Page 59 of Crossed

“Do you think this is a joke? That me forsaking my vows is something I take lightly?”

She shakes her head, her eyes growing round and wary.

“I have given my life to Him, andyoucome around,torturingme simply by existing. No.” I shake my head until my skull rattles. “You’re a curse. One that will destroy everything I’ve worked for.”

“Cade,” she murmurs, her hand reaching out to grasp my cheek.

I rip myself away before I can feel the warmth of her touch, turning my back on her and gritting my teeth.

“I am notCade. I am Father Cade Frédéric. The priest of Festivalé. And you, Amaya Paquette, are worse than a whore,” I spit, refusing to look at her. Refusing to acknowledge the way my heart feels like it’s splitting with every word I say. “You are the devil, and I want you out of my sight.”

There’s a strong pinch in my chest when I hear the door slam, and then my stomach is roiling. I race to the toilet, heaving bile until there’s nothing left but the bitter taste of regret.

And although I’m already sore, already beaten, I head to my room, grab my discipline, and strike myself for the sin.

He is merciful.

Chapter22

Amaya

“GET OUT OF BED.”

Dalia’s voice trickles into my room, and I throw the covers over my head, pretending I don’t hear her. I dropped off Quinten at school this morning and headed right back here, diving into my covers and wallowing in despair.

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I’m cursing God— if he even exists—for placing me in this predicament. I trysofucking hard, would do anything for Quinten, and yet here I am, lost and drowning with no way out.

Ideally, there’d be no reason for me to worry about things. I’minnocent, and if I had any faith left in humanity, I would believe people could see the overwhelming evidence pointing toward me not being the guilty party and actually try to find the real person.

But I know better than anyone that most people will take the easy way out when given the opportunity, and an exotic dancer with a low income and a lot of enemies is easier to pin things on than admitting you have no leads.

Failing at your job doesn’t look good on paper. Unless you’re Florence and your personal vendetta against your client supersedes your need to win. I’m under no illusion she’d go to bat for me. In fact, I’m pretty sure seeing me locked up and called a murderer would give her more joy than winning a case ever could.

“Maybe she’ll surprise us,” Dalia said when I told her. I laughed, knowing she was full of shit and trying to be optimistic. That optimism disappeared as soon as I filled her in on our conversation.

I knew the minute I saw Florence that it was hopeless, so I latched on to the only thing that’s given me any kind of peace, the one person I know I should stay away from but never do. Because like the naive, ridiculous person I am, I trusted him. Trusted the way he showed Quinten decency and was clearly mistaken that him giving me attention meant we’d become almost friends.

And then I fucked that up too.

Or maybe he did.

Honestly, I’m not sure how to rectify the two different halves of Cade Frédéric in my head. The God-loving priest and the filthy Frenchman who had me coming on his fingers. Theyseemthe same, but that’s impossible.

Either way, the safety net I cast around him disappeared in an instant, like it was ripped away in a storm.

Cade Frédéric isn’tsafe.

He’s the danger.

“Amaya, come on, girl. You can’t wallow in misery all day,” Dalia tries again.

“Bet,” I mumble back.

Dalia rips the covers from my head, and I grapple to find them. She gets to me before I can, pulling me into her arms and rocking me back and forth. A pathetic sob tears from my throat, puncturing the air.

“I know you’re scared,” she whispers. “But I’ve got you. We’ll figure it out.”

I pull back, pinching my eyes closed to try and stem the tears. I feel like a crybaby. “I’m not scared for me. I just…”