#religon

But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind drifted throughout the day... Back to that prison he wanted to burn down and back to that redheaded angel he wanted to save. He hadn’t stepped foot near it since dinner two nights ago, and not seeing Sera was silently driving him half mad. Something was wrong and he could feel it like a fever under his skin. An ache started to develop behind his teeth and it wasn’t from nerves, it was because he’s been trying to keep himself from killing that false prophet. And because the last time he saw her, she was shaking in that white dress trying to plead her case like she expected to be slapped for it.

Pastor Samuel slammed the door behind her that night like she was some plague to be locked away. Called her spoiled fruit and said she needed to be cleaned and purged of her sins. Smoke barely ate that night and couldn’t think straight. He had been picturing that demon's throat beneath his boots ever since the words left his mouth.

After ensuring everything was secure out on the field, Smoke decided to check the house. The porch groaned beneath him as he stepped up onto it like it was warning him to turn back. He hadn’t told Stack where he was going, and he didn’t plan on explaining.

The screen door creaked open like it knew better than to fight him and the second he crossed the threshold the air felt different. No smell of greens or fresh apple pie. No low hum floating from the kitchen. Just dust, old wood and silence that told on itself. Two days ago this place had life but now it was sterile with no sign of her.

Smoke moved through the downstairs layout with slow and deliberate steps. The only sound that filled the air was the ticking of a grandfather clock like it was trying to tell him a secret message he couldn’t decode. The tension in his jaw spread to his fists because he wasn’t stupid and he knew what this kind of silence meant. You don’t lock away a girl like that unless you plan to break her mind, body, and soul.

His hand hovered near the pistol under his coat. He didn’t come into this house to start anything, but he would make damn sure he’d be the one to finish it without thinking twice. He passed Pastor Samuel's study, the kitchen, the parlor, and every room turned out to be the same… Empty. His jaw ticked again as Sera’s absence began to speak louder to him than a room full of drunk men on a Saturday night playing poker.

If she was bruised, if she was touched, if that preacher laid one finger on her in the name of God— Smoke’s patience was unraveling and his mind was constantly racing with images of Sera. Not because of her beauty and innocence but because she didn’t know she was drowning in a house built to keep her breathless. And he’d willingly dive to the bottom of the abyss to sacrifice his own life if it meant saving hers.

After ensuring everything was safe downstairs he made his way up to the second floor and moved down the hall, quiet as fog. But then his motions stilled when he heard a creak, then a faint shuffle and finally the splashing of water. He stopped near the bathroom door that was barely cracked open. And through the thin sliver of light, he saw her. Seraphim… His Seraphim.

With her back facing the cracked door, Smoke saw how her freckled chestnut skin glistened from the bathwater as she clutched a too-small towel tight to her damp chest and grabbed a small jar of ointment before lathering it on her face. Her long ginger hair was heavy with water, curls sticking to her skin and clinging to her neck. She moved with the slow and unsteady grace of someone running on nothing but willpower and she also looked like she hadn’t slept in days. There were bruised half-moons under her eyes. The delicate brown skin was swollen and raw from crying or praying… or both. Her lips were chapped and her arms were trembling just from holding the towel. And then Smoke’s gaze dropped to her knees… Red. Blistered. Bloodied.

The skin was torn and pink from where she’d been forced to kneel for two days straight. Her father had locked her in her bedroom with nothing but a jug of water, her Bible, and strict instruction to purify her spirit. He’d made her read until her throat cracked and he made her write until her fingers cramped. She’d disobeyed him just now sneaking into the bathroom for a wash when she should’ve been on her knees still repenting. She assumed no one was home but she didn’t know that Smoke stood like a phantom protector in the hall silently watching her.

She didn't hear him breathe. And she didn't feel the air shift as he stepped forward slightly, drawn by the tragedy and resilience dripping off her body like the water she just cleansed herself with. But when she finally opened the bathroom door their eyes met and she gasped with surprise. Her chest rose and fell while she clutched her towel tighter and shyly looked away. “Mr. Smoke,” she whispered, voice like a breath across broken glass. “I… I didn’t know anyone was home.. I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop. I was checkin’ the house,” he said quietly, voice low and deep enough to ground the storm brewing in her. “Didn’t know you were up.”

