by Celia Aaron
Sarah hesitates and grabs my hand. “Tell me if you change your mind.”
“I will.” I glance at the bathroom door. “Hurry.”
She darts away, and I close my door, then lean against it. My heart is pounding, and I stand there for a while, listening for trouble. None comes, and before long, I hear the Spinner walking along the dormitory corridor, the wooden boards groaning quietly at intervals.
I return to my bed and pull the covers over my face. Like a burial shroud, it gives me a measure of peace, the sense of finally being alone, of blissful isolation.
The three of them will try to escape. I couldn’t miss the determination in Sarah’s eyes. The feeling of being an animal with its leg caught in a trap, but still thinking it can get free if it only pulls hard enough. It’s not until it bleeds out that it realizes the trap is forever.
Chapter 15
Adam
She sits in the front row with the rest of the Maidens, her head bowed as my father drones on about how all females in the church should be in “perfect obedience” to their husbands at all times. If a wife is having marital issues, personal problems, or so much as a runny nose, it is because she is not in perfect obedience.
The women in the crowd nod along, though some of them—the ones who wear sunglasses more often than not—keep their heads bowed. After all, according to the Prophet, their black eyes and concussions are due to their own faults as wives.
He still preaches the perfect obedience doctrine, even after one member of the congregation forced his pregnant wife to stand outside on the coldest night of the year. “If you are in perfect obedience, you will not be harmed,” he’d told her before going to sleep in their warm bed.
The next morning, she’d lost four toes to frostbite and the baby from the trauma. This was, naturally, her own fault for not being in perfect obedience. At least that’s what my father and the rest of the savages in this building would argue.
“… and the wife shall be blessed. The book of Ephesians tells us, ‘Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.’ There is no ‘except when you don’t feel like it’ in there. Can I get an amen?”
A deeply male rumble of “Amen” rolls through the crowd.
“It doesn’t say ‘obey only when it suits you.’ It doesn’t say ‘obey unless you have a headache.’ The scripture is quite clear on what is required of a wife.”
“Amen.” The crowd affirms the Prophet.
I don’t give two shits what these sheep believe, as long as they pay their tithes on time. My eyes are drawn back to Delilah, her face hidden from me. But I can recall it easily, just like the rest of her. My cock stirs, awakening at the thought of her spread out beneath me, the way her breath hitched as I stroked her tits. It was an act of acute control not to take one of her nipples in my mouth, to finally taste the pale, warm skin that taunts me even now.
Noah walks up beside me, both of us hidden by the stage curtain as my father gets deeper and deeper into the pit of misogyny that leaves his congregation slobbering for more.
“We got a job tonight.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“What?” I intend to spend my evening with Delilah, teasing her until she begs me to eat her pussy.
“Enforcement.”
“Fuck.” I sigh. “Who?”
“We got word that a couple of the deacons have been talking about starting something new. Taking off with a handful of followers. They’ve been doubting the Prophet in secret meetings.”
“How many?”
“No more than twenty.”
“Who’s the ringleader? Davis?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Gut feeling.” I peer into the crowd and stare at one of the Heavenly police officers, Lieutenant Chris Davis. I’ve never spoken to him, but something in his bearing, the way he doesn’t show the deference required for the Prophet—all of it has pinged on my radar a time or two. He’s one of our newest deacons, a lower cog in the Heavenly machine that keeps everything running smoothly. But now he’s out of rhythm. It’s my job to make the necessary adjustments to keep this operation singing.
I’m up for it. “Jump him after Dad’s finished blowing smoke?”
“Yeah.”
I glance at my brother. Usually, he might scold me for a negative reference to our father where others might hear. This time, though, he’s stone-faced. My father’s easy condemnation of Noah’s pet Gregory seems to have wised him up a bit. Or maybe he’s just tired of trying to fix me when I’m too far gone.
We stay at the edge of the stage for a few more minutes, my gaze always drawn back to Delilah. No veil today, her hair is roped up into a prim bun at the crown of her head, just like all the others. As if she can feel my stare, she lifts her head slightly, her eyes glinting as she looks right at me.
Nothing crosses her features to give her away. A blank slate, or perhaps a mirror reflecting back nothing more than what it sees. Slowly, she lowers her gaze back to her folded hands.
“I’m telling you there’s something off about yours.” Noah elbows me.
“She’s just another stupid fly caught in our father’s web.” I shrug off his words, though of course, I silently agree with him. “Let’s go give that shit-talking cop a surprise.”
My fist vibrates as it crunches into Davis’s nose. His bones break, mine merely sing a jolly tune as I swing again, this time grinding my knuckles into his eye socket as he screams.
He’s defenseless, though it took a good bit of work to get him this way. He put up a fight when Noah and I pushed him into the back of a Heavenly Mercedes.
“You can’t manhandle me like this.” He fumed in the backseat.
I held up his service pistol. “I suggest you shut the fuck up.”
“Your father won’t let you—”
I chambered a round, the action smooth and as natural as breathing to me. “The more you say, the worse it’s going to get for you. Besides, I suspect you’ve already said enough. When was the last meetup, Noah?”
