The Maiden (The Cloister Book 1)

by Celia Aaron

  “Yes, sir.” Another chorus of assent circles the room as we’re dismissed.

  Noah hurries toward the door, and I follow.

  Once we’re out in the night, a chill breeze cutting through our clothes with ease, he turns and faces me. “Not Gregory. He’s like a friend.”

  “He’s a lizard.”

  “He’s mine.” The word ends on a choked sound from his throat.

  God, his face reminds me of when we were still kids. Or, perhaps, it was just when he was still a kid. I grew up fast once my father anointed himself the Prophet and began Heavenly Ministries. Five years separated Noah and me, but it may as well have been a lifetime. The anguish in his eyes turns into anger as he whirls and stomps toward our houses.

  “Noah, come on.” I pointed toward one of the many golf carts on the property. “Let’s ride over. It’s freezing.”

  “And make it go quicker? Kill Gregory faster?” Each of his steps thumps hard on the pavement.

  “No.” I catch up and stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’ll walk with you.”

  The movement brings the pain in my back to life, and I wonder if I’m bleeding through the bandages. Doesn’t matter.

  “I can’t do it.” He runs a hand through his light brown hair. “I can’t.”

  “You have to.”

  “No.” He crosses his arms over his chest as we climb the first ridge toward the front of the campus. “I’ll take the lashing instead.”

  “It won’t be just a lashing. Not for this. He’ll take it further, and you know it.”

  He stops, his eyes wild as he turns to me. “He wouldn’t.”

  “He would.” I hold his gaze. “To save face in front of his goons that heard his pronouncement. He definitely would. You know how this works, what he’ll do.”

  “Fuck!” He walks a few more steps. “Maybe, maybe we could burn something else and then—”

  “He said bones, Noah. Bones. He isn’t going to take anything else.” I want to save Gregory. I really do. But the price is too steep.

  We trudge in silence, our breaths steaming out into the moonless night. I know Noah. I know he’s wracking his brain for any possible way to snow our father, to grant Gregory a reprieve.

  When we make it to his house, next door to mine, we push through the back door and into the den area. Two girls from the Chapel are laid out on his couch, their faces painted in bright hues and one with a distinct white ring around one nostril.

  “Out.” I hold the door open.

  “But we were supposed to—”

  “Out.” I keep my tone even as they rise and pull on their flimsy coats. I don’t recognize them, but I’ve probably met them before. The plastic surgery, fillers, and never-ending parties and coke have turned them into different people. Ruined and twisted, just as my father intended.

  They hustle past me, their stripper heels clacking on the walkway outside. Noah has already disappeared upstairs. I follow and find him in his guest room, Felix purring in his lap and Gregory perched on his shoulder.

  “I can’t.” Noah’s voice is thick, but he doesn’t shed a tear. Crying had been beaten out of us long ago. “I can’t burn him.”

  “I know.” I sit next to him and give Gregory a look. His colors have faded, but he still appears mostly the same. He blinks at me, first one eye and then the next, as if to say “hello, youngster.”

  Noah runs his finger down Gregory’s back, the pebbled skin reacting to the touch.

  I sigh. “I’ll do it.”

  Felix meows, his orange eyes large as he watches me.

  Noah shakes his head. “I can’t burn him. I won’t. Not alive.”

  “No.” I watch as he continues stroking Gregory. “The Prophet may think he’s all-powerful, but he won’t be able to CSI the cause of death on a lizard.”

  Noah chokes on a laugh. Felix meows mournfully. Everything in the room grows a little sadder.

  I hold out my palm. Gregory climbs onto it slowly as Noah turns away.

  This won’t be the first time I’ve shed innocent blood in the name of the Prophet.

  And I know it won’t be the last.

  Chapter 12

  Delilah

  A knock at my door has me hurriedly throwing on my white dress. Chastity walks in as I wrap my wet hair up into a towel.

  “How do you feel this morning?” She peers into my eyes, one at a time.

  “I’m okay.” I’m better, actually. The food last night seemed to give me new strength, and the drugs have left my system entirely. No more weird light and shadows.

