Page 19

It’s been a long fucking night of nothing. It started pouring while I snooped around the church grounds, and I got drenched on the short run back into the cathedral. I should’ve known better when that damned devil disappeared from sight just before the rain began.

Thankfully, I had forgotten to lock the back door of the church leading to my room. I push into the room, slamming my shoulder against the damp wood. The heat inside is relieving, instantly warming the cold bite on my skin. Hair and beard dripping, I hurry to the small bathroom and attempt to towel dry the locks curling on my neck, but my thick hair will need much more than a towel to dry it fully.

I remove my belt and let it fall to the floor, pulling the collar loose from my clergy shirt. The soaked black linen sticks to my skin, and I itch to take it off, but just as I undo the top few buttons, I hear something deep within the cathedral.

My hands pause on the second button.

It’s well past midnight, and though Father Callum wasn’t home, I highly doubt he’s the one wandering the church in the middle of night.

Wandering like a ghost.

I silently exit my bathroom, leaving the belt and collar on the tile floor. Just like my shirt, the black slacks I wear cling to my thighs and legs, making it difficult to pull the silver rosary from my pocket. The sound of metal hitting metal is far too loud, giving me away, but the moment the long strands are free, I twist it, wrapping it around my knuckles with the cross hanging from my palm.

The hall is silent on the other side of my door as I crack it open, peeking into the darkness.

No scent of sulfur, no feelings of rage or arousal or . . . general otherness. I’m alone, there are no eyes on the back of my neck. At least, not in this hallway. The only sound is that of my footsteps. But the noise I heard was deep in the heart of the cathedral; deep in the sanctuary.

I take another step and hear the sound once again, finally deciphering what it is.

A note.

A single note on an ornate, gorgeous organ.

I don’t waste another second. I run through the hallway, my arms pumping despite the stiff hold my clothes have on me. I know whose fingers are on the organ. I know there is no demon tempting me into the belly of the church.

I may have not gone to my songbird tonight, but she came to me.

I nearly fall over as I lumber through the door to the sanctuary just as another singular note permeates through the room.

“June!” I call, not slowing as I hurry up the steps and crash through the small door to the mezzanine, not as I trip over myself on the wooden stairs, not as I crash through the final door keeping me from her.

Not till I see a bloody, wet, nearly nude goddess sobbing on the organ bench, one finger hovering just over a single key. Her shoulders shake, her naked legs are scratched and bruised, and blood seeps through all over her back her heather gray hoodie. The hood is pulled tight over her head, blocking her face completely.

Her finger falls, playing the note again, snapping me to movement. The rosary falls from my hand, thunking to the floor.

“June? June!” I run to her, dropping to my knees and sliding the rest of the way. “June, what are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Small whimpers come from her, and I see more than just her shoulders are shaking. She’s absolutely freezing, the hoodie soaked through, and her skin is wet to the touch. Gently, I move closer, placing a hand on her arm. The moment I touch her, she winces and balls up even more. The hem of her hoodie rises, and I see she isn’t wearing anything—no shorts, no underwear—and while I desperately want to ogle at her bare ass, I can’t help but stare at the new and broken welts marring her skin.

There are so many. Her entire ass is as red as hellfire, and that’s not even accounting for the actual broken flesh dripping crimson blood along her porcelain skin.

And I’m sure this is just what I can see. I know there’s more hidden.

My jaw is clenched so hard it’s difficult to pry open to speak.

“June. I need you to tell me what happened.” I know what happened. “I need you to tell me who did this to you.” I fucking know who did this to her. And it takes everything in my goddamn power to not stand up, shove the mask on my face, and go butcher her parents till there’s nothing left of them.

This isn’t fucking punishment. This is abuse. This is torture.

June whimpers again, and I can see the barest shake of her head.

I swallow the knot of anger in my throat threatening to consume me. I will fucking end them , but not right now, not tonight. My little injured bird needs me, and I will not leave her alone.

“June, mi amor , let me see.” I try to gently pull her toward me, but she shrugs out of my grasp. I sigh and stand. If she’s not going to let me help her, I’ll have to do it my own way. Careful to avoid the marks I can see, I tuck an arm under her thighs and my other around her shoulders. When I lift, she squeaks and is forced to fall into me.

I see a glimpse of purple and red, but she quickly throws her hands in front of her face.

“I’m going to take care of you. Is that okay?”

Slowly, June nods.

Adjusting her in my arms, she curls into my neck and grips my shoulder like a vice. As I wind down the spiral stairwell and enter the sanctuary, I feel warm droplets mix with the cold drops from my wet hair. Her hot breath warms my neck, lingering just where the white of my collar is meant to be.

Shouldering the next door open into the long, dark hallway, I can’t help but wonder what went down tonight—and more importantly that I could’ve stopped it had I been there like I was supposed to be. My fucking timing sucks.

How did she end up here? Why is she naked? I get running away from home after a bad beating. I’ve wanted nothing more than to take her from that shithole. But why now? Why like this?

June doesn’t say a word on the long walk back to my room, but her shivering has turned violent. I lightly squeeze her to me, trying to give her all the warmth I have mustered within me.

Once we get to my door, I knee it open, and walk inside. “We’re safe,” I whisper, “ you’re safe.” I bypass the room, walking straight into the bathroom, and I carefully seat her on the closed toilet seat, knowing how much it might hurt the wounds on her rear. I take a small step back, then kneel to be eye level with her, finally taking in the damage done.

