Arranged love

ALEXA

CROSS IS SLEEPING next to me in his bed, and I’ve got my cell out. It’s down to three percent, but I need to know what Mitch meant about the fire and his dad.

I go to google his name and realize that I don’t know it. I’ve only ever heard people call him Cross. So I type that in.

Kingdom pops up, along with the other Kings. Cross is the third article down. I click on it.

It shows pictures of him playing baseball in high school and college. It shows a picture of Kingdom and Tit for Tat. Then I see an article titled “Oak Grove.” I click on it, and it’s a church.

It’s on fire. A once gorgeous white structure is up in flames. The picture is taken from the front. Fire trucks are to the right, lining the side street.

I enlarge it. Red and orange flames engulf the church, lighting up the dark night.

Scrolling down, it says Father James was killed in the fire.

I look over the top of my cell at Cross as he moves, rolling onto his other side. My eyes go back to my phone. His wife and son were thankfully not there at the time of the fire. It doesn’t say how it started, just that it was accidental.

I clicked on the next article. Father James-beloved priest and member of the Three Wisemen-was a loving father and doting husband. Survived by wife, Genevieve James, and son, Hoyte James.

Hoyte? Cross fits him better. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a biblical name due to his father and religious background.

A passerby called 911 a little after two in the morning when they saw the church up in flames. The fire department arrived and entered the building. They retrieved the body of Father James, who was found in his office. The cause of the fire is still unknown, but no foul play was suspected.

“What are you doing?” Cross asks through a yawn.

“Nothing!” I answer, slapping my phone facedown on the sheets so he can’t see it. It was dying fast anyway.

He sits up and runs a hand down his unshaven face, yawning again. “What time is it?”

“Late,” I offer because I have no clue, and I’m not going to pick up my cell to look since I didn’t exit out of the article I was reading.

He throws the covers off and gets out of his bed, heading toward his adjoining bathroom. I quickly pick up my cell, exit out of the news article, and look at the time. Placing it on the nightstand, I get up too and walk into the bathroom. He’s standing at his sink, washing his hands in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

I walk up behind him and look over his back. I’ve never had the chance to really look at his tattoo. It’s a cross-it starts at the base of his neck and runs all the way down, the end dipped inside of his boxers. It spans from shoulder to shoulder. It’s outlined in black ink. Looks like any other cross, but it’s what’s around it that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Fire. His entire back is covered in red, yellow, and orange flames. As if the cross is burning. It reminds me of the cross that stood high on the spire of the church his father was found dead in.

Stepping closer to it, I squint to get a better look at it. Like the fine print you should always read before you sign something, there’s a story here. Or maybe it’s the fact of what Mitch said to me and the article. But I see something there. The outline of the cross looks to be running. As if the heat of the flames is melting it down. But that’s not what’s really catching my attention. It’s the scars that the tattoo hides. I spot one, two, three. They run up and down his spine.

Reaching out, I place my hand on his back to touch one, but he quickly spins around and grabs my wrist.

I jump and try to take a step back, but he doesn’t let go. “Cross …” My words die off as I get a look at him. His hard and muscular body is tense. His breathing has picked up, and his pretty green eyes are drilling holes into mine.

My heart pounds in my chest, trying to think of what to say. What to ask. “I …” The ringing of his cell phone in his room cuts off whatever bullshit I was about to come up with.

Letting go of me, I rub my wrists as he walks out of the bathroom to go get it. I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting out a long breath.

You’re being paranoid.

This is what every girl does when she starts falling for a guy-overanalyzes everything.

I’m not going to let Mitch get to me. What Cross and I have is a good thing. We sleep together yet still have our own lives. We’re not dating. We’re not living together. Just fucking. And now, he’s my employer.

I read the article about his dad, and it was clearly an accident. As for the scars? That doesn’t mean anything. Hell, I have them on my knees from when I wrecked my bike. The scars don’t mean they have anything to do with the church. The fire. The tattoos …

“Get dressed,” he orders, making me jump when he comes back into the bathroom. Walking past me, he marches toward his closet.

“Where are we going?” It’s like three in the morning.

Coming to a stop, he turns around and lets out a long sigh. His eyes no longer angry. They almost look sad. A darker green. “To Lucky’s. There’s been an incident.”

CROSS

I PARK MY car behind Oak Grove and enter through the back door. “Dad?” I call out. He had sent me a message earlier while I was at baseball practice to meet him here. A quick look at my watch shows it’s almost midnight. “Dad?” I yell this time.

No answer.

Making my way down the hallway, I open the door on my right and step into his office.

“Son,” he says, looking up at me from behind his desk. My mother kneels on the floor to the right of it. Her palms on her thighs, head down. Mr. Reed-Bones and Grave’s dad-lounges on the couch.

“Mom?” I go to walk over to her, but my father stands and sidesteps his desk, blocking my view of her.

“I called you here …”

“What in the fuck are you doing?” I demand, placing my hands on his shoulders to move him, but he doesn’t budge. “Mom?” I call out to her, but she stays silent.

“I brought you here to repent,” he states.

“Fuck that shit!” I’ve grown to where I need the pain. His punishment to me is my acceptance to his world. But why is my mother here? I can hear her softly crying.

“Don’t talk to me that way!” he shouts, shoving me backward.

“Mom!” I bark at her, and she flinches. “What the hell are you doing? Get up!”

She stays still, and my father throws his head back, laughing. “She knows her place, son. Do you need a reminder of yours?” Before I can respond, he reaches out and wraps a hand around my throat. He pushes me backward through the office, taking away my air and practically lifting my feet off the floor. He knocks my back into the door, throwing it open in the process. He drags me down the rest of the hallway and into the chapel with Mr. Reed behind us. He then shoves me forward, making me trip and fall over a pew.

With a quick look around, I see that the candles are already lit, and he starts undoing his cuff links and then sliding his sleeves up his forearm.

“What in the fuck are you doing with Mom?” I demand. I’ve never seen her like that before. I mean, I’m twenty-one. I’m not a virgin. I know my father fucks around on her, but I don’t think they’re into BDSM shit and stuff like that. So, why was she kneeling on his office floor as if she’s a submissive? Does he treat her the way he treats me? Worse?

“What I do with your mother is none of your business,” he states and removes the cross from around his neck. He takes a candle and heats up the precious metal that he cherishes so much.

I fist my hands. “I will not bow down to you.” Not today. I will not kneel for him to burn me. Not until I know what is going on. This is different than all the other times. Why now? Why her? What has happened that he wanted me to see that?© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.