Lost Cause (Killer of Kings 8)

“No.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I’m not a priest anymore, and trust me, I don’t follow any of the rules.”

“A priest wouldn’t have killed anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you kill that man for yourself?” she asked.

“The more you know, the bigger the risk to your life. Is that what you want?”

Cleo laughed. It was a soft sound that gradually grew louder and verged on hysterical.

“What I want? Oh my, seriously? No one has ever asked me what I want before.”

He frowned as she wiped at her eyes.

“You know, what I want doesn’t matter to anyone, and it certainly doesn’t to you. I wasn’t going to tell because you think I haven’t seen all the bad stuff that happens in the world, but I have. You can build up all the files about me, but that stuff is made up. It’s lies. People tell the real tale.” She shook her head, looking angry all of a sudden. “I never asked to be given up. I never asked to be put into the foster system, and I certainly didn’t ask to be sitting here in this kitchen, opposite you.”

Priest didn’t know what had brought about the change in her, but he did have to wonder about her words. She was right, mostly. Pieces of paper, facts, didn’t tell any truth of what a person was really like. He never made an assessment of a person until he got to know them. Some people assumed you understood a person within minutes of meeting them. He didn’t believe that.

Some people needed time to know, time to understand, but right now, he needed sleep, and desperate times came with desperate measures.

****

Priest drugged her.

Cleo shouldn’t have been surprised.

She hadn’t been lying about her inability to sleep, and well, unless she was knocked out, there was no chance of her finding sleep easily. Especially not when her thoughts were keeping her awake at night.

Getting out of the foster care system should have put an end to all her memories. She was the kind of person who liked to think ahead. To look toward the future, to not look back. With Priest entering her life, killing that guy, and well, kidnapping her, all those painful memories started to resurface. Trauma could be a real bitch sometimes.

The file he had on her wouldn’t talk about the endless abuse and torment. How some of her foster parents had tied her up in a darkened closet to punish her for always being awake. Some had sent her to the doctors, to try to find a medical solution for her insomnia. There was nothing.

Poked and prodded and finally declared an unsolved mystery. She came with a warning to most, which was one of the reasons she was never adopted. She was told daily how unlovable she was.

Priest didn’t know any of this, or maybe he did. She stared down at the rope around each of her wrists. He’d waited for her to come out of her drug-induced sleep the next day. He stood in the bathroom as she used the toilet, washed her hands, and brushed her teeth. Then, he’d tied her to this chair, without coffee or food, and told her he would be back.

She wriggled her hand back and forth, trying to get free, but it was tight. Not too tight to cause an issue, but tight enough to be uncomfortable.

He’d done it on purpose. She just knew it.

Priest shouldn’t be moaning. He wasn’t the one drugged up.

Now she was starving.

Life was so unfair.

Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, hoping to contain her anger. Priest was going to get it when he came back. She had been nice to him, trying to talk to him, to befriend him. If he wasn’t going to let her go, the least they could do was be nice to one another. It would make their time together bearable.

“Ugh! Who am I kidding?” She growled as she tried to wriggle out of the chair. When the chair moved, she paused, not wanting to fall to the floor.

Finally, she collapsed against the chair and waited.

Staring at the clock, she watched the hands tick on by.