“Two nights ago, at his house. He had a handful of other deacons over.”
I turned around and grinned at him as he blanched.
“H-how did you—”
I tapped the side of the barrel to my temple. “Psychic.”
We’d taken him to a gravel circle on the backside of the property, the one with the three sturdy crosses on one side. No one would hear us. And Davis would have nowhere to run.
He’d been a challenge at first, all swinging fists and aggression. I let him wear himself out, then went in for the kill, tackling him to the ground. Once I had him pinned, I went to work. Noah began recording with his phone as Davis’s blood coated my knuckles, his cries rising into the night air but never making it to God’s ears.
Each hit sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. Something akin to arousal. And I know it’s fucked up and wrong, but pure violence is one of the only things that can make me feel alive. My thoughts flicker to Delilah. Something new there. She gives me a taste of what I’m feeling now, too. Adrenaline, pleasure, and the primal need to dominate.
“Adam!” Noah shoves my shoulder, and I realize he’s been calling my name for a while. He points to the crosses. “Should we …”
“No. This is enough.” I stand and shake some of the blood off my fists, then address the camera. “Davis will live... This time.” I kick him in the ribs.
He howls and curls into the fetal position. Blood oozes from his mouth in a long string of crimson.
“Unless you’re even dumber than I think, you’ll see that this is a warning. We know who you are. We know your wives and your children. You have a nice house? It can be gone just like that.” I snap my fingers. “Do you think your wife will stay with you if the Prophet casts you out? Think again. Do you think Judge Proctor—who never misses a Sunday—will grant you custody of your children when your wife leaves you for another man who is obedient to the Prophet?” I turn back to Davis and drop down on my
haunches. “You understand, don’t you Davis?”
When he doesn’t respond, I grab a handful of his blond hair and yank his bloodied head back. “I said, do you understand?”
“Yes!” A red bubble pops on his lips as he screams the correct answer.
“Good.” I rise and pull a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my hands. “I think we all know the score from here on out.”
Noah stops the recording and pockets his cell phone. We walk to the car in silence, get in, and drive away.
“I’ll send someone to pick him up.” Noah lets out a deep sigh. “I hate doing this.”
I can’t say I hated it. The ache in my knuckles reminds me I’m on top. I’m the one walking away from that scrap without a drop of my own blood spilled. “Davis should have known better. Disobedience has consequences.” That is a truth both Noah and I know all too well. A memory of my mother howling in pain threatens to surface, but I drown it, pushing it beneath the dark waters until nothing ripples along my surface.
“Right.” He drums his palm on the steering wheel. “I know. Fuck.”
“Drop me at the Cloister.”
He glances at the clock. “Kinda late for that, isn’t it?”
“Just drop me.” I’ve already had my violence for the night. Now I need another type of high. And there is only one person that will do.
Chapter 16
Delilah
He didn’t come. I brush my hair out and stare at myself in the mirror. Why didn’t he come?
I should have been happy, ecstatic that I was able to spend the evening unmolested, but a nagging itch at the back of my mind kept me from breathing easy. He’d been watching me during the evening service, his eyes dark pools of malice. And I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at him every now and then. Maybe there was enough of a connection between us that I could use it somehow. He could be the key to me finding out what happened to Georgia and getting vengeance. But if he doesn’t show up for my evening “training,” how can I get close to him?
I shake my head at my reflection. Smoothing the soft waves in my hair is impossible, so I give up after another few moments and toss my brush down with an admittedly self-indulgent huff.
The dormitories are quiet, the earlier smattering of crying now silent. Some of the girls have it far worse than I do. The Protectors—the cruelty of calling them that isn’t lost on me—all seem to have a sadistic streak. Even Noah, Adam’s younger brother who often looks at me with kind, if curious eyes. His Maiden doesn’t sport bruises, but she’s quiet and withdrawn. Then again, being thrust into this vicious world when you thought you were going to be treated with kid gloves can do that to a person.
I sit on my bed, the rough sheets and lumpy mattress my favorite haven. With one more glance at the door, I lie down and adjust to the quiet. Despair seeps through the cracks in the walls, under the door, and coats every filament in the room. I can’t hear the whimpering, but I know there are Maidens crying. They always cry at night.
Heavy footsteps in the hall set me on high alert, and I jolt upright. My lock clicks, and the door swings open so fiercely it bangs against the wall.
The devil strides in, blood on his white shirt and coating his hands.
I can’t scream, my lungs frozen, as he slams the door behind him and stalks to my bathroom. My water turns on, and I turn to find him stripping his suit coat off, quickly followed by his shirt. Gauze wraps around his torso, as if someone started making him a mummy and got distracted. When he holds his fists under the water, a low grunt of pain, or perhaps satisfaction, lofts from him.
“Fuck.” He leans on the sink, his head hanging.
Taut. Dangerous. But in the low light, I see something else. It’s unexpected. I think for a moment I’m imagining it, or maybe I’m willing it into existence. But it’s there. And when I recognize it, my lungs drag in air, and I throw my blanket off and creep over to him.