She keeps her face hidden behind delicate fingers, but there is so much more to see, so much more, my eyes can’t focus on any one thing. There are welts everywhere . Her legs are covered, and her thighs are especially bad. The gray hoodie pulled over her head is forcing her hair into her face, concealing her even more, but it’s only zipped a little past her belly button.

Below the hoodie June is wearing the bra I got her and nothing more. It’s rumpled, and one of her breasts is barely inside the cup—but worse, there’s a black leather belt tightly looped around her neck, the buckle pressing into her skin. Her stomach has more welts, her chest is cut up, and her neck is already bruising from the belt.

I swallow again, feeling the anger rise once more and forcing it down.

“Show me your face,” I grit out, trying my best to sound calm.

She timidly shakes her head.

I huff out a breath and place my arms on her lap, fiddling with the zipper on the hoodie.

“Can I take this off? To help with the rest of the wounds?”

She hesitates, and the smallest voice I’ve ever heard from my little songbird comes out between sobs. “I—I don’t want . . . I don’t want you to see me.”

I scrunch my brows together. “Why?” I ask, expecting to find worse.

“I—I’m fat. I don’t want you to see me.”

My heart cracks a little bit. Ay cono , that fucking mother of hers is to blame.

“June—Junia—you are fucking gorgeous . I am grateful God gave me more of you to love.” I swallow, hoping that despite the collar I wear, despite her thinking I am nothing more than a priest, she knows I fucking mean it.

She blows out a shuddering breath, and I can hear her ready to sob again. “I’ll blindfold myself,” I rush out. “Then I’ll help you in the shower, and I won’t see a thing. Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” she says quietly.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. “Great. But you have to do something for me, okay, June? You have to let me see your face. I need to know what I need to help you with,” I say gently, praying she’ll finally lower her hands.

June’s shoulders tense, but slowly, she lowers them. I follow her lead, gently pushing the hood off her head, and tuck her hair behind her ears, cupping her face.

Fucking Hell. I don’t know how many more reveals I can take. The crack in my chest threatens to burst open, and I feel every punch, every smack, every whip she took tonight against me. I want to scream and break things. I want to get in my car and drive over there. I want to show them just how much pain this beautiful creature has been in due to them.

But I also need to be here.

Keeping my face stoic even as a monsoon is crashing through me, I analyze her face—a black eye, a split lip, her nose seems okay, but a small trail of now-dried blood drips from her ear. Her black eye is swollen, but thankfully the eye itself seems okay, even though blood seeps into it from a gash on her forehead.

I clear my throat, trying to stay sturdy for her. “Let’s stop the blood on this one, then we’ll get you a nice hot shower, okay?”

June swallows, then nods.

I stand and take all of two steps to grab a small face towel when June flinches so hard she nearly falls from the porcelain seat. I hurry back in front of her, cupping her face again. “What? What is it?”

Tears pool in her eyes and quickly fall as she shakingly lifts a finger toward my forgotten belt on the floor. Fuck.

I kick it out of the room and slam the door shut behind it, promising myself to trash the thing the moment I’m done here.

“I’m sorry, it’s okay. It won’t hurt you—I won’t hurt you,” I try to soothe.

June breaks, finally giving into the tears. She throws her arms over my shoulders and sobs into my neck. She shakes so much, my chest feels like it’s being squeezed like one of those chickens with the popping eyeballs.

I pull June into my lap, her thighs warming me despite her shivering. I let her sob into me, gently rubbing her back—something my mother used to do for me whenever I cried.

Kicking my shoes off, I lift June again and step into the shower. It’s a relatively small space, but large enough for the two of us, with the glass door and white subway tiles. I put the shower on hot, letting the water stream down as I move us to the floor. June still sobs against me, but the shivers finally begin to slow.

“It might sting at first,” I breathe into her soft hair, “But it’ll calm all the angry wounds, I promise.”

With the glass door open, I reach up behind me and pull one of the towels loose. As promised, I tie it around my eyes, blindfolding myself. “I can’t see a thing, June. So let me take this off you.” I pull at the zipper on her hoodie again.

June nods against my shoulder. “Okay.”

I make quick work of the hoodie, unzipping it and gently pushing it from her shoulders, before I toss it out of the shower. I skip asking her if I can remove her bra, and go to unhook it anyway. She gasps as my fingers quickly pull the straps and fling it outside as well.

Knowing this will be the hardest part for her, I give her a moment to just breathe. “I’m going to free your neck now too,” I warn. Pulling her hair back behind her shoulders, I slide my finger underneath the buckled belt on her neck, careful to not tighten it anymore than it needs to be. Slowly, I pull the buckle through, loosening it, and the moment she’s free of it, I toss it too. A sob escapes her lips, and she slumps back into me.

“You can cry,” I say softly. “Shower cries are a different kind of healing.” As a man, I’m not afraid to say I fucking cry—and crying in the shower is like free therapy. As the water pelts us, I feel her tension slowly ease away.

Blindfolded, I’m extra careful not to . . . touch anything. But with every movement, my fingers graze her round, soft tits—wondering how far my fingers are from her nipples—or her soft curves, cursing myself for not getting even a glimpse of it under this towel. I want to squeeze her hips, her thighs. I so desperately want to touch every single part of her—

I let my head thump against the shower wall. Get a fucking grip, Marcelo. She doesn’t need some horny priest trying to touch her right now. She needs a friend.

She needs her masked man.