Page 118 of That Sik Luv

Aero scratches the side of his head again with the barrel of the gun and his taut abdomen flexes, highlighting the evidence of our matching wounds, his still oozing blood down his flesh.

“I’m not a man of much patience. Fucking do it. Now.”

I close my eyes tightly, nodding slightly. Walking towards the bed, I approach Saint. I place my palm on his shaking hand holding the rosary, and our eyes connect.

“I’m scared,” I whisper truthfully.

Saint tries to read my gaze, but I already feel him faltering, slipping away.

“Just do what he says,” I plead. “He’s a dangerous man.”

The corners of his eyes crease with his growing uncertainty. I can tell he’s racking his brain for the answers, for a way out of this, but Aero’s entirely too calculated. There isn’t a plot twist he hasn’t already imagined.

“On the fucking bed!” he yells behind us, causing me to jump.

The beads of the rosary sink into the tendons of my wrists, causing an uncomfortable pain. Aero has Saint use his own rosary for my other wrist, and one of my legs is tied down with Saint’s belt. His sorrowful eyes keep averting my gaze as he follows Aero’s orders with the gun pointed at him from afar.

Once I’m secured in place, Aero sits back in the corner of the room, watching closely.

I can’t pick up the emotions he’s emitting. He’s become a wall of absent art, depicting nothing but deep cracks from years of abuse as he sits casually orchestrating the downfall, his eyes dark and unforgiving.

I don’t know who he is anymore.

Maybe I never knew him.

Or maybe…

Maybe I need to remember the core of who I am. A woman whose past is also a cracked image of perfection burdened by lies. A woman who is so much more than just another stepping stone for yet another man. A woman who stands strong and tall against those that berate, deny, and hold back.

A woman who still holds strong in her faith.

Faith in the man that’s routinely forced her to save herself.

Chapter fifty-two

The Fall of Saint

“Riphershirtopen,”Aero’s rough voice demands from his seat.

Saint does as he’s told, grabbing the edge and ripping open my uniformed shirt. Buttons scatter, exposing my white bra, the mounds of breasts nearly slipping over the tightly bound lace. My lip quivers as I blow out a breath, awaiting the next command while I cycle through the knowledge I’ve recently come upon, trying to make sense of everything.

The church tried to end me. Not once. Twice. Aero has killed men meant to harm me, his blackmail having forced me to rely solely on him while he made it his mission to force me to witness the bishop’s sexual assault of a child, exposing the truth of the men who proclaim their holiness.

Aero may have a heart full of vengeance over his own losses, but what of mine? I don’t even know where my story begins. A past, like his, torn and twisted for someone else’s benefit. My story gives me the strength I need. For myself and no one else.

The only thing I can’t stop questioning is where Saint lies in all of this.

“Pull down that flimsy bra.”

I raise my chin, the restraints pulling tight as I offer my chest up to him. Saint’s fingers fumble, gripping the lace and peeling the cotton cups down to expose my bare breasts. The straps are snug against my shoulders, the pressure of the bra beneath my breasts squeezing them tightly. My nipples harden in the cool air of the room as two sets of eyes focus on them.

I feel cheap. Worthless. An object to be used for sexual satisfaction alone, and yet, there’s an immense power lining that. It’s everything I’ve become thirsty for. Quenching the dark parts of myself I’d never have discovered had it not been for Aero. He quite literally trained me for this moment.

Slowly, Saint’s tongue drags across his bottom lip before he closes his eyes tightly, probably mentally scolding himself for looking.

“Lift her skirt and tear those useless fucking panties.”

Saint sighs. He’s given up entirely, doing whatever he needs to ensure he meets the demands of the man in control. Aero’s entirely in his head, manipulating him.

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