Sera felt anchored in her spot and her cheeks started to burn. Her lips parted like she might speak, but no sound came. Just a soft exhale.

Instead she lowered her eyes to the floor and Smoke noticed her trembling fingers. It was like she was more frightened with the idea of him telling her father she stopped her punishment opposed to being practically naked in front of a man she just met. “My daddy said I needed more than a bath…” she whispered with her voice shaking. “Said I needed to cleanse my soul.”

Sera let out a hollow laugh that sounded like something fragile barely holding shape. “But I couldn’t take the stink anymore,” she admitted as her shame came rushing out faster than she could catch it. “My knees hurt. I… I just needed a minute…” At that her legs wobbled slightly and she reached instinctively for the wall next to her, causing her towel to slip just a little on one side.

Smoke moved before he realized he was putting one foot forward and his hand twitched like it meant to catch her. But he didn’t touch her. He stopped just shy of her bare shoulder. Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him in waves and close enough that her breath caught in her throat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice softer now, but still deep enough to settle into her spine.

She lied and nodded too fast, then winced. Her body jolted slightly as she tugged the towel back into place, her arms tightening across her chest, face turning redder by the second. “I will be,” she said quietly. “Just need rest. And maybe… maybe somethin’ cold for my knees.”

Smoke didn’t speak right away. He just stared intensely with his eyes pinned to her face, not her body. Not the flushed skin of her collarbone, or the droplets sliding down her thighs, or the chocolate pebbles where the towel hugged her too tight.

His want for her burned hot in his soul, curling low and slow like a fuse that refused to die out. But it wasn’t lust that made his jaw clench… it was pain. Her pain. Because behind the heat he saw the bruises, the cracks, and the places where her spirit had been pressed thin by a man who was supposed to protect her.

Smoke swallowed hard as images from his past flickered sharp in his mind. Flashbacks of his own father’s shadow towering over Stack with his fist clenched and mouth foaming with scripture. Same shit, just a different Devil. He exhaled through his nose and steadied himself, grounding the fury before it reached the surface. “You did what you needed,” he said finally, tone gentle but firm. “Ain’t no sin in wantin’ to feel clean.”

Sera blinked, shook by the kindness in his voice. She looked up, eyes catching his for the first time since she opened the bathroom door and her breath hitched. There was something in his gaze she couldn’t pinpoint. Something that was hotter and caused her to drop her eyes again as her skin prickled with excitement.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this…” she said, her voice barely more than a low breath. “I thought… I thought no one was home.”

Sera’s legs buckled beneath her as her posture faltered despite how desperately she clung to her dignity with that towel. She was a woman full-grown, twenty-five and already hollowed out from years of obedience. Not to God, but to a man who wore his name like armor.

And still, she said nothing cruel. She didn’t curse, didn’t complain, didn’t cry out about what had been done to her. She just… endured it. That kind of quiet killed something in Smoke. Her innocence wasn’t just naivety, it was punishment. A sentence she didn’t even know she was serving. A life measured in silence and sermons, in her father’s idea of godliness, not her own.

“I won’t tell your daddy,” Smoke murmured, voice husky and steady. “Ain’t nobody’s business but yours.”

Sera looked up, startled again by his gentleness. Her big mesmerizing honey-warm eyes that always seemed to plead for mercy she never physically asked for stared at Smoke's impassive expression. And he couldn’t help but to hold her gaze for too long. Long enough for something unsaid to pass between them.

He took another slow step forward, close enough that she had to tilt her chin just a bit to keep eye contact.“You ain’t gonna make it down that hall,” he said gently. “Not on them knees.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but her legs wobbled once more and betrayed her before she could find the words.

Smoke held up his hand to stop any excuse she had ready to spit out. “Let me help. I’ll carry you.”

Her eyes went wide and she nervously stammered glancing down at the thin towel wrapped around her. “I can’t… I mean, I’m not… I ain’t dressed proper, Mr. Smoke! And… and a man ain’t supposed to stare at a woman, let alone touch her if they aren’t married...”

Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smokeee… If anyone else called Smoke “Mr. Smoke” he wouldn’t think twice about it. But the way Sera said his name all breathy and flustered, stirred something primal in him and he finally understood what Stack was blabbering about the last two days.

