Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
He leans across the bar, placing his elbow on the marble and cupping my cheek. His eyes search mine before he leans forward and gently kisses my lips. “That’s a chance I wasn’t willing to take.” Letting go, he pulls away and turns back to the kitchen.
“Cross,” I sigh his name. “We need to talk.” There’s so much that needs to be discussed.
“I know.” He agrees “After you eat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ALEXA
I PLACE MY plate in the sink and make my way into Cross’s bedroom. He came in here a minute ago to plug in his phone and get ready for bed. For once, he’s going to bed at a decent time and I’m going to be up all night because of my damn nap.
He stands on his side of the bed, removing his shirt up and over his head.
“I Googled you.” I blurt out. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never have the courage to.
He pauses and looks over at me. “And?”
I lick my lips. “I found Kingdom, Tit for Tat, baseball …” I trail off and take in a deep breath adding. “Oak Grove.”
If it bothers him that I brought that up, he doesn’t show it. He just stares at me as if I should have more to say. At his silence, I shuffle from foot to foot. Dropping my head, I look at my hands. “I saw the scars on your back, Cross. They looked like the exact same branding you gave my brother.” Lifting my eyes, I peek at him through my lashes.
“Are you asking me a question?”
The hard tone in his voice has my heart rate picking up. “How did you get them?” I can only manage to whisper it. And I fist my hands mad at myself for being so afraid. It’s not that I think he won’t tell me. It’s that I’m terrified of the answer.
He reaches up and removes the cross that hangs around his neck and sits down on the bed. “My father believed that kneeling was originated for humiliation, not for forgiveness.”
I frown, confused with those words. “Your dad was the priest,” I say, remembering what I read online. Did he mean in reference to people who kneel to pray? There’s nothing wrong with asking for forgiveness.
He gives a rough laugh. “My father played that role.” He looks up at me. “He believed as long as the congregation saw him as a savior, then he was one.” Opening his nightstand, he pulls out a ring. “My father was a Three Wisemen.”
“What’s that?” I’ve never heard of that before.
“My father, Titan’s father and Grave and Bones’s father were all members. They started Kingdom. And they raised us to take over.”
A chill runs up my spine at his words. Raised them to take over?
“He would say ‘you must repent for your sins.’ I didn’t understand him at first. I mean, what nine-year-old commits sins that are unforgiveable in the eyes of the Lord?”
“Nine?” I whisper, horrified, feeling my knees shake.
“That’s when it started. My punishments—repenting.”
“Cross …” I choke out his name, not sure what I was going to say. No words will heal those scars I’ve seen. “What? He’d use that?” I look at the necklace in his hand, sitting down on the bed next to him, my knees now too weak to hold myself up.
“He told me that I must repent. And he would take a candle, heating up this Cross and he would burn my back with it.”
Tears sting my eyes at his confession.
“I thought it was for the wrongs I did, but as I got older, I understood it was a sacrifice. He was righting his wrongs through me.”
“Cross, I’m so sorry,” I manage to choke out.
He smiles at me. Reaching out, he cups my cheek, wiping away the tears.
“One night, he called me to the church, and my mother was there. He told me that it was her turn. He told me to burn my mother.”
I swallow a gasp, not wanting to interrupt him. This man has endured more than I could have ever imagined.
He rubs the back of his neck while staring down at the cross still in his hand. “When I refused, he made me watch while he did it.”
My hands tremble, and I sniff as my nose runs due to silently crying.
“He had my mother taken home. And … we argued. Fought a little. Then I locked him in his office.” He sits up, reaching into his pocket, and removes the Zippo. “I took the present my mother gave me on my thirteenth birthday and lit the church on fire with him in it and stole his cross that he used on me.”
Fresh tears run down my face, and I try to control my breathing.
“I stood on the other side of his office door and listened to him curse me, damn me to hell, scream for help. And I never thought twice to try to save him.” He licks his lips. “The fire grew bigger, got hotter. I made my way through the church and tipped over the burning candles to make it look accidental. Then made my way to the front lawn where I stayed and watched. Until there was nothing left of it.”