  “Your wrists?” She pulls them up and inspects my bandaging.

  “Still ache. Neck does too.”

  “Your …” She glances at my lap.

  “It only hurts if I touch it.”

  “You mustn’t touch it.” She looks at the camera, then back at me. “Not like that,” she whispers. “If Grace found out…”

  The thought of touching myself intimately in this place makes my gorge rise. “I just meant in the shower when I was washing.”

  “Oh.” She smiles, the scar along her forehead pulling a bit, and seeming somehow redder. “That’s okay.”

  “How did you get that—”

  “Head Spinner!” Sarah hisses through the crack in my door.

  I rise and toss my towel into the hamper next to the bathroom and dart into the hallway, falling in line as expected.

  The Head Spinner raises an eyebrow at me and rolls her baton in her palm as she approaches. When she glances at my wrists, she seems to reconsider smacking me, and continues walking down the row of girls in white.

  “This morning, your education will be in the viewing room.” She spins on her heel, her habit swirling, and walks back to the front of the line. “I expect each of you to give these films your full attention. The Prophet has handpicked them for your edification.”

  We follow her to a new room, one with three risers, like a movie theater, and a motley assortment of chairs on each.

  “Sit,” she instructs and presses a button on the wall that lowers a white screen at the front of the room.

  Abigail stands at a small table to the side, her gnarled fingers hunting and pecking at an ancient laptop. I settle into a striped green chair that smells faintly of weed. It reminds me of college, fun, and Georgia. I swallow the memories and get as comfortable as I can.

  After a brief argument between the Head Spinner and Abigail on how to properly use the media player, the screen flickers to life, the projector overhead sending a beam of light through the dimness.

  A clearly homemade video begins, narrated by a man with the creepy Old South accent that only truly exists in small wealthy enclaves or timeworn movies.

  “The world is a dangerous place,” he tells us. Images of war, riots, and violence clog the screen as the narrator continues, “Man has fallen from the place God intended for him. From Eden, thanks to the original female sin, to now—we have never been able to show God the love and the reverence he deserves.” The image changes to one of the Prophet, his arms wide open, standing in front of the huge entrance to the Heavenly Ministries Church. “Until now. Finally, God has anointed one person to be his emissary to the fallen. The Prophet. By following him, we are reborn. By following him, we will live our lives as God intended. And only through perfect obedience to him will we receive our eternal salvation.”

  “But sisters, I tell you now, be wary! Guard your hearts against sin.” More images—this time unflattering photos of Hillary Clinton, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Michelle Obama, Ellen DeGeneres, Oprah Winfrey, and several others I don’t recognize—flash on the screen. “Sin has put these women above their station.” The voice turns harsher, colder. “Sin has led them to believe their place is lording over men, dominating men, and forcing their evil ideas and desires upon men. The Bible tells us this is not the way. The Apostle, Paul, states clearly in Timothy, ‘I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.’ And the Prophet tells
us that God despises a woman who would seek to make herself a leader of men.” The images flicker to women hanging from trees, women burning at the stake, and others on their knees as men with pistols walk behind them, pulling the triggers.

  My empty stomach churns as more and more violence against women is praised as the righteous end to sinful females.

  “But you.” The voice lightens again. “You are the chosen of God. The blessed among women. Others will seek to harm you because of your purity, because of your perfect obedience.” Footage of men catcalling at a woman on the street, then a man watching a woman through her windows, and finally several clips of women screaming and crying as they are raped fills the screen. “This is what the world would do to you without the protection of the Prophet. This is the evil that thrives outside the gates of Heavenly Ministries. But the Prophet will smite the wicked and lift you up. He is good and true, and will reward you for turning away from sin and falling at his feet.”

  I glance to my right. A Maiden chews on her fingernail, her eyes wide. She nods along with the narrator’s words.

  The Head Spinner hisses at me and points to the screen. I turn back to it and settle in for my morning of “edification.”

