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A rush of relief fills me when I hit the end of the hallway. I can either go left or right. I follow my instincts and go right. They’ve never failed me before, so I’m hoping that luck stays with me. I glance behind me but don’t see the priest guy anywhere in sight. I pick up my pace anyway, making sure to keep ahead of him. It’s not long before the end of the hallway is upon me. I choose to go right again.
I try to take in my surroundings as I continue to walk. Light pours in from the doors in front of me. I take off on a dead run again. I hold my hands out to push through them. Unable to help myself, I glance behind me as the doors fall closed but don’t see anyone.
I smirk. I made it. The sun warms my face. I drop my head back to look up. Glass covers the ceiling, letting the light pour in.
“The hell.” I glance around. A fountain sits in the center of a garden. Flowers overflow the giant encased room. I haven’t escaped. “Fuck.”
“That’s no way to speak inside of a church.” I spin around to see the priest that I thought let me go but obviously not. It was all a game.
“Are you even a priest or preacher?” I growl. To be honest, I don’t know the difference. A few foster parents I had growing up dragged us to church here and there. It was hard to believe when I saw the awful things they did, but still every Sunday they’d go and pray away their sins.
Bullshit. They could pray till the day they die, and I’ll still remember some of the things I saw them do. They should be given no forgiveness. Jail or death would be the only suitable outcomes for them.
“I try to keep the peace.”
I knew it. There is no way this guy is a real priest. He is way too handsome to be celibate. They’re supposed to be celibate, right? That’s how it works. They’re married to their God from what I know. Actually, I think some of them can get married, but I don’t see a ring on his finger.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” I should have known when he untied me so easily. I can still feel the ropes against my skin.
The burn of them didn’t hurt. In fact, I might have enjoyed it. I didn't get the feeling I was about to be tortured. I’ve got to stop hanging out in the library so much reading dirty books. But the library has always been my safe place. A place of solace. It’s how I met Laurel.
“You have two options. Either give me the information or you stay.”
“Why can’t you let me go?” I plead.
“Because Santino will have you picked right back up, and who knows where he might send you next.”
I swallow.
It was ballsy to storm into Kane Santino’s home, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Laurel was gone. I failed her. I knew her father wasn’t treating her right. I noticed over time that things with him got worse and worse. She stopped coming to the library or leaving home. Her whole world was that little apartment over the dry cleaners her father owned. She’d been wilting away.
Slowly, I tried to lure her out and convince her to run with me. Then she fell into Santino's hands. One of the most feared men in the city. If I had gotten her away from her father sooner, that would have never happened.
“I’ll never give you what you're asking of me. So I guess I’d better make myself comfortable.” I jut my chin out.
“Then shall I show you to your room?”
“What?” My brows raise, but I try to quickly hide my surprise. That wasn’t what I thought he was going to say. Honestly, I wasn't sure what his next move would be. He’s clearly not the normal man of the cloth.
“You said you wanted to get comfortable.”
“You’re serious?” His expression doesn’t change, answering my question without words. “So I’m a prisoner.”
“You have the key. Use it at any time.”
“You’ll have to pry it from my dead hand.” I give him my best glare.
“Dead men tell no tales.”
“Pretty sure yours does. Got a whole book or somethin’.” I stride past him, keeping my shoulders back. His mouth forms a line. I don’t know if I’ve pissed him off or he’s fighting a smile. I’ll take either as a small victory. “Got a name, or does everyone call you Father?”
“Some.”
“What about Daddy?” I wiggle my brows. I’m pushing it, and I know it, but I can’t help it. I’m frustrated, and I want someone to be angry with me.
“If you wish. What shall I call you?”
“Prisoner 69.”
