Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“But you’ve never managed to hold a job, have you? One hundred million dollars.” He over-annunciates every word. “My final offer. You never have to worry about your brother again. Or ever work a day in your life.”
I blink down at the cold concrete of the sidewalk underneath my feet, then laugh—a wild, unhinged laugh that starts deep in my belly and rolls out, loud and ugly. I’m laughing so hard I have to bend over, slapping my knee like he just told the world’s funniest joke.
Bane’s father stands there, rigid as a statue, his face carved from stone.
Then, he looks at one of his brutes and gives the tiniest of nods.
In a flash, Billy lunges, grabbing me by the coat and slamming me against a nearby brick wall.
My laughter dies out, replaced by a grin so sharp it could cut glass.
“What the fuck do you think you’re laughing at, little girl?” Billy snarls, shaking me hard enough to rattle my teeth.
But I look past his shoulder at Bane’s father, meeting his gaze without blinking. “I’m laughing at the sad little man who Bane couldn’t wait to get away from. He hates you, doesn’t he? God, that must drive you crazy.”
He goes pale. Like, paler than he already was—ghost pale.
His face twists in fury.
“He’s better than you,” he sneers. “If you won’t leave him for the money, then leave him because Bane deserves better than some two-bit slut.”
With that, he spins on his heel and motions to his goons. Billy drops me to the ground, and they all disappear into the dark like the world’s most dramatic Bond villain.
I slide down the wall, my body sinking to the cold concrete, shaking—not from fear, but from the adrenaline crash. Silent tears slip down my face, hot and fast.
I might hate the man I just met with every fiber of my being, but…
Bane deserves better than some two-bit slut.
Damn him… he’s not wrong.
TWENTY-NINE
Christmas Eve, Midnight Mass
BANE
The space inside the old, lofting, oiled wood church hums with anticipation, the kind of stillness that’s never truly silent—soft coughs, shuffling coats, the faint creak of old pews as sinners and saints alike take their seats.
All are welcome at Midnight Mass, the holiest of nights, wrapped in candlelight and reverence as we re-enact the wait for hope to come into the world.
I stand in the small sacristy just beyond the altar, fingers grazing the edge of my stole, grounding myself in the familiar texture. The fabric is smooth beneath my fingertips, and I wonder if tonight, at the end of things, I can make peace with this contradiction—these holy vestments worn by an unholy man.
I breathe in and breathe out, trying to meditate and connect to the divine beyond the silence. But then my phone vibrates in my pocket, an unexpected buzz slicing through the sacred quiet.
I shouldn’t check it.
I do, anyway.
It’s her.
Moira: You up?
The words are simple. Casual. But coming from her, they’re anything but innocent. My thumb hovers over the screen, pulse quickening like a drumbeat in my veins. Another vibration.
Moira: I can’t stop thinking about you. Sure I can’t sneak into your bed tonight? Or under your robes. Whichever’s easier.
I exhale sharply, the breath catching somewhere between a groan and a laugh. My body reacts before my brain catches up, cock stiffening.
It’s completely inappropriate in this moment and context. Christ. I glance through the crack in the small sacristy door, half-expecting someone to materialize and catch me sinning in plain sight. But it’s just me. Alone with the ghost of her words.
I type back quickly, fingers tense.
Me: I can’t. About to start Mass. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I don’t wait for her reply. I put the phone on airplane mode and shove it into my pocket like it’s burned me.
All calm and meditation is shattered. I can’t tuck my thoughts of her away as easily as I can the phone. Is she alright? I told her she couldn’t come over earlier, and she seemed fine. Did something happen?
I want to pull out the phone again and examine the texts. She didn’t say anything was wrong. She seemed fine. Flirty, like usual.
But with Moira, it’s always hard to tell unless I’m face-to-face with her. It’s still so new between us that every hour I’m away from her, I feel the ache of absence. The shadow of where she’s not, haunting me. Making me restless until I settle eyes on her again.
I straighten my shoulders, tugging at the stole until it sits just right over my shoulders. The weight of it feels so right.
This will be the second-to-last service I ever perform. The thought feels like both a release and a noose tightening around my neck.
Will Bane without Father Blackwood still be merciful? Still be kind? Still live by the rule of the last shall be first, and the first, last?