Merciless Love: A Dark Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Heather reluctantly wriggled out his grasp and flashed me a smile. “You'll be out in no time, sis. You know how it is...you were out there for a long time, among the corrupted. To rejoin your people, you need to be purified.”

  Gilbert nodded. “That's right. Our Prophet's going to work overtime to cleanse you himself. He told me so when Dad and I brought you in.”

  “Get some rest, Cassie. You've survived so many tribulations, and there are more to come. God willing, you'll be out and pure before the wedding.”

  My stomach churned more violently, as if it were struggling to digest concrete. I wanted to bash my head against the iron bars and put myself out of my misery. Gilbert smelled my horror, and his grin got wider. He turned his head to Heather as she slipped out the back door and then faced me again.

  “Let me out,” I said coldly, pushing my face close the bars. “Somewhere behind that stupid grin, you know this is wrong. I don't know how you've taken her, brainwashed her, but it won't work on me. I've been on the outside, Gilbert. Beacon Grove is just as corrupted as the great beyond...”

  His smile melted. “You really think you're the first in the congregation to flee and return to us? You're sick in your soul, Cassie. Only one man can redeem your sins and save you, and we both know it. I shouldn't have brought Heather here. Did it as a courtesy to my future wife. I knew she wouldn't forgive me if she found out I never let her see her sister for the last time.”

  I swallowed hard, but I showed no fear. There was no point in pleading and reasoning with him. I had to look for weakness instead, had to eyeball everything in case they slipped up or showed me mercy.

  “We both know what's going to happen here, Cassie. You can bullshit men like your father, but you won't do it to me. Everyone close to the Prophet knows your soul is stained with blood. You killed your father. You're a murderer. It's going to take the greatest miracle in the world to make him spare you. But you'll have your soul purified for heaven or hell, one way or another. Oh, yes.”

  He started to pucker, as if he was collecting spit. I put my hand out to shield myself from the incoming spray. Suddenly, his hand was on mine, grabbing at my wrist and jerking me tight to the bars.

  Damn! Why hadn't I seen it coming?

  My shoulder hit the metal with a whack. Pain spiraled through me. It would've been worse if I weren't exhausted, hungry, and detached. The nausea clouding my senses numbed what was happening.

  “You make me sick, bitch. I hope he adds you to his harem before he kills you. He's had secret wives before, and secret children too.” Shaking and wide eyed, Gilbert nodded sharply, leaving no room for doubt. “The Prophet enjoys cleansing sinners and then sending their souls up to the almighty to finish the job. The rest of us do too. Nobody who serves him has any problem drowning his whores when he's done, or their bastard kids.”

  I started to tremble. There were so many who'd disappeared over the years, runaways who never came home. Now I knew why.

  The cult was monstrous, but this was beyond the pale. Gilbert released my hand and I tumbled back, so desperate to get away from him I didn't care when I hit the other side of the little cage.

  “Sleep tight, corrupted cunt. God and justice come for you tonight.”

  I never slept a wink. The dungeon around the cage looked like an old cellar. There wasn't a single window in sight. No way to tell if it was day or night.

  It felt like I'd been there for more than a day, though it was probably just a few hours. The scrapes on my calves and ankles burned, tiny flashes of the hellfire coming next. I reached to my foot and rubbed above the sock, wincing when my fingers brushed the tear in my skin.

  Had I really gotten it trying to escape Evan?

  I would've given anything to be back in his house, doing my chores with Izzy or waiting for my master in the little room. Evan was a devil wrapped in that beautiful, muscular cloak he called a body, but he didn't enjoy the torture. He did it because he had to.

  Tears stung my eyes, alongside the vicious heat and longing when I thought about what he did to me. The Prophet and Gilbert and the rest weren't totally wrong.

  I'd been corrupted from day one, and my time in the strange house had warped me more. When Evan stripped me naked and pressed his flesh to mine, my resistance crumbled.

  I enjoyed his monstrous kisses, no matter how much I wanted to scream I didn't. I loved the pitch black heat, the fire he ignited at my core with his lips, and then what he did to me when I spread my legs...

  God help me. I sat against the back of the cage, pulling my feet closer until I was in a ball.

