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Our movement stops and we both freeze, our lips only an inch apart. Adam’s fingers squeeze mine so tight it almost hurts.
The clear, Southern drawl of the man behind me feels like a cold drip of fear cascading down my spine, and as much as my body is telling me to run, to get away and hide—I can’t.
Instead, Adam and I make brief, intense eye contact before turning toward his father, who is waiting to take my hand like it’s the casual, expected thing to do.
My stomach turns when Adam tightens his grip on my back.
“It’s just a dance,” Truett mutters darkly.
He can’t tell his father no. Not when hundreds of people are watching. He can’t cause a scene here and now, painting Truett as the victim. It’s not part of the plan.
I hear the tightness in his chest as he replies to his father, “No.”
“Of course,” I say, interrupting Adam. My smile is as fake as it’s ever been and probably looks more cross than I want it to. And when Adam squeezes me again, I fear the confrontation might be inevitable after all.
So I peel his hands from my back and look him in the eye. “Of course,” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s just a dance.”
Adam’s molars grind as he reluctantly places my hand in Truett’s and steps away. The old man gives me a sickening smile that makes my skin crawl. His heavy-scented cologne replaces the sweet and subtle scent of Adam’s as he pulls me against him. I have to force myself to look natural, to smile and move my feet when the music starts playing again.
Even though we’re on a dance floor surrounded by couples in a room packed with hundreds of people, I feel alone with Truett, and it’s not a pleasant feeling at all.
He tugs me closer so my body is flush with his, and bile rises in my throat. Fear and panic create a tremor deep in my bones, and I keep my eyes unfocused as he grins at me.
“Just keep smiling,” he says in a low tone.
“I am,” I reply. Even I know my tight-lipped expression is probably not selling anything. But right now, I don’t care.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? How good is that pussy that you’ve seduced my son?”
It dawns on me at this moment that he doesn’t suspect us of lying. He believes Adam and I are a real thing, which means he believes Adam…and blames me.
Just stick with the story, Sage.
“I didn’t even have to try that hard,” I reply, my smile growing wider as I manage to look him in the eye. “I had him worshiping mejust hours after you nearly knocked him out.”
“I bet you did.”
“Does it make you sick to know how easily I won him over? How fast I convinced your son to put pussy before God?”
He pinches my back, and I bite back the urge to yelp as tears sting behind my eyes.
“Watch yourself, you little slut,” he mutters lowly, keeping his expression warm and kind as he insults me.
“No, I’d rather not,” I reply, glancing around the room for Adam. But with the crowd on the dance floor now, I can’t seem to find him.
I want to make sure he hasn’t abandoned me with this monster, but also because I don’t want him to hear this next part, where I go a little rogue.
“You know, Reverend Goode,” I say, forcing my voice to stay kind. “I’d stop seeing Adam…for a price.”
“Whores always have a price,” he replies. “Name it.”
My face grows solemn and serious as I level my gaze at his. Being this close, I notice that he looks so much more fragile and weathered in person than he does on TV. When he’s behind that pulpit on the stage in front of a crowd, he appears indestructible. But seeing him like this, I’m reminded that he’s not. He’s a vulnerable little man with a fragile ego and more to lose than the power to protect himself.
“I want the deed,” I say, and there’s a flinch in his eyes as I say those words. I already know he won’t take the bait, but I have to try.
“The deed to the club, you mean,” he replies.
“Of course. Is that how much your son’s virtue is worth?”