Hearing his name in her mouth felt like a match against his skin. And he began to wonder what it would sound like if she said his real name… the one he keeps close to his heart. But instead he smothered the feeling down and buried it beneath something colder. Right now, this wasn’t about his desires. “I ain’t lookin’ at you that way,” he said, quiet and firm. “Ain’t gonna touch what ain’t offered.”

She hesitated and let his words play in her mind as she tried to figure out how long she would have to repent after this. Then slowly—too slowly—she nodded.

Careful to not startle her, Smoke slipped his calloused hands beneath her tender knees and shoulders and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Her body tensed instantly but he didn’t take any offense to it.

Smoke was a man that had been to hell and back. A man that had seen the highest highs of the world and the lowest lows of the world… but he never thought not looking down at the broken angel in his arms would be one of the hardest missions he’d ever have to endure. He didn’t let himself think about how soft she felt in his arms. Didn’t let his breath stick in his throat when her damp hair brushed against his jaw. And he definitely didn’t let himself imagine what her skin might taste like beneath that towel.

He just carried her down the hall like he was hauling something sacred. But when he nudged open the door to her bedroom with the toe of his boot his stomach turned.

The walls were stripped clean with no photos or warmth. Just a thin lumpy mattress on the floor and a single oil lamp in the corner that barely lit the room. And of course her Bible sat open right next to it. This was like a prison cell dressed up in false holiness. Smoke kept his face neutral, but it took everything he had not to spit on the floor and curse that bastard preacher by name. Instead he set her down carefully at the edge of her mattress, making sure she was comfortable before giving her some much needed space.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her once angelic voice had shame laced through every syllable. She reached for a nightgown lying near the mattress and clutched it to her chest before fumbling to pull it over her head. The towel that was being held together by a prayer finally dropped away in the process, and for one small fumbling moment Smoke saw more of her than any man had ever been allowed.

He didn’t move and made sure he didn’t blink as he let the image of her burn into his memory. Her nightgown fell soft over her shoulders and clung tight to her still-damp skin. Its material became thin as gauze in some places and turned damn near translucent in the lamplight. The now sheer material clung across her stomach, thighs, and the delicate curve of her hips. Smoke’s throat tightened and a reflexive growl tried to crawl up before he crushed it down with a clenched jaw. If he didn’t get out of this house soon he knew he would crack a molar.

Sera sat on the edge of her mattress with her legs clamped tightly shut and her arms folded tight across her chest as though she could shield herself from God’s watchful eye. With her mahogany freckled face red as hot coals, she kept her eyes focused on the floor. “I didn’t mean to tempt you,” she mumbled. The words fell out like they hurt. “I didn’t mean to—”

Smoke cut her off with a breath. He wouldn’t allow her to wallow in her ignominy like any of this was her fault. “That ain’t on you.”

She looked up with a puzzled expression.

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong,” he said with his voice as rough as a warning shot. “You took a bath. That’s it. Man’s got no business bein’ tempted by that.”

“But…”

“But nothing.”

Something tight and ugly that could no longer be contained started to bubble over in his chest. Anger. But not at her. He could never be mad at her. She could curse him to the high heavens and he would still figure out how to give her the world. “You did nothin’ wrong,” he said sharply, with more growl than whisper. He took a cautious step forward before catching himself and his hands formed into fists at his sides as he thought about Samuel.

Sera flinched, just barely. And that told him another ugly unspoken truth.

Now wasn’t the time to lecture Sera about her father. Instead Smoke took a deep breath and tried to soften his voice again as he closed the distance between the two of them and kneeled near her without touching. “I can help with your knees,” he said. “Properly. If you’ll let me.”

She looked down at them and frowned. Even though she tried to clean them during her bath they were still raw, red, and seeping in some places.

Smoke watched the hesitation in Sera’s eyes. The way she wavered between fear and trust, shame and want. “I’m just cleanin’ ‘em, Sera,” he added. “Nothin’ else.”

Sera nodded slowly, letting her legs stretch toward him. Her thighs pressed together modestly, and she kept the hem of her nightgown tugged low over them even though the wetness made it cling to every contour of her body anyway.

Initially Smoke didn’t let his eyes wander and he didn’t want to let himself indulge. Keeping a stoic expression he reached into his coat and pulled out a clean cloth he always kept tucked inside, and a small silver flask full of his favorite liquor. The whiskey inside would sting, but it would clean her wounds until he could get her proper care.

