by MJ Compton
“You.” Mattie pointed at Lucy. “Go to the root cellar and requisition more carrots.”
“Me?” Lucy’s voice squeaked. “What happened to all the food I brought with me?” She hadn’t glimpsed the oversized red coolers since they’d passed her on their way in.
“Do you think you’re too good to run errands?”
The woman was out of her mind. Lucy would do anything to get out of the sweltering cook house. Maybe she could even detour to Michelle’s cabin.
Cool air washed over her the moment she stepped out the door, turning her damp flesh clammy. She shivered then held the secret-transmitter ring to her lips and whispered her approximate location into the crystal. This was the first chance she’d had to communicate with Hank since coming inside. Until now, someone had hovered close to her, as if Randy had instructed his goons not to leave her alone.
“Is Stoker okay?” she whispered, blinking back a sudden swell of tears. “Tell him . . . tell him I’m sorry, and I hope to see him soon.” The ache in the back of her throat deepened as she tried to compose herself.
She stumbled to the root cellar, which was little more than a heavy steel bulkhead set atop a few weathered planks in a mound of dirt.
Lucy needed both hands to lift the door. It squealed open, revealing a small black hole. She shuddered. Lightless, airless, cramped–the perfect torture chamber for a claustrophobic. She hurried about her business, using the narrow shaft of sunlight to locate the meager supply of carrots.
Her thoughts warred between the subjects she didn’t want to think about if she wanted to retain her composure: Michelle, being trapped in the root cellar, and Stoker’s head injury.
He’d been hit hard enough to knock him out. Werewolves might claim superior strength, but his skull could still fracture and cause brain damage. She didn’t think she could bear it if his injury were serious. She needed to know he was alive, that he would and could survive the assault. That maybe they really did have a future together.
“I wished this transmitter worked two ways,” she whispered.
“Who are you talking to?”
The sharp question shot through the darkness, startling Lucy. “Ouch!” she said, as she barked her shin on something sharp. “I’m talking to myself.”
“Then you’re alone.” Bill stooped in the opening.
Lucy’s heart landed in her throat. “Mattie needs these right away.” She brandished the limp carrots like a weapon. Her lungs started to freeze in their panic mode. Bill had her cornered in the dark, airless . . .
“You and I need to talk. Soon.” He glanced over his shoulder then lowered his voice. He didn’t sound like himself at all. “Privately. Meet me tonight after the evening meal, behind the cook house.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucy said. Hopefully Stoker–or somebody–would have extracted her by then. She didn’t think she could survive the night in New Sinai. Between Randy and Bill, her odds weren’t good.
“Quit sniffing after my assistant.” Relief welled as Lucy heard Mattie’s rough tones. Saved by the belligerent.
“You forget your place, woman,” Bill snarled, but he left the root cellar.
Lucy scurried up the dirt steps on shaking legs.
Mattie narrowed her eyes. “You’re as white as a ghost.”
“Bill frightens me,” Lucy admitted.
Mattie didn’t respond.
So much for trying to see Michelle. At least she’d sent a message to her husband.
Her husband.
The phrase sliced through her. Stoker had to be okay. He didn’t deserve to suffer because her plan had backfired. The fake reception had been her baby from inception to failure. She had no one to blame for her current predicament except herself, and when Stoker had been bushwhacked, she’d brought down the innocent with her.
If she and Stoker got out of this intact, she had a lot to make up to him. If last night were any example, making up with him wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.
If they could survive this, they could survive anything.
“The General,” Mattie said, interrupting her thoughts, “wants to see you.”
An acolyte ushered Lucy into her brother-in-law’s office.
Randy didn’t bother to stand. He didn’t even bother to look her in the eye. His gaze immediately went to her left hand. “Is that diamond real?” he asked.
She put her hand behind her back. “Well, hello to you, too. Where’s my sister?”
His eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. “The piano player gave you a diamond?”
She ignored him. “I want to see my sister.”
He sighed and leaned back in his seat, his watery gaze never leaving her.
There were no other chairs in the room. Those summoned stood until dismissed. Were it anyone else, Lucy would have perched on the corner of the desk for the annoyance factor alone.
The door opened. She turned, hoping to see Michelle, but instead came face-to-face with Bill Danby.
“Let’s get this wedding out of the way,” Bill said.
“I’ve rethought the arrangement,” Randy replied.
“You said I could marry her,” Bill said, while Lucy waved her ring and said, “I’m already married.”
