Page 32

THIRTY-TWO

MOIRA

“What are we doing?” I ask as Bane pulls me back into the church, his hand wrapped around mine like it belongs there.

The heavy doors shut behind us, sealing us inside the warmth and shutting out the cold. The church air feels different now that we’re all alone.

“Wait here,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, and then hurries off to the front of the church.

The warmth seeps into my frozen limbs, but my insides stay brittle, ice tucked beneath my ribs because?—

Oh, right.

That still happened.

The alley.

His father.

The checkbook ready like I’m a whore who can be bought.

I should tell Bane. The words rise in my throat like bile.

Hey, so funny story—ran into your dad tonight. He tried to buy me off like I’m a stain on the family name he thinks he can bleach out. And then his goons shoved me up against the wall and scared the shit out of me.

My mouth even opens.

But nothing comes out.

Because—what do I say? How do I say it?

Bane’s never even mentioned his father. Are they close? Estranged? Somewhere in the middle, where it’s just awkward family reunions and suppressed childhood trauma?

If they are close, dropping this on him would be like tossing a grenade into the middle of their relationship.

If they’re not close… well, same grenade, different shrapnel.

And honestly?

There’s a part of me—a dark, ugly little part—that thinks… of course Bane has a father.

A real, living, breathing father who gives a shit about him. One who’s willing to throw stacks of cash at me to protect his son. From me.

And here’s the kicker: he’s not wrong.

If I were Bane’s dad, I’d pay me off, too. Hell, I’d throw in a bonus just to make sure I stayed gone.

Bane has someone in his life who’d bother. Someone who thinks he’s worth protecting. Sure, my brother pretends he cares—or he used to—but maybe it was always more about his ego than about me. I’ve been everyone’s afterthought for so long that I’ve practically evolved into it—a walking, talking footnote in everyone else’s life.

But not to Bane.

When he looks at me, it’s like I’m not a punchline. Not a mistake.

He called me brave.

Me.

So, if telling him about his dad risks breaking that? I’d rather swallow the secret and let it burn a hole straight through me.

Besides, Bane’s obviously got this whole mysterious past he never talks about. Dropping this on him could unravel things he’s worked hard to keep stitched up. Maybe his father’s tied to all that darkness he hints at—the vague references to a life left behind, like shadows he can’t quite shake.

And if I pull on that thread and unravel him, too?

No.

I won’t be the reason he falls apart.

I’ll be his shield. His poison-taster. I’ve been drinking poison my whole life. What’s a little more?

I stand up straighter, squaring my shoulders against the weight of my own thoughts.

I can handle it.

I’ve always handled it.

And if his father comes sniffing around again, I’ll handle that too.

Because Bane sees me like no one else ever has.

And I’ll burn before I let anyone take that away.