“This’ll hurt,” he warned.

Without saying anything else Smoke dipped the cloth in whiskey with his fingers coiled tightly around the flask. He steadied her knee with one hand and the second his skin made contact with hers, she twitched like she’d been shocked. Her breath hitched high and delicate and she let out a sound that wasn’t quite a gasp or a moan. It was something in between and made him stop for a second.

Don’t react. Don’t you dare react, nigga.

“This shouldn’t take long. Grab onto my shoulders if it hurts too much,” he commanded gently, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin.

Sera nodded and closely watched his every movement before unintentionally shifting and pulling her legs apart just enough for Smoke to be reminded that there was nothing underneath her nightgown. He shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have seen, but it was right there in his face. That soft, aching swell between her thighs pulsing and winking at him in a language he’s fluent in… oh so very fluent... He quickly looked away and grinded his teeth so hard he could’ve sworn he popped a blood vessel.

Sera's fingers hesitantly reached out to rest on Smoke’s shoulder when the alcohol dripping cloth touched her torn knee and she whimpered. “Ah—it stings,” she breathed, voice breaking, and then, without meaning to… “M-M-Mr. Smoke…”

She said it like a confession. Like a prayer. Like his name alone was something dangerous curled on her tongue. And his blood turned molten.

He wasn’t a praying man but he started reciting scriptures in his mind over and over again to calm his growing lust. His eyes to stay on her wound, ignoring the high flush painting her exposed neck, the heave of her plump chest, and the way her thick thighs flexed as her muscles tried to keep still. Every movement of hers made the gown ride higher, and every breath she took drew it tighter to her skin.

“I know it stings… my love,” he muttered, voice thick and gravel-rough as his thumb steadied the curve of her knee. “I’m sorry. I’m almost done.”

It had been years since Smoke addressed a woman like that and the words slipped out like it was second nature to address Sera that way. The moment he said them, he regretted it. He froze and inhaled a sharp breath then kept silently working and dabbing the cloth gently over the raw and torn skin as though nothing had happened. But Sera heard it and the nickname wrapped around her like a warm hug. Unfamiliar yet alluring as if a switch was turned on inside her brain. She whimpered again but this time quieter and more uncertain.

Smoke kept his gaze down and pretended not to notice the way her shoulders tensed or the way she bit down on her bottom lip like she was trying to calm whatever storm just bloomed inside her.

Her skin flushed a deeper hue, making her chocolate skin look deliciously sun kissed under the low light. “Mr. Smoke…” she whispered. Her voice was timid but clear. “You called me somethin’ just now.”

He didn’t answer.

Sera shifted slightly, the nightgown sliding across her thighs, the wet fabric clinging to her in places it had no business clinging. Smoke focused on the edge of the wound and not on the way her legs moved. Not on the softness of her inner thighs. Not on the curve of her ankle hooked ever so slightly toward him.

“You… called me… my love,” she continued gently. “Why’d you say that?”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Just a slip,” he muttered, voice clipped and rougher now. “Don’t think on it.”

Sera’s mouth opened slightly, like she might press the matter again but instead she let the moment pass. Her lashes dipped low and she gave a small nod of understanding.

She was raised not to question men… especially men like Smoke who spoke as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The kind of weight her daddy respected. The kind of weight that broke bones or bore secrets. So she folded the curiosity up inside herself, tucked it away like she’d done with all her other questions. The ones about God. About sin. About why life’s enjoyments always came wrapped in warning.

Smoke didn’t look at her again. He poured a final bit of whiskey onto the cloth, the scent curling in the warm air between them. His hand moved quicker now, more business than tenderness even though the care didn’t leave him… Just the softness. He no longer lingered where her skin trembled under his fingers and no longer paused at the sounds she made.

He wiped the blood clean from the last scrape on her shin and didn’t say a word when she flinched. When he finally pulled back, the cloth was stained with red and grit. He stood in one slow, deliberate motion, slipping the flask and rag back into the inside pocket of his coat as if nothing transpired between them.

