Their Saint by Serena Akeroyd

Their Saint by Serena Akeroyd

Author:Serena Akeroyd [Akeroyd, Serena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 47950808
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC
Published: 2019-08-27T00:00:00+00:00


❖

Ink

Her scream, when it came, didn’t come as a surprise.

I had some haunting and harrowing dreams of my own, so my sleep was never that strong anyway, and ever since she’d become a part of my nightly routine, that had only been exacerbated.

From the way the boys had been touching her? I’d figured they’d worked shit out at the parlor after I’d gone. They’d definitely moved up a gear from just friends.

Deep down, I’d hoped that would ease her mind some, but that was too much to hope for. Love, lust, and sex weren’t cures for what she’d gone through.

Her PTSD ran deep, and I couldn’t fucking blame her.

What she’d gone through, what she’d seen and had to do, it was a wonder she wasn’t more fucked in the head. As it was, the nightmares, the need to constantly have a drink at her side—one she usually always gulped like it would be denied her again—and the habit of never leaving any food on her plate, were minor in the grand scheme of things.

Of course, I doubted I knew every single one of the quirks, but those were the ones I thought manifested the most. The ones Lucie had called idiosyncrasies, and that she believed would be the breaking point in any relationship Ama had with a man. Or, I guessed, men.

Tonight, I curved my arms around her, but I wasn’t surprised when the door opened and Saint and Keys came in.

The three of them had camped out in the living room after Lucie had come and tucked Matty and Seamus into the spare bedroom.

I’d left them watching a movie because I needed to be up early in the morning. It had come as no surprise to stir a few hours later and find her tucked into bed with me.

The scream had evidently woken the others, but not her brothers who apparently slept like the dead because I didn’t hear a thing from their bedroom down the hall. When they clambered in beside her, Saint on the outer edge, Keys beside Ama, I didn’t say a word. Neither did they.

The sound of her sobs tore at me, fucking wrenched at my soul, but even though my hands formed into fists as my outrage powered through me, I shuffled them along so she wouldn’t feel them. I didn’t want her to know how tense her bad dreams made me. How they made me wish to turn back time so I could rip Aaron Sanchez apart again and again, truly make him pay for how he’d messed with her head.

The British had tortured men they suspected of being in the IRA with something called the ‘five techniques.’ They were illegal now, of course, they had been back then too. But they were torture methods that fucked with people’s heads long term.

I knew for a fact that she’d endured at least four of those techniques. Her eyes had been covered for days, and she’d been denied food, drink, and sleep. And, because I’d gone to therapy with her, I also knew he’d very rarely stopped talking.



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