He fills his hands and runs the water through his hair, the dark strands dripping onto his shoulders as his breath heaves in and out. Something happened. Something bad.
“Adam?” My voice is small compared to him, to how he fills the room, my mind, and every molecule of air.
He simply stares at himself in the mirror. Hatred pours from him in waves.
It takes every ounce of courage in my body, but I reach out. Slowly. As if I’m trying to test a wild animal and see if I come away with my hand intact. My heart slows, and everything stops when my fingertips make contact with his shoulder.
He stills. Every bit of tension in him drawing tight, so tight that it might snap and break both of us.
Then he turns and grabs me, yanking me to him and taking my mouth. His kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t a request. Or even a demand. It’s a total and complete annihilation of me, and the creation of us. He wads my dress in his fists, pulling the fabric tight around me as he presses me against the doorframe.
The scrape of his skin against mine is rough, vicious just like him. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down until I open my mouth at the sting of pain. His tongue darts in, taking advantage and owning me with sure strokes. When he slides his hands down my sides and grips my ass hard enough to hurt, I gasp. He doesn’t stop, just lifts me with ease, forcing me to wrap my legs around his hips as his mouth destroys me and remakes me into something new. Something that needs and needs and needs.
I open my mouth wider, giving myself over to that emotion, that all-encompassing desire for him that’s just as wrong as it is irresistible. He slants his head over me, his hands massaging my ass and sliding closer to my center. I grip his shoulders, his skin slick and hot, and dig my nails in. His groan courses through my veins, ending in the growing wetness between my thighs.
His lips are brutal, and I can’t get enough. My tongue wars with his, but mine is a grazing offensive. A paltry defense to his overwhelming force. I give him what he wants, what I want. Like an animal, he senses when he’s won, when his prey has finally given in and given up, ready to offer up its own blood to the hungry victor. With a low growl he, presses his body into me, his clothed length hard against my bare center.
I press my legs against his hips, anything to ease the ache he’s stoked in me. His hands slide lower, and when he strokes my wet center, I moan. I can’t breathe, my world is spinning, but I don’t want this to stop. He thrusts against me, his cock aligned with my clit, his fingers rubbing my hot flesh and teasing at my entrance.
When he breaks our kiss, I inhale deeply. When he bites my neck, I can’t stop the obscene sound that flows from me.
“Again,” he grunts against me, then bites my shoulder, clamping down like an alligator. I want him to drag me down, to drown me in him. I run my hands through his wet hair as he licks his bite then sucks my throat. His fingers continue to tease. I roll my hips along with him, not caring that I’m getting my arousal all over his pants.
I drag my nails down his shoulders, but the gauze around his chest stops me from going farther. When I touch it, he freezes, as if that white strip is the third rail.
“Adam.” I don’t recognize my voice, or the girl pressed up against the wall who wants nothing more than to be dominated by the monster holding her close.
“Stop.” He puts me down and steps back.
The tension is back, his shoulders tight. Whatever world we’d just made together crumbles right in front of me.
“Ada—”
“Go to bed.” His voice is a steady snarl, but his eyes hungrily trace the lines of my body.
I step toward him, trying to get that connection back.
“Go.” He grabs my wrist and squeezes until it hurts. “Now.”
I wince and pull my hand away. He’s changed. The monster is back to the fore, his violence no longer promising pleasure.
Backing away, I keep my gaze on him as I slide under my blanket. He slams my bathroom door. A roar comes soon after and my wall shakes. I don’t dare get up. Not when he looked at me as if I were his enemy.
<
br /> He opens the door right as a Spinner barges in.
“What was tha—”
“This was my fault.” He pushes past her, his shirt on but unbuttoned. “No punishment for Delilah or there’ll be hell to pay.” He disappears into the dormitory hall as the Spinner hurries into my bathroom.
“Oh, dear.” She wrings her hands. “The Prophet won’t care for this at all.”
I get up and follow her into the bathroom.
“Your dress.” She points.
Crimson hand prints appear at my hips like a grisly tie-dye.
But that doesn’t take my focus. My mirror is smashed, a bloody smear in the center of the shattered reflection. I stare, half of my face looking back at me, a crimson gash across the image.
Broken.
It’s what I saw in him earlier. His truth that echoed inside the darkest parts of my soul.
Just like me, he’s broken.
Chapter 17
Delilah
Training the next day comes with a new set of lessons. Ones that—even though I knew what the Cloister was—never occurred to me.
“Some men—” The Spinner walks back and forth in front of the group, a plastic sheet crackling under her feet. Her hands are clasped behind her back, the knuckles turning white. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s nervous, perhaps uncomfortable. She clears her throat. “Some men prefer what is referred to as ‘water sports.’”
Half the maidens groan; the other half has no idea what she means. Now the plastic sheet makes sense. Jesus.
“In particular, the current governor of Tennessee, who is married to one of our former Maidens, is very much into this particular practice. It’s far more common among powerful men than you’d think.” She can’t seem to stop clearing her throat. “So, this is something that we need to add to our curriculum.”
“You want us to get peed on?” Susannah blurts.