Page 13 of West Bound
“She’ll report you to the order. I’ll report you to someone even worse,” I warn him.
There’s a sharp snorted dismissal in retort.
“Ah. There she is. Daddy’s little girl. I was surprised she didn’t come out to play sooner. Only when you’re feeling threatened then?”
“I don’t feel threatened. You should be the one worried.” I nod to the rope around his wrists to remind him—and me—that he can’t do much in this position.
“Should I?” He lets out a dark laugh, and it’s the only warning I get.
He rolls his hips hard and fast, bucking me up, and I have to scramble to hang on to him and avoid being tossed to the tiled floor. I let my nails dig deep into his skin, punishing him for the act, but he doesn’t flinch. In fact, his wry smile grows into something more devious.
“You like this,” I blurt out loud because it’s a revelation. I’m used to dealing with men who are blatant assholes. I’ve got plenty of experience with them. It’s how I ended up here. But I've never had one this good at pretending. He deserves an Emmy. “I don’t know how I ever thought you were a priest.”
“I don’t know either,” he agrees easily, and I feel a flush of embarrassment.
He’s not scared of me or my threats. Not even a little bit. If I'm going to get him to admit to anything, I'm going to needsome bite to my bark. I push away from him and move from the bed, quickly glancing around for something to make him talk.
I spot the thurible I’d been getting ready to clean earlier today on my desk. There are still coals inside, and I grab matches out of the drawer. I flick one against the striker. The flame rises from the tip, illuminating the corner of the room. I press it to the little black lumps, and they quickly catch fire. I blow on the matchstick, extinguishing the flame, and try to steel my nerves as I look back at him.
“Going to try to hold an exorcism? It won’t work.” He continues to taunt me from the bed. Not a single care or worry in the world. It must be nice.
I grab the aspergillum out of the pile of other things I meant to polish before I was sidetracked by the night’s events. I stuff it into the thurible and then glance back over my shoulder.
“Tell me why you’re here,” I demand.
“Why do you think I’m here?” He glances behind me, and then his eyes come back to mine, unbothered by the threat he must see brewing there.
“I don’t know. I’m here on this island with nothing but nuns, and you come all this way to put yourself in the middle of it.”
“That’s odd, don’t you think? That a normal college girl just suddenly drops out. Moves to Europe not long after. Then ends up joining a convent. Would you consider that normal behavior? Do the nuns know about your family?” He knows far more about me than I would have imagined. I wonder if he already knows why I ran away and is just playing me to see if he can rattle more information free. A chill runs down my spine.
“I think people have all kinds of reasons to do what they do. It doesn't make it odd.” I didn’t have a choice—it was this or the end of my life, and I wasn’t ready to go out just yet. Not like that.
“I suppose not for someone like you.”
“Like me? What am I like?”
“A con woman, for starters. Don’t you worry about how you’ve lied to all these poor women?”
“Don’t you?” I hit back when the blow lands exactly as he intends. This was rich, considering he’s a blatant liar.
I’m always reminding myself that this is a means to an end, that it’s not personal. I never intended to hurt any innocent bystanders. But the friendships I’ve made here weigh heavily on my heart in the middle of the night when I think about how they’d view me if they knew everything.
“Not a bit.”
I rip the aspergillum out of the coals, sure that it’s hot enough now, and make my way back to him. I climb onto the bed again, crawling over the top of him and pinning him down, using my thighs to squeeze his legs together as I hover the hot metal over his abdomen. The glow from the lamp reflects off the patterned surface and creates a spray of light over his skin.
“Tell me what you want from me,” I threaten.
He merely grins in response.
“You gonna burn me with that?” He scoffs like he doesn’t think I have the guts.
“If I have to. Or you could tell me what I want.” I’d rather he keep this simple. I’m not a torturer by nature. I just don’t know what else to do, and I’m terrified of any possible reason I can think of for him being here.
“Guess we’ll see what you’re made of then.” His eyes are focused on the spot where my palm wraps around the handle, shaking as I try to work up the nerve to sear his flesh with it.
His unflinching calm rattles me. He’s completely unmoved. Disinterested almost. I have to make him see things from my perspective. My eyes search over the tattooed skin for a spot.