  Cold admission, real confession: I missed him.

  Yes, he was an animal, driven by a cruel mission I didn't understand. But he wasn't repulsive, never the kind of man who threatened to soil my body, mind, and soul. The sin in him hurt, but it never destroyed, never threatened to put me in the ground.

  When the Prophet came, I knew I had to fight. If it got me an earlier death, so be it. I'd rather die in his dirty hands than face months of torture. Same way I'd rather die than go to the man Evan was training me for.

  I'd dealt with monsters my whole life. I just wished it hadn't taken twenty years to sort the black and gray.

  If only I could've figured it out sooner! I wouldn't have run. I wouldn't have ended up here, staring at the horror I'd delayed for so long. I didn't have to fight Evan until he tried to take me away.

  Now I had a grim fight for survival coming on someone else's terms.

  The back door swung open. I jumped and watched as two skinny silhouettes came inside, with one large, unkempt shadow between them.

  I'd seen the Prophet hundreds of times, but never so close. Madness and evil shone in his eyes in equal parts. Having his gaze fixed on my dirty trembling body in the cage was almost unbearable. My fingers gingerly grasped for an iron bar, anything to save me from wilting before him.

  Behind him, the others snickered. I realized they were high feminine laughs. He'd brought two of his wives for...what?

  “She, whose soul is red with sin. God cast her out and returned her for judgment, poisoned as the great beyond! Are you ready to face your Lord and savior's retribution, Cassandra Lamberth?”

  Everything about him except those eyes was weak and gross. His dirty beard hung to his gut, and he scratched himself when he spoke. He raised a stern finger to the cage, pointing at me, his palsied hand shaking the entire time.

  His eyes were wild. I bit my tongue, refusing to answer.

  He'd hurt me, force me, kill me, but I couldn't give him the satisfaction of enjoying it. Prophet? No, this was a psycho bully, enjoyment flashing in his eyes as he searched for my fear.

  Hide it. Give him nothing. If he can't make you scream or cry, he'll get tired. He'll throw you away or kill you faster, but it'll all be over quick.

  All the horror. All the pain. All the hopelessness.

  “Has God stolen your speech, girl? I asked you a question!” His fat fists shook at his sides like an angry cat thumping its tail.

  I cleared my throat, leaning close to the cage. Jesus, I hated this despicable man. He was one who lured my family into his cult, playing on my parents' self-righteousness and my father's loss. Or maybe Daddy came because this place was a magnet for evil, the Prophet a monstrous siren drawing more demons to his lair.

  I did what Gilbert wouldn't. It was a struggle to collect spit with such a dry mouth, but I did. Then I hawked it through the bars, splattering him in his filthy, demented face.

  Perfect shot. It landed across his eye and his hand went up, clawing at my saliva as if it burned.

  The wives gasped. No one had ever insulted him before – at least no one who survived. Even the cruel men in Beacon Grove who treated him as a figurehead humored his wicked habits.

  He stopped rubbing and looked at me again, the eye I'd hit red with irritation. Giant flabby arms shot out and lifted up the whole cage. I went flying through the air. The whole world flipped with a deafening crash and the
top of my head cracked against iron.

  Just my luck the bastard was so spry and strong when he was livid.

  Stars burned at my eyes, bright red stars alive with pain. Something hot and wet was trickling down my temple. Women were crying and pleading somewhere, but the noise that hit me most was the Prophet's heavy breath spilling on my skin.

  The cage groaned. I never knew how he opened it or even how the damned thing had landed. There wasn't time to think about that when his wretched arms encircled me and pulled me out by the neck.

  Crap! I'd vastly underestimated his strength.

  My brain was spinning as he slammed me against the old wooden table in the middle of the room and tightened his hands around my neck. The blow to the head silenced my fear, and so did the choking. I was numb, dying in his hands, brain short circuiting as it lost oxygen.

  “Whore!” The word exploded deep in my ear. “I can taste your fucking sin, your defiance!”

  I had a vague sensation of his filthy tongue gliding up my face, licking my blood. Through the dizzying pain, I squirmed, trembling against him.