“I’ve reconsidered.” Randy’s eyes took on a distant glaze, as if he were studying something deep inside himself.
Not good.
“I’ve decided to marry her myself.”
Lucy’s heart turned to lead and plummeted to her knotted stomach. “I’m already married,” she stammered.
“You already have a wife,” Bill said.
“She’s too pregnant to be of any use to me right now.”
Lucy was going to be sick. She was going to heave all over Randy’s desk, floor, and with luck, him.
“Besides,” he continued as if oblivious to the shock of the others in the room, “Lucy is my sister-in-law. I have a Biblical obligation to her.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, finally finding her voice in her tightly constricted throat. “I’m married, not widowed.”
He turned his gaze on her. “Your alleged marriage to the piano player isn’t valid here, but if it bothers you that much, he can die.” He nodded, as if pleased with himself. “Jacob took sisters to wife. Leah and Rachel. He founded a great nation. I must do the same.”
Lucy took a step back. She hadn’t foreseen this at all. “I have a better idea. I’ll give you my trust fund in exchange for Michelle, and we’ll call it even.”
The glaze in his eyes turned fervent, wild. “You would buy your sister?”
Lucy nodded. “And my car. I see you’ve commandeered that.”
“There is no private property here.”
“Yeah, I noticed your acolytes are wearing my clothes. But that’s okay,” she hastened to add. “Let Michelle leave with me, and you can have everything else, even the car.”
The bristle on his chin quivered. “And my son? Do you honestly believe I would let you take my son?”
She bit her lip to keep from blurting out that the ATF had his number, that there was a task force right outside his gate.
“What about me?” Bill asked.
“You’re a tool. An instrument. I’ll find another use for you.” Randy turned away from Bill.
“But this is the one that suits me,” Bill persisted.
“Dismissed.” Randy waved his hand as if shooing a fly.
Bill hesitated, teetering on the edge of argument, before slamming the door as he departed.
“I won’t marry you,” Lucy said. “New Sinai isn’t my destiny.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand your destiny.”
Oh, no. If he went into his almighty-prophet-mode, she’d start screaming, and this time, s
he might not be able to stop.
“What about my offer? If you have my money, you can marry all the willing and available women you want. I’m neither.”
“Because you know our marriage won’t be like your past relationships. You need a strong man, not a tycoon-wanna-be or a piano player. Isn’t that why you came here?”
“I’m here because Michelle invited me,” she reminded him.
“Your sister chose life as my wife. You must accept that.”
“Fine,” she said. “And I chose life with Stoker.” Something fizzed and popped in her chest, like champagne bubbles, and she knew it was true. Stoker would always win with her.
“You know,” she said, “my trust fund is an issue. Stoker claims he doesn’t care about the money, but all I can think about is Charles.”
And you.
“So I figured if I gave my money to you, I could see if Stoker means what he says.”
Randy’s eyes gleamed. “Your heart is right, but forget him. Your place is with Michelle, at my side.” He pushed away from his desk and stood. “All your chatter is wasting time. Return to the cook house.”
Hopefully, Stoker and the rest of the pack would rescue her before Randy performed one of his bogus rituals. If Stoker wasn’t too badly hurt. Randy might want a second wife, but she had no need or desire for a second husband. She was barely getting used to the first one.
Hurrying out of the office, she walked smack into Bill, who purposely stepped into her path. He grabbed her arm, hairy knuckles brushing the side of her breast. “We’re not done. I have things I need to say to you, and I need to say them in private.”
“Are you going to disobey a direct order from your General?” She glared at him then paused.
Maybe there was some way she could play Bill against Randy. She’d do almost anything to disrupt Randy’s plans. She needed time, but what she really needed was Stoker.
“Not everything is what it seems.” Danby’s words were so low, she barely caught them. “Meet me later. You need to know what’s really going on.”
“I want to see Michelle.” Lucy dug her toes into the dirt at the base of the rough wooden steps leading to Randy and Michelle’s quarters.
Little more than a shack, the cabin was the most luxurious dwelling in the compound. Lucy had stayed there before escaping. Mattie told her that Randy had been so enraged when she hadn’t returned he’d thrown her belongings out the front door. The women had pounced on Lucy’s better-than-average wardrobe.
The soldier crossed his arms over his chest, planted his wide-spread legs, and glared at her.
“I’m her sister.”
“She ain’t here.” He hawked and spat, the globule of spittle landing inches from her bare foot.
A strong hand grasped her upper arm and spun her around.
