Page 123 of That Sik Luv

Fuck, the things I’d do for this woman.

Images of abdomens being torn and blood-curdling cries flood my mind, making my jaw tighten with urges beyond my control.

It’s adorable that Briony thinks she can actually save me. But I know better than anyone that this is where it ends. This is my sacrifice for my queen. I lay my cold, departed heart out on that table, hoping she has the strength to revive it. My final test for her.

Callum Westwood casually strides into the room breathing an air of confidence he doesn’t deserve to own, three of his hound-men behind him, and his hands in the pockets of his slacks with a slim fit vest over a button-up shirt. He runs a hand through his thick dark locks, pushing them back in line with the rest of his entire pretentious look. His eyes quickly lock with mine and it’s like peering into an aged mirror.

One without the unfortunate reflection of scars and pain I’ve endured. The broken, tattered mess that makes me everything I am in this life I’ve been surviving on my own.

Saint scatters away from Baret to the feet of his father, gripping his pant leg like a fucking dog.

“Fix your pants,” he demands to his son, never tearing his eyes off mine.

Baret’s eyes wander from Cal to me and back, his jaw practically on the floor beneath him, the uncanny resemblance making a clear statement all its own.

“Saint?” Briony calls out, staring oddly at Cal with her tone shaky and torn. “What is your father doing in my house?”

He won’t even look her in the eye, just continues staring down at the floor, still catching his breath from the fight as his shirt lies open and bloodied, looking every bit as pathetic as he is.

“What is your father doing in my house, Saint?!” Briony yells, her fist clenching as the coals within her light into the flames she’s always contained.

“A true hero.” Cal casually leans against the door frame, his pompous stature infuriating me with his head tipped back and his wrinkled smirking in place.

“Aero, run. Please,” Briony whispers breathlessly through gritted teeth before me. “Run.”

She’s fucking crazier than I thought if she really expects me to run. I’d never leave her. Never. Not as long as air fills these lungs.

I gently squeeze her little hand in mine before roughly twisting her arm back, causing her to arch her back and cry out as the barrel of my gun rests against her temple.

“No! Saint was raping her! He...he had her tied to the bed! A...a crucifix, oh my God,” Baret shakes his head, raking his hands down his face.

“I think you’re confused, son,” Cal says confidently. He grips the back of Saint’s shirt, pulling him up to a standing position next to him. Saint stumbles to his side with a broken look about him. “This man’s a hero. Saved young Briony, here from this criminal lurking the streets, brutally torturing those of the faith.”

I cock my head to the side, running my tongue along my teeth. I know this man, and I know exactly how he operates, which is working well for me.

“It wasn’t him that was torturing!” Baret yells, standing. “It was Saint!” He points to Saint, who gazes back at him, fear lining his posture. “He had her tied to the bed. He raped her! You stupid fuck!”

Baret charges for Saint when one of the bodyguards pulls a gun on him, causing him to take a step back with his hands raised. He’s a big guy, muscular in his own right, with his football-like build matching his all-American-blonde-hero look, but Baret brought fists to a gunfight.

“As I said,” Cal repeats from behind the guard. “I think you’re confused as to what you saw.”

Baret glares at Cal, then stares at the gun pointed at him before his gaze finds Briony again.

She must be pleading with her eyes enough to have him letting out an exasperated sigh and reluctantly standing down. She’s far too intelligent for the likes of these men. Briony’s piecing the puzzle I’ve formulated together, allowing it all to fall into place, understanding my reasons for being every bit the villain in this story. I had to play my part. There can only be one.

“I must’ve been confused,” Baret recites blandly, the fury in his expression not reaching his tone.

Cal smiles, the creases of his tanned face contorting into the diabolical grin of a man who’s smiled one too many times in the face of adversity. A smile that screams superiority and entitlement.

He tosses his arm around Saint, patting a hand on his chest. “Proud of you, son. You finally caught him. And just in time. She could’ve been hurt.” He nods his head at Briony and her cheeks flush with anger. “She owes you her life.” The sentence holds so much underlying weight. A marriage of convenience to a member of the congregation. A man of their choosing. An official lock and chain to the woman they’ve always needed to control and detain.

I eye the three massive bodyguards behind Cal.

I’ve taken on more. Not as big, but still, fuck, I could end at least two of them if I hadn’t thrown my blade into the wall in a mad fit of rage.

“Let her go,” Cal calls out casually. “It’s alright Briony. You’re safe now.”

Briony all but scoffs at him.

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