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Mercy winces. “I know. There were three sets of DNA in her—clothes.”

“Her underwear,” he says flatly.

She nods, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“We didn’t rape her,” he says. “She wanted to. She planned it. But she didn’t want us to tell you, so we respected that.”

“But… why?” Mercy asks, looking so wounded I want to go to her, to take her in my arms. I won’t interfere, though. This is something between brother and sister.

“Because you’re so damn pious and sanctimonious, she knew you wouldn’t understand,” Saint says, throwing up his hands.

Mercy gives the slightest nod, biting down on her lip when it starts quivering.

“Tell her why she asked you to do that,” I prompt.

Saint frowns. “That’s not really something you talk about.”

“Mercy is your sister,” I remind him. “She’s not a stranger. It won’t endanger anyone for her to know.”

Saint hesitates, then crosses his arms and leans back, his gaze shuttered. “She was swearing into the Skull andCrossbones. Her initiation was coming up, she didn’t know exactly when. They don’t give you a fucking appointment. She asked a couple guys to break her in so she wouldn’t go in a virgin. You know. For the gang bang.”

I can tell he’s enjoying the shock on Mercy’s face, choosing the crudest way to explain it and relishing her reaction. I let him have it. It’s not just for her sake. It’s for him too. I know this is harder for him to talk about than he wants her to know, than he wants anyone to know. Telling it in rough terms is easier for him than showing vulnerability, admitting his grief and hurt.

“Good job, son,” I murmur.

He scowls at me. “We done here?”

“Does that satisfy your curiosity, lamb?” I ask.

She nods.

“You told your brother you loved him,” I say. “That was brave. Saint. You have not finished your confession. Do you feel the same?”

“I protected her, didn’t I?”

“From what?”

“From… From the others,” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“Why?” she asks, watching him intently.

“Because you’re my sister.”

“And?” I press.

“And she’s innocent,” he snaps. “You know what they’re like. Whatwe’relike.”

“You protected her from your own baser urges as well as theirs?”

“Yes,” he grits out.

“Is that because you want her innocence for yourself?” I ask.

He glares at me, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t want to say it, just as she didn’t want to admit what she was doing in the church. But naming our demons strips them of their power.

“If you admitted it, would that rid you of this attachment to shame you’ve developed?” I ask, clasping my hands behind my back. “Or would you have to take her innocence to find relief?”

He glances sideways at Mercy.