  Big mistake. The Prophet grabbed my neck and slammed me against the table, shifting between my legs.

  No! The same hardness Evan had introduced me to was there. His breath hitched when I tried to fight, tried to kick and scratch.

  No! It fueled his excitement but I couldn't just surrender, no matter how loud logic screamed at me to give up, black out, go somewhere he couldn't hurt me.

  His free hand moved to my breasts. There was no pleasure, no sensual build up, just red hot hurt when he twisted my nipple. He held it taught like rubber, grunting his pleasure at the torture on my face.

  Damn! I can't hide it when it hurts this much.

  “A good woman wouldn't struggle like this, Cassandra. She'd embrace the pain and submit, pay penance for her sins. Only a whore protests!” He paused, breath choppy and thick with lust. “Oh, Lord. Oh, fuck. I'm not sure whether to rip this off now or save it for my teeth.”

  The Prophet's fingers moved, twisted and fierce. Tears filled up my eyes. I wanted to fight, but I was so defeated, crushed in flesh and spirit by brute strength. Above me, the sick Goliath paused, as if he were asking heaven for permission to do what was coming next.

  I opened my eyes. Instant regret.

  He really was praying, softly mumbling verses and nonsense like I was nothing more than a feast he was going to consume.

  Find your strength. You can't let it end like this.

  I dug deep, and dredged up the last tiny morsel of courage I had. I prepared for one last kicking, screaming, manic fit when he made his move. I knew I'd be overpowered, raped, and killed, but if I could hurt him on the way to my doom, at least I'd die happy.

  This was my choice, my only choice.

  Why, why, why did I run? I thought I was taking control, making a choice for my survival.

  Evan was so right it blinded me with rage.

  I finally understood. There never was a choice except how to take the endless pain and horror I called my life. There was no escape, and my false hope had led me to a hell so bad it made the old one look like paradise.

  The Prophet's panting, shaky verses went silent. I forced myself to look at him. Jesus, it was exactly like looking into a hungry bear's eyes.

  I stared. I saw his darkness. And I was sure he saw the intent in my eyes too, the need to resist and hurt, even as he ripped me apart.

  A cruel smile pulled at his lips behind the gnarled beard. His fingers pinched my nipple harder. There wasn't a speck of a blood left in my tender flesh, and he leaned low to my chest, parting his thick lips for a kiss, a bite, a –

  Metal on concrete exploded nearby. My aching nipple pulsed again as blood flowed back, freed from his fingers. The Prophet and his wives whirled, throwing their attention to the back door.

  He didn't try to pin me down when I jerked up. The door banged against the wall, loose on its hinges, but nobody was behind it.

  Then the gunshot rang out. A man screamed, just out of sight.

  It was my turn to smile. The Prophet turned back to me, wide eyed and confused, too surprised to think about praying to the devil god he worshiped for protection.

  “Evan!” I called his name, trying to make my mind believe it.

  But there was no disbelief when he stepped through the door. He looked more intense than ever, bowed up in the same black leather jacket he was wearing when I first met him. Blood spattered his face and shoulders, and his huge chest rippled, an inhuman fury flexing his beautiful muscles.

  “Stranger! Sinner!” The Prophet roared, taking a couple tentative steps toward the intruder.

  Nobody else moved, least of all Evan.

  His eyes snapped to me, then to the two wives on cowering on the ground, and last to the Prophet. My screwed up savior shook his head.

  “Only sin I see here is the fucking Unabomber playing God. How about you shut your mouth and die, motherfucker?” Evan's hands went up, a shiny silver gun lodged between them, pointed at the Prophet's head.

  I slid off the table and flattened myself against the wall. My heartbeat was back after the madman nearly stopped it, banging so hard in my chest it made me woozy.

  “God will protect me,” the bearded man said weakly. “You kill me, and you end your whole world. God is righteous. Oh, you abomination, there is no forgiveness for your ilk. No mercy. You are corruption incarnate...”

  “You're damned right.” The gun jerked in Evan's hands.

  Lightning tore through me as the Prophet's head exploded. His fat body toppled over, bouncing once on the ground before he lay still. One of his wretched wives crawled a couple paces toward him and let out an ear piercing scream. She scuttled back to her companion for comfort.

