His hand slides up to cup my jaw, and I gasp, my lip catching between my teeth as he growls — the raw need for me etched over his face.
And I recognize it, because it's the only thought in my head and in my heart right then. It's the thought that says come what may and come whatever happens next, this is real.
This is just the two of us, and we both want this.
Consequences be damned.
“Please,” I whisper, begging him. I whimper as he groans, moving against me, his hand slipping into my hair and pulling just tight enough to make me gasp.
“Last chance, angel,” he growls into my ear.
I gasp, arching my hips against him, feeling him just teasing me, his cock barely slipping against my entrance.
I nod, my fingers tightening against his skin, my body arching to meet his, and my eyes burning into his.
“I need you to fuck me, not give me a lecture.”
My eyes glint fiercely, mischievously up at him.
He grins.
“So, are you going to? Or are you just going to keep talk- oh…”
The words catch in my throat, falling broken on my lips as he slips inside. I gasp, swallowing, my eyes going wide as they lock on his.
“Do it,” I moan. “Oh God, Rowan,” I breathe into the darkness, like a whispered prayer. I can feel him tense, and I start to cry out as I feel him start to push inside the wet heat between my legs.
Suddenly, there’s a click.
Suddenly, he freezes.
And suddenly, the whole world shatters around us.
I’m aware of screaming, of the lights flicking on, of my mother almost fainting against the wall and of Rowan whirling around, covering me with the blankets.
I’m aware of my father.
I’m aware of him screaming words like “whore” and “heathen” and “damnation.”
But most of all, as everything else drops away to blackness, I’m aware of the gun in his hand.
And it’s pointed right at Rowan’s head.
Oh, God…
Chapter Forty-Four
Rowan
You know how in the movies, everything goes into slow motion when there's a gun involved?
Yeah, well, that's all bullshit.
Because there in my childhood bedroom, with Eva screaming behind me, Ruth screaming by the door to the outside staircase, and Leonard bellowing scripture and holy fire at me as he levels that gun at the center of my forehead, I can tell you without question that all that shit happens fast.
It’s like I don't even know where to look, or what the fuck to focus on as the chaos of the moment just fucking explodes around me. I'm staring up the barrel of the gun as Leonard roars at me about being a sinner, and a filthy heathen, and a blasphemer destined for the fires of hell. I'm yanking my head towards the stairs at the sound of Ruth screeching and looking like she's literally tearing her hair out.
But mostly, I'm just turning around to look at Eva.
Because last moments or not, she's the only thing that matters and the only one I want to see in that sea of chaos.
“Don't you dare look at her!” Leonard roars, his hand grabbing me by the back of the neck with way more strength than I'd have given him credit for as he yanks me out of the bed. I stumble to the floor, half wrapped in one of the sheets as the back of his hand comes whipping across my mouth.
I roar, spitting blood and starting to lunge for my feet when that cold steel comes up to poke me right between the eyes again.
I freeze.
I look up, and my eyes lock on Leonard.
“On your knees,” he says quietly.
“Dad!” Eva screams and goes to lunge out of bed, but she freezes — the whole room freezes, actually — when he brings the gun up and points it at her.
“Back, Evangeline,” he says with ice in his voice.
Ruth gasps from across the room. “Leonard.”
“Back!” he roars again, his eyes wild and the gun shaking in his hand as he levels it at his daughter.
“Jesus, Leonard-” I make a move to stand again, but he whirls back to me.
“On your knees, blasphemer!” he bellows at me, his face turning downright demonic as he turns the gun to me and brings the hammer back.
Okay, I lied. That’s when it all goes into slow motion. That’s when suddenly everything else around me drowns away as I slowly turn and narrow on one single light.
One single point of focus.
Eva.
I'm tuning the rest of it out — the gun, her father, her mother, all of it. All I can see is her — wrapped in a blanket, crying. Her father screams something at her, shoving her back on the bed before the gun presses sharply against my head.
“You,” he seethes. “You are a Godless man. And now?”
He takes a breath, looking skyward, murmuring something to God or himself, or whoever, before he looks down and meets my eye. “And now I'm going to send you straight to he-”