Page 133 of Savior

“Now, please tell me what’s happening before I lose my mind.” I look between them as unease spreads on the table like a tiger about to pounce.

“We’ve found Sloane,” Slate says, and I can almost feel the‘But’hanging heavy in the air.

“But,” Brynne adds, confirming my suspicion. “It needs to be handled delicately.”

I nod, my stomach souring as I tightly grip my fork for something tangible to hang on to.

“I’m going, of course.”

Slate gives Brynne a look ofI told you so, and she pushes him with a flare of her eyes.

“We need you to hang back, Luca,” she says.

She always calls me Father. Slate must’ve told her I left the church. Of course, he told her.

“We don’t know what state she’ll be in or if she’ll want to come with us,” Slate adds.

My brows quirk. “Why wouldn’t she want to come with us? We’re rescuing her.”

They share another look, and my nerves sizzle through my body.

“She’s been with him nearly three weeks, and what she’s likely had to do to survive can fuck with you…mentally,” Brynne tells me, reaching for my hand and wrapping her own over mine.

Because mine is shaking.

I swallow. “You’re saying she might not want to return to me?”

No one speaks.

No one has to.

I bow, tears falling into the beautifully cooked steak Brynne had plated for me.

She might not come back.

It’s a truth I hadn’t even considered, and now that I’m faced with it, I can’t breathe.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

SLOANE

Wincing, I let Hannah heft me off the bed. As she always does, she waits for me to gain my footing before stepping back.

“Got it?” she asks.

I nod, breathing through gritted teeth.

He hadn’t gone easy on me last night. I know more ribs are bruised. But not as bruised as my ego was.

“I don’t know why you bait him, Ms. Sloane. Just give him what he wants, and it’ll all cease. All the beatings, all the…”

“Rape? Go on, say it—the rape. And don’t forget you’re a part of it, Hannah. You dress me up like a doll to be mishandled and fucked every night. Only to patch me back together the next morning.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says, casting her eyes down as I sit at the vanity.

My face isn’t swollen anymore, but there are still bruises from last week when I spoke out of turn at a business dinner and caught Matteo’s backhand across my cheek.

I swore my nose was broken, but luckily it wasn’t.

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