Sera looked up at him from where she sat, legs curled beneath her now. Her nightgown still clung to every part of her that should’ve been hidden, but her hands stayed folded in her lap and her mouth still soft with something unspoken.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry, Mr. Smoke,” she rushed, eyes wide and nervous. “I—I only asked ’cause my daddy told me how men say sweet things when they see—”

“See what?” Smoke cut in. “See a woman tryin’ to survive her own damn house?” The words came out harsher than he meant for them to be, but he didn’t take them back. And he couldn’t take them back because he was finally beyond his breaking point. Rage that had been simmering since the moment he stepped back into this cursed state. Since he watched her be belittled and punished with torn knees and a Bible-sized bruise on her soul. Since he saw the way Pastor Samuel looked through his daughter like she was nothing but a vessel for shame and sin.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. “I’m not mad at you. You ain’t done a damn thing wrong, Sera. Not one.”

She blinked, confusion pulling at her brow. She didn’t know what to say to that. She never had someone tell her that a situation wasn’t her fault . Her silence only fueled his fury.

He took a step back, needing space before the turmoil in his mind made him do something stupid. Like call off this battle with the Klan and instead let them have their way with that poor excuse of a pastor. “I oughta—” Smoke started, then cut himself off with a rough exhale and looked away. “Fuck.”

Smoke’s eyes snapped back to her, colder now. “Your daddy don’t know God. He just knows control. You don’t tempt nobody, Sera. Men just ain’t used to seein’ a woman with that kind of light still in her. Don’t know what to do with it ‘cept snuff it out… Now stay in this room and lock ya door. Don’t come out til’ I personally come back and get you.”

A tense silence filled the room and for the first time ever in her life she decided to willingly follow the instructions of a man instead of doing so because it’s what she’d been taught to do. “Yes sir… goodnight Mr. Smoke…”

Those five simple words had Smoke's body singing with a song he hadn't heard in a long time as he left her bedroom and stood outside her door. Smoke knew he should leave. Knew the longer he stood there, the more dangerous this moment would become for both of them. But he also knew the truth, he was past the point of return. He wanted to protect her. Not just from the Klan but from her own father, from this town… From everything that had ever made her believe she was less than holy.

Footsteps creaked up the stairs snapping Smoke out of his trance and he turned just in time to see Stack standing at the landing, arms crossed and a smug glint in his eye.

“Thought you was doin’ a perimeter check, twinny twin,” Stack said, with his iconic lazy grin plastered on his face. “Didn’t know that included lickin’ the preacher’s daughter.”

Smoke didn’t flinch. “I didn’t lick her, fool. That muthafucka got her knees all banged up. She was tryin’ to get to her room. And I helped her wounds. That’s all.”

“Mmhm.” Stack’s eyes flicked to the crack beneath Sera’s door, then back to his brother. “She too pretty to be locked away like a secret sin… You ain’t the only one wonderin’ how the hell she’s still breathin’ with a father like that.”

Smoke didn’t answer. He just stared past Stack. “You hate him,” Stack added, quieter now while letting his hand linger over his knife he keeps hidden on his side. “Our daddy didn’t mean it… but that fake ass preacher… We should just kill him and be done with it… Lemme’ gut him and write out Mathew 7:15 on his body so the Devil know where to place him when he get to hell.”

“I hate what he’s done to her,” Smoke said with his voice rough and full of bloodlust. “I hate that she still thinks everything that’s been done to her is her fault. I hate that she’s been kneelin’ for two days straight, beggin’ for forgiveness for bein’ born with curves and a mind of her own.”

Stack watched him, that rare flicker of seriousness surfacing. “You ever seen us both look at a woman the same way before?”

Smoke shook his head once.

“Me neither,” Stack said. “But she’s different. Real different.”

A long silence passed and Stack cleared his throat before he adjusted his belt with a grimace. “Thinkin’ about her too long gets me… restless.”

Smoke shot him a glare. “Control yourself, nigga.”

Stack grinned and raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I’ll try. But you better try too.”

Smoke said nothing more as he turned and walked down the hallway, every muscle in his body tensed like a storm ready to break. He needed to fuck this tension out or drop a couple bodies. And since the only woman that had his attention right now was a virgin pure as snow on Christmas Day, the only other option was to turn this sacred land into a blood soaked battlefield.

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Everyone go blame @theethighpriestess for giving me coochie blue balls and taking it out on y’all in this chapter.

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