  After a lunch of greens, the thinnest pork chop I’ve ever seen, and a tiny side of white rice, we enter the training room. All the usual areas are set up, but there is a new one in the corner. A table with a large white apparatus next to it, along with an older man in a white coat.

  “Hannah, come here.” The Head Spinner strides over to the man. “Remove your dress.”

  He peers over his glasses as Hannah approaches, her dark hair swept up in a tight bun. She slips the dress from her shoulders and steps out of it. The rest of us do the same as we stand in line near the wall of implements.

  “There, the mark of the world is along her skin.” The Head Spinner turns Hannah around so the doctor can examine the ink twirling along her hip.

  “Shouldn’t be too difficult to remove.” He pats the table. “Lie down on your stomach. I’ve got some spray to help ease the pain.”

  “No.” The Head Spinner crosses her arms over her trim waist. “No pain relief. She should feel the sting of the fallen world leaving her.”

  He hesitates.

  “The Prophet wills it,” she adds.

  “Oh.” He nods. “Well, in that case.” He grabs a wand attachment from the machine and flicks a switch. It whirs to life, the digital screen glowing. “Give it a minute to warm up, and we’ll get started.”

  “Delilah,” Chastity whispers and points to the floor. “Come on now.”

  I drop to my knees. She gives me an apologetic pat before placing the dildo in my mouth. It tickles the back of my throat, but I breathe slowly through my nose and fight the gag reflex. A sharp electric snap cuts through the room, and Hannah makes a small noise.

  The Head Spinner lifts her baton.

  Another zap, and Hannah gasps.

  Thwack! The Head Spinner slams the wooden rod against Hannah’s thigh. She shrieks, which earns her another hit.

  The Head Spinner raises the baton and waits.

  Zap. Silence, but I can see Hannah shaking from the corner of my eye.

  “You must be pliant for the Lord. For your Prophet.” Another Spinner walks among the Maidens. “You must use your bodies only to please the Lord. To please the Prophet. You must remain chaste, pure, and clean. Your purpose is to serve the Prophet, to do what he asks, no matter what that might be. In return, he will keep you safe from the wicked world outside these doors.”

  The Spinner scoffs as she makes a circuit of the room. “So many women claiming they were harassed and molested at their workplaces. Me too, they say. What a load of lies. Those whores asked for it, deserved it. They thrive on attention from men, and want to be used up and thrown away. They begged to be defiled, then blamed the men for their own sin. But you don’t have to worry about that. For you are chosen. Protected. Loved. Cherished. No filthy worldly man will ever touch you. Their grime can’t stain you. As long as you follow the Prophet and do as he commands.”

  Chastity leads me to the nearest bench, they call it the ‘horse’, and helps me up. I sit astride it, my ass in the air. I’m exposed. I don’t fuss. The Maidens who balked on the first day still wear those bruises.

  She smears lube all around my asshole. “Relax. Deep breath.”

  I inhale as she presses the plug into place. It hurts at first, then my body accepts it, molds around it. I want to push it out, but I can’t. Instead, I keep breathing through my nose and trying to keep my focus, even when the scent of singed flesh permeates the air.

  Georgia. She’s the only reason I’m here. But I’ve made zero progress toward finding out what happened to her. I underestimated how closely monitored I’d be, how the Cloister would structure my time so that I couldn’t speak to anyone for any length. The locked doors and microchips aren’t enough; the Prophet wants to control every second of every day. He’d begun to haunt my dreams.

  “You can get down.” Chastity takes my hand and helps me to my feet.

  I wince as the plug presses against the inside of my cheeks. But I can’t protest. Not with the gag. Maybe obedience will get me what I want. Playing along, allowing the Cloister to seep in just a little bit—perhaps that’s the way for me to break this place wide open. But that would also mean allowing Adam to bend me to his will. An unwelcome tingle shoots through me at the thought.

  “Delilah.” Another Spinner motions me over to the X where I’d taken my beating. A Maiden is cuffed to it, though her feet remain on the floor. She looks at me over her shoulder, concern arching her brows.

  I give Chastity a glance, but she’s already working with the next Maiden on the horse.

