we all needed, one who loves and watches and accepts us as we are—sinners who are still worthy of salvation.
“Okay,” I say, tears blurring my eyes. For so long, they had each other’s backs, no matter what. Now they have mine. “Thank you. I love you. All of you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.” I turn to Angel, and he slides an arm around my lower backand pulls me to him, drawing me up on tiptoes. He leans down, planting a hard kiss on my lips.
“I know, baby girl,” he says. “I never doubted it for a second.”
I cradle his cheek, seeking one more kiss before I pull back. I turn to the group. Father Salvatore has joined us, and we all stand around contemplating our next move.
“We need to find out if she’s here, or if she’s been here,” I say. “They did mention that men sometimes buy the girls permanently.”
“We saw that,” Father Salvatore says. “There were mentions of an auction on the site Nathaniel found.”
I nod. “Okay, that’s a good lead. First, I want to make sure she’s not here. So we need to search the place. Maybe Nate can check the cameras?”
“And the graveyard,” Heath says quietly, nodding in the direction Walker disappeared.
“They’ll have records,” Father Salvatore says. “If we can find those, we can at least know for certain what we’re looking for. Much less risk than trying to access to the entire asylum to search room by room.”
“And I bet I know just where to find those,” I say, remembering Dr. Augustine’s little cottage out back. I beam at Father Salvatore, and he looks away, like he can’t bear to accept my admiration. Someone needs to teach him the lesson he’s taught the rest of us so well—that there’s no shame in his desires. But now is not the time.
He clears his throat. “Nathaniel said they might be hard copies, but we’ll have service once we’re back there, so we can call him if we need digital access.”
“Then let’s bounce,” Angel says. “Before the tide comes in any further.”
We start back down the beach. The tide rises with each wave that crashes, but instead of the steady rhythm that they take on a normal beach, they’re churning and irregular, running sideways instead of forward half the time. There must be riptides and other currents formed between the mainland and the island, and combined with the shape of the shoreline, it makes messy, frothing, and extremely dangerous waters.
“Is everyone feeling up to the hike back?” Father Salvatore asks as we hurry along the diminishing strip of sand.
“Not much choice,” Heath says. “I’m not staying here.”
“We might all be staying here if we don’t get off this beach soon,” Saint says, hugging the base of the rocky cliffside as a wave rolls up, almost catching his feet.
We pick up our pace, and my heart starts hammering. We all know how to swim, thanks to the sweltering summer heat in Arkansas that had all our parents packing us off to pools, rivers, creeks, and lakes every chance they got, but taking a dip in the icy Atlantic in April sounds like a recipe for hypothermia. Not to mention that the waves might dash us to pieces against the stones once they rise high enough.
We fall into grim silence, rushing along at a pace that’s just short of a jog. The waves rush up around our feet and ankles, so cold my bones instantly ache once my shoes are soaked through. Without a word, Saint grabs me around the waist, tosses me over his shoulder, and starts to run through the churning, sloshing water.
“I can walk,” I protest. “You’ll wear yourself out carrying me.”
“You’re slowing us down,” he grunts, not releasing me. “Your legs are too short.”
“Rude,” I mutter, burning with humiliation not at his insult, but at the thought that I’m the burden, that it’s my fault that they’re all going to be wet and cold on the walk back. It’s notlike I could have done anything about it, though. I can’t help how I’m built.
“Rude would be leaving you,” Saint says, reaching the incline at last, where the cliff face ends and we can scramble up the sandy, crumbling dune. He drops me onto my feet. “I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
“At least until a girl who’s not your sister comes along,” I mutter, starting up the slope.
Saint grabs me and spins me around in one motion. “Not ever,” he says, his eyes burning into mine like twin firebrands. “You think I fuck anyone like that? I don’t. Only you, Em. Only ever you.”
I want to kiss him, but the others are behind us, crowding in, trying to keep going. So I turn back, not wanting to slow them down again. Even though they came all this way, and Saint’s telling me otherwise, I haven’t unlearned the things I was taught all my life—that if I’m too much trouble, I’ll be discarded, shunted off on someone else.
So I turn and continue up the hill. “What about Ronique?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
“Who?” Saint asks.
I can’t tell if he’s joking.