  He was dead. Really and truly dead. The tyrant who'd tormented me and dozens more had fallen.

  The world was ending, all right, but only here in Beacon Grove.

  Evan was moving, stepping over his body like it was nothing more than a bag of trash. His eyes were all on me now. It was a miracle I was standing and thinking and feeling at all, but I was.

  I threw my hands up when he was only a few feet away.

  No! I'll fight you too. I'm not going back. I won't be a slave.

  “Let's go,” he said, grabbing for my wrist. “Need to move our asses out before all the other sheep here find out their shepherd’s a dead fucking wolf. And fuck, you're bleeding...”

  Evan studied the caked blood tangled in my hair. It was mostly dry. Scrubbing it all away sounded good, if only to wipe away every last trace of the Prophet's nasty touch.

  He started to pull me along, and I almost went, desperate to be far, far away from this place. Then I remembered what waited for me with him. My feet dug in, tipping to use my heels like brakes. I shrieked, filling the dingy room with chaos. The wives wept louder, mirroring the bitter shrillness in my voice.

  “Stop it! Let me go!” I jumped, jerked, and fell.

  Fire shot through my hip. I brushed it off. What was one more impact when I'd taken so many?

  Falls, collisions, and blows I could survive. Being a slave to this lesser monster, trained to be shipped off to another man like the Prophet? Never!

  “You fucking kidding me?” His eyes flashed in surprise. “I got to you just in time, Cassie. Don't tell me you detest me more than this goddamned lunatic.”

  His words melted in a growl. He pointed to the Prophet's body on the floor. The red ring around his shattered head was still expanding on the dirty floor.

  “It's not you I hate.” I stood, making a feeble effort to wipe away all the dust and dirt I'd picked up since my escape. “It's the man you're going to turn me over to. I won't be his slave, Evan. I'd rather be as dead as the Prophet. If you take me back, I'll break my body trying to get away all over again. I will never, ever submit to another monster!”

  I stared at the dead lump on the ground and then looked back. Jesus, why did my heart have to throb and
swoon every time I stared into his eyes? It would've been so much easier to hate him without this sick adrenaline rush, love and lust throttling my veins.

  “That's never gonna happen, babe. You're not going anywhere except home with me.”

  “What?” Shock rocketed through me. I stepped back as he closed on me, shaking my head. “This is a trick...it has to be! Don't lie. After all I've been through, I swear to God –”

  His face darkened. “Have I ever fucking lied to you, Cassie? I told you exactly what you were getting into as soon as this shit started. You can call me an asshole, a killer, a fuckup, but don't you dare think I'm a liar. I wracked my brain the whole fucking time coming after you, and I've made my decision. Changed my mind about giving you up.”

  He reached out. I recoiled, and began to feebly push against his chest. It was helpless. The minute he had his big arms around me, I melted, hissing my frustration in his huge embrace.

  “I'm not using you as bait, woman, no matter what I've got on the line. I was sick in the head and I still am, but one thing's crystal fucking clear: the only man you're gonna belong to is me. You're not going anywhere, babe, and any stupid fuck who tries to lay a finger on you again is gonna get his face obliterated like the stiff over there.”

  Cruel, crude words. And yet, they were loving too, the first time he'd lowered his defenses and shown any kind of feeling. I fought back tears, praying to the god I wasn't sure I believed in anymore that I could believe.

  Please.

  Just. This. Once.

  Time slipped by. He held me and rocked me in his arms, a surreal reunion amid all the gore and death. I didn't care. Right now, the whole world was him and I, me and this complex man who owned my heart in all the best and worst ways.

  “Babe, you know I'll never get tired of holding you 'til the day I die. But we gotta move.” He gently pushed away and made sure I could stand.

  Evan looked at the Prophet's wives. His gun came out and pointed at the ceiling.

  “Come on! Get your asses up and leave. Go home, get your shit, and move the fuck out of this place. Tell everybody the dear leader's dead.” They looked up at him like frightened hens. “You fucking hear me? I'm not asking for any favors. I'm giving you bitches your marching orders!”