  I walk over to the Spinner who called me.

  She hands me a flogger, the handle braided leather. “Girls, gather ‘round for this lesson.”

  The other Maidens form a semi-circle at my back.

  I hold the flogger by the end, as if it’s dirty and vicious all at once. She glowers and wraps my hand around it. “Cooperate, Maiden. Learning to wield these tools—she gestures toward the wall—is just as important as allowing them to be used on you. Who is your Protector? Adam, right?”

  I nod, my hands shaking.

  “He’s dominant.” She seems a little too impressed. “Very dominant. So these techniques will be of no use to you with him. But—” She pulls me back a step and helps me line up to the Maiden on the X. “There are plenty of men, even some Protectors, who prefer to be on the receiving end. You’ll often find that powerful men have secret desires to be punished.” She steps to the bound Maiden and runs her fingers down her skin. “These areas, here and here, are the most sensitive spots on the back.” She speaks as if she’s going over different cuts of meat on a pig and glances at the Maidens behind me to make sure they’re paying attention. “If he is a true lover of pain, those are the spots to focus on.” Her hands lower to the Maiden’s ass. “Here, you can have a bit broader use of the flogger. Light touches can be playful. Repeated medium or hard touches can verge into pain, or stay there and ramp up.” She steps back. “But the most important thing is for you to read him. Pay attention to his sounds. Listen for when he’s enjoying it. Listen for when he’s perhaps being pushed too far. And make sure that once you get him into the space he wants, you keep him there until it’s over. That is your duty as one of the Prophet’s chosen.”

  One of the Prophet’s whores, you mean. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m gagged.

  “Hit her.” The Spinner clasps her hands in front of her dark skirt and watches.

  I manage a faint slap of the leather against her bottom.

  The Spinner frowns. “Again. Harder. And keep going with it. You can do a figure eight with your wrist or simply twirl it over and over.”

  I give the same effort, barely brushing her.

  “Perhaps Delilah would like for me to give the demonstration.” The Head Spinner’s voice sends
chills up my spine. She’s standing right behind me.

  The Maiden on the X, Ada, throws a wide-eyed look over her shoulder. I can’t let the Head Spinner do to her what she did to me.

  I shake my head again, and step closer, rolling the flogger in my wrist.

  “We’ll see.” The Head Spinner’s low voice urges me onward.

  I swing harder and keep going, the buttery soft leather turning into strips of pain as they hit flesh. The Maiden cries out. I don’t let up, slapping her bare skin again and again with the fronds of the flogger, her skin turning a light rose.

  “Listen to her,” the Spinner instructs.

  Soon, the Maiden is panting, her head lolling back. I go a little easier, then give her a series of full-force strikes. Her cry isn’t the wail of pain. It’s something deeper and just as raw. Desire.

  “You have her.” The Spinner takes the flogger from me. “This is where you want your secretly submissive males to dwell.” She pops her once more, and the girl moans. “Hear that? Ecstasy. There’s a plateau in pain where the most profound pleasure lives. Here, when your subject is pliant, you can get information, plant ideas, and reinforce the love and bounty that flows only from the Prophet. Do you understand?” She reaches around the Maiden, her hand disappearing as the Maiden begins to shake, her breathing growing harder. The Spinner’s arm moves in rhythmic strokes until the Maiden cries out, her pleasure rising and bursting in a crescendo of sparks.

  The Spinner removes her hand and wipes her fingers on her skirt. “And that concludes the lesson for today.”

  Chapter 13

  Adam

  “This isn’t what we agreed on.” I stare at the man sitting across from me, a pile of cash in a black garbage bag on the dingy desk between us. We’re in the basement of a decrepit warehouse near the railroad tracks in downtown Birmingham. No man’s land.

  “That’s all we got. That’s it.” Ratty G shrugs.

  I have no idea what his real name is. I don’t care. All I care about is that he’s short on the money for the heroin we’ve been providing to him and his dealers. It won’t stand. Two of his associates guard the door at his back, their eyes cold, the gunmetal glinting from their hips even colder.