She shrieked, then recognized Bill. “Don’t sneak up on me, and don’t touch me!” She wrenched her arm out of his grip.
“I told you, I need to talk to you.” He glanced at the stone-faced soldier. “Come with me.”
As if she’d go anywhere alone with him. “I don’t think so.” She rubbed her arm, trying to erase the imprint of his touch.
“You want to find yourself second wife to your sister?”
She didn’t bother suppressing her shudder. “It won’t happen.”
“Tell him you want to marry me instead. I can protect you.”
“I can’t marry either of you.” Lying wouldn’t delay Randy’s timetable or alter his plans. And she was getting weary of repeating herself. “I’m already married.”
“Not in the General’s view,” Danby reminded her.
“Is there a problem?” Randy strode toward them, surrounded by a quartet of personal bodyguards. He called them advisors, but they were armed as if they lived in a war zone. “I ordered you back to the cook house, Lucy.”
“I want to see my sister,” Lucy snapped.
“Michelle has chores,” Randy said. “As do you.”
He turned to Bill. “Take Lucy back to the cook house.”
Outrage surged through her. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Michelle.”
Anger flared in Randy’s eyes. His beard bristled. “You returned here voluntarily, and you will do as you’re told.”
The gleam in his eyes frightened her.
“You are now a citizen of New Sinai, and as such, you will pull your weight. And if you think being my wife will lighten your duties, you are mistaken. One of your responsibilities is to set an example for the other women, as Michelle does.”
Lucy wasn’t a woman who’d never washed a dish, swept a floor, or peeled a potato, but servitude–slavery—to Randy was out of the question.
“I’m not one of your citizens,” she said in a low voice as she tried to control her temper. “I’m not going to marry you, and I’m not staying.”
Before Randy could open his mouth, one of his advisor’s walky-talky crackled. “The General is required at the gate.”
“Take Lucy to Mattie,” Randy instructed Bill. Flanked by his bodyguards, he turned and strode away.
Bill reached for her, but she evaded his grasp. “A lot of women here would be willing to marry me,” he said.
“A lot more would prefer Randy’s attention,” she replied. She stalked around him and the end of the porch, where the armed guard stood as expressionless as a tombstone.
Bill followed, preventing her from whispering another message into the ring. “I’m not a bad man,” he said. “Compared to the General, I’m easy going. I’m safe. You have no idea how safe I can be for you.”
Lucy paused and looked at him. His rank odor, desert-camouflage T-shirt , and filthy jeans repulsed her. Give her a werewolf any night of the month.
“I believe you,” she said. “But even if I weren’t already married–which I am–I could never be supportive of a man who commits treason against my country, which is the United States, not New Sinai. A man like you deserves a woman who can appreciate your convictions, whereas I despise them.”
“It’s not what you think.”
She waved him off. “Have a nice life, Bill.”
Stoker’s head throbbed, and he could barely stand, but he wasn’t about to slink off with his tail between his legs. Only the shouted threat of driving the band bus through the gate had opened them and summoned Butler. Stoker crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the short man with the big ego. “I want my wife,” he growled.
The little pissant in charge of this slice of hell raised his chin. “Lucy returned to New Sinai voluntarily.”
Hank muttered something, but Stoker ignored him.
“Lucy and I got married yesterday, and we came so her sister could celebrate our happiness. Now, are you going to get my wife for me, or do I have to do something drastic?”
“Your alleged marriage means nothing here. Lucy is back where she belongs.” Butler said. “I suggest you leave before one of the guards shoots you for trespassing.”
Stoker caught a whiff of Lucy. April morning, sunshine and sweet spring grass. . . all overshadowed by fear and anger, much the same as the night they’d met.
He’d failed her. She considered him the best of her bad options, and he’d failed to protect her from Butler.
Hank stood completely still, his stance rigid, and his gaze fixed on something behind the faux general: a small, extremely pregnant yellow-haired woman who could only be Michelle.
Seeing her was almost like a preview of how Lucy would look heavy with his child.
Michelle dragged a heavy bucket across the compound.
Stoker revised his opinion. Lucy wouldn’t look as downtrodden as Michelle when she was pregnant. He would die ensuring that.
Using every ounce of will power within hi
m, Stoker forced himself to glare at Butler. “My wife is concerned about her sister. With good reason, it appears. Why is a pregnant woman hauling something that heavy?”
Butler shrugged. “She wanted a bath. Everyone here pulls their own weight.”