Crossed: Chapter 46

I KNEW BETTER THAN TO COME HERE, BUT I couldn’t stay away. Cade’s words about killing for me were on a constant loop in my head, try as I might to erase them, so when Dalia offered to do a sleepover with Quinten, I took the chance.

It’s risky, coming out here, but Parker already said he wouldn’t be home until late, and I didn’t use Barney to drive me, just in case.

Still, I can feel the pressure of time closing in from every angle, even as I lie in Cade’s bed after he convinced me to come back to his cottage.

“I really have to go,” I say, hating that I’m breaking up the moment.

Cade lies next to me on his back, half-naked, having lost his shirt somewhere between the time we got home and when he had me laid out on his bed and his face planted between my legs. He sighs and rolls over, standing up and shaking his head.

My eyes follow him, wanting to drag him back. To tell him I didn’t mean it, even though we both know I did. The words die on the tip of my tongue as I stare at his back.

I can’t help the gasp that escapes, and I shoot up onto my knees, scrambling to the edge of the bed just as he turns around, his hand halfway through his hair.

My face must show my shock because confusion crosses his for just a moment before it drops into realization.

“Cade,” I start, my hand coming up to my mouth and my other one reaching out to touch him.

He jerks away, and I try to ignore the way it makes my heart crack.

“It’s nothing,” he snaps.

Slowly, I shake my head, willing the burn behind my eyes to disappear. “That’s not nothing, baby.”

I try again, reaching out and grabbing his forearm, and he doesn’t move away this time. His body is rigid and his jaw is tense, but he stands still and doesn’t fight when I prod him to turn back around.

Heaviness fills up my chest as I take in the marred skin on his back. This is…years of markings. Raised and uneven flesh that plays out like a script on his skin. I shake my head slightly, wondering what in the world happened and why so many of them look so fresh. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes, so instead I lean in, and I press my lips to one of the scars.

He stiffens.

I don’t let it stop me, moving from one to the next, avoiding the ones that are freshly scabbed over. He doesn’t encourage the act, but he doesn’t move away either, and I take that as a win. After I’m done, I let the sheet drop from my waist and stand up from the bed, moving around until I’m staring up into his eyes.

“How?”

His nostrils flare, his eyes dark with a heavy emotion. “It’s the only way I know. I’m a bad man, Amaya. A sinner. This is my atonement.”

Breathing out slowly, I nod, trying to school my expression. Somehow, I had a feeling that was what he’d say, and it makes me so incredibly sad to think that he hurts himself to try and feel worthy of God.

I step into him and pull him into a hug, resting my head against his chest and closing my eyes, listening to every beat of his heart, letting it calm me. His arms close around my waist, gripping tightly.

“You said you’d never hurt me,” I murmur into his skin.

“Never again.”

“Every time you hurt yourself, you hurt me too,” I whisper. “Please stop hurting me.”

He doesn’t speak, but I feel him nod against the top of my head, and a single tear escapes as I press a kiss to his pec, hating that I’ll have to love him and leave.

But I don’t know how to be any other way.

The next morning, Parker calls me into his home office. I’m already awake and ready for the day because Dalia’s supposed to swing by with Quinten in the next couple of hours, and I want to try and convince her to stick around and hang for a bit since Parker said we weren’t going to Mass.

“What’s this?” I ask when I walk into the room and see him push a piece of paper across the desk.

“This”— he taps it with his finger—“is our marriage license. I’d like you to sign it, please.”

I shift on my feet, nausea tossing my stomach. “Oh, can’t we wait until right before the ceremony?”

Parker chuckles and walks around the desk, his stature aggressive and dominating. I take a step back, but he’s there before I can get away, gripping me by the front of my throat and squeezing until he cuts off my airway.

My hands fly up to his wrists, trying to dig into his skin to pry him off because I can’t fucking breathe, but he only grips tighter.

Panic makes my ears ring and my heart falter as I go from trying to scratch at his skin to holding on to his wrists, hoping he decides to let me live.

He drags me in close, his nose bumping against mine, and my head is dizzy, my lungs burning with the need for air. “You must think I’m as stupid as your little brother,” he spits.

My stomach drops to the ground, and I try to shake my head and stomp on his feet, something to get him off me, but he’s too strong and I’m already growing too faint from the lack of oxygen to do any lasting damage.

Genuine fear starts to creep into my system, worried he’s going to kill me.

“Do you really believe I haven’t known every step you’ve made since you and your whore mother stepped foot into my town?” he continues, a sick smile spreading across his face. “I am the god of this city, and you should be fucking honored I decided to let you be mine. Yet you mock me. Sneak around like a filthy little slut, and you think I wouldn’t know? I have eyes and ears everywhere, sweet girl. Even in Coddington Heights.”

My eyelids flutter as I try to stay conscious, my stomach surging into my chest and then back down, every organ in my body going haywire as it struggles to find breath.

I knew having Barney drive me to that studio was a mistake.

His hand drops and I fall to my knees, my fingers grasping at my sore throat as tears pour from my eyes and I suck in painful heaps of air.

“You’ll sign it, Amaya,” Parker says as he stands over me. “Because I don’t like to lose. Because you belong to me.” He crouches down next to me, brushing the hair from my face.

My body trembles from his touch, and I wish to God that I had the strength to do anything other than cower in the corner while he slings his hateful words.

“If you don’t, I’ll go to the church, and I’ll find that blasphemous priest and string him up in front of you while I cut off his cock and make him choke on it.”

My neck throbs so intensely I know bruises are already forming, but I nod, desperate to agree, to do anything so he’ll leave me alone. He straightens but doesn’t back away. “Stand up,” he demands, kicking me in the thigh.

I wince but push myself to a standing position, wiping the wetness that I can’t stop from trailing down my cheeks. I hate that I’m crying, because it makes me feel weak.

Powerless.

Which I guess is what I am.

It’s what he’s always made me.

Parker shoves me between the shoulders until I stumble forward, the front of my legs slamming into his desk, and he moves behind me, grabbing the pen and forcing it into my fingers, his disgusting, meaty hand wrapping around mine as he pushes the pen down to touch the certificate.

“You are not to see him again, wife. Understand?”

I hesitate and he slips his other hand up the back of my skirt and rips my underwear roughly from my body.

The burn on my skin doesn’t feel good this time.

“Parker, please,” I beg, a sob tearing out of my throat before I can hold it back. “Don’t do this again.”

“Sign it.”

I close my eyes tightly, praying for a miracle as I hear the clank of his buckle and the pressure of his hand as he presses my front onto the desk.

And when he thrusts inside me, I sign my name, my tears marring the ink.