Heartfield Ranch (Communities of Discipline Book 2)

by Fiona Wilde

  “No, go on.” Karen bent down to fiddle with her shoe and Ann Marie walked ahead. Glancing around, she looked to see if anyone else was around, but she was alone. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she turned it on, groaning in frustration when she saw the signal was no better in the barn.

  Karen looked towards the left side of the compound. Perhaps if she went farther out, closer to town, she could get a signal. Sometimes a few hundred yards could make a difference. Glancing toward the hall, she could see people filing in as the winds began to strengthen. Over her head the sky was ominously dark. Early spring brought dangerous storms to the area, and some of them could be severe. Karen felt she needed to check in just in case the landline phone service became disrupted. She wanted her bosses to know that she was OK, that she had not only found Ann Marie but also a locked room that contained “something dangerous.” She suspected weapons.

  She ran towards an open field, looking at her phone every few minutes. The screen still read ‘No Service’ and now the wind was blowing even harder. From somewhere behind her she heard a crash.

  Just a little bit farther, she told herself. Just a little bit farther and if it doesn’t work I’ll try later.

  The sky lit up with lightning and she ducked, suddenly afraid. She was out in the field now and the storm was on top of her. She looked up at the roiling crowds, greenish now and swirling overhead. A drop of rain hit her in the face, and she turned to run for the cover of a tree. But she didn’t get far. Something hit her, and she didn’t see what it was until the tire that knocked her legs out from under her rolled on past, bounced along by the force of the wind. The phone flew out of Karen’s hand and she landed in the dirt as hail began to pelt her back. She was afraid now, out there, unprotected. Around her she could hear the sound of things being blown about, of branches snapping in the distance. She scrambled to her feet, and stumbled towards the tree, limping as she ran on her bruised leg.

  Then she heard something else, the sound of someone calling.

  “Betty! Betty!” It didn’t occur to her that they were calling for her, even when the voice’s owner was beside her, his hand on her shoulder as he spun her to face him.

  It was Clay.

  “What in the world are you doing?” His expression was both angry and concerned. “There’s a tornado coming!”

  Karen looked at him, unable to find an answer. But he wasn’t about to wait for one even if she’d had it to give.

  “Come on!” he yelled, and began to pull her along but stopped when he realized she was limping.

  “I hurt my leg,” she said.

  With a groan of irritation, he picked her up as if she were nothing and –cradling her in his arms – ran. Hailstones were slamming against them now, and Karen marveled at how he could run as fast as he did with the wind whipping and the burden of her body in his arms.

  “I don’t think we’re going to make it to the hall,” he yelled, and turned to sprint toward the barn. He put her down and pulled on the door, which nearly refused to budge against the force of the wind against it. With a groan he pried it open and pulled Karen inside.

  The sound of hailstones pelting the barn was earsplitting as the door slammed shut, and Karen wrapped her arms around her body to try and stop the shivering that had overtaken her.

  “Come on. We need to get to the feed room. It’s the strongest part of the barn.” Clay took her hand and Karen went along, still limping a bit on her sore leg.

  Once inside, she sat down on a feedbag and looked up at the roof, as if expecting it to blow off at any moment.

  “Let me take a look at your leg.” Clay was approaching her now.

  “It’s fine, really,” she said, but changed her mind when she noted the look of grim irritation on his face. This was not a man to be trifled with.

  She stretched out her leg. “It’s fine,” she repeated, but he ignored her as he ran his hand up and down first her calf then her thigh, feeling for broken bones and asking her if it hurt when he squeezed certain areas. She winced but shook her head at each question.

  “It’s just bruised,” he finally announced. You’re lucky.” He paused, and looked at her. “So you want to tell me what on earth possessed you to run out into the field during a storm?”

  Karen paused, her dazed mind trying to come up with a plausible answer.

  “Betty?”

  She looked at him and looked away. “I-I don’t know.”

  “I think you do,” he said. He reached into his pocket. “You dropped this out there.”

  Karen looked down to see he was holding her iPhone cell phone.

  She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

  “You will give me an explanation,” Clay said.

  Karen suddenly felt angry. The tone was demanding. How dare he? she thought. How dare he?

  “I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she said. “I don’t have to give you an explanation if I don’t want to.”

  “I disagree,” said Clay. He looked back at the phone. You show up at our gate in a clunker of a car and claiming to be flat broke, but in possession of what looks like a brand new cell phone. You avail yourself of our hospitality under what I’m beginning to suspect are false pretenses. So yeah, young lady, I do think you owe me an explanation. And you will give me one. I explained the rules to you when we took you in. Maybe outside this place you answered to no one, but as long as you’re here you answer to me. Now, I’m going to count to five. If you don’t start talking you’re going to wish you had. One…”

  “You can’t be serious.” The wind had died down, but the fear Karen felt was renewed, but for a different reason.

  “Two.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “I would have been fine. You didn’t have to come after me.”

  “Three.” Clay’s mouth was a grim line, his eyes intense as he looked at her.

  “So what if I have a cell phone. Is that illegal here, too?” Karen injected bravery into her tone, even though she didn’t feel particularly brave at that moment. Her head was swimming in the unbelievable notion that this man was clearly intent on chastising her like a child if she didn’t tell him what she’d been doing out in the storm with a cell phone in her hand. And she was so flustered; she worried that a lame excuse would blow her cover. She had to hold on. She had to, at least long enough to find out more, to let her superiors know she’d found Ann Marie, to find out what was behind the door just behind Clay.

  “Four.”

  The wind was dying down now, and outside Karen could hear the sound of a loose board flapping against the barn. The danger from the storm was past. But the danger in the barn was not. She had to get out.

  She stood. “If you think I’m going to let you-”

  But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Clay had grabbed her as she tried to move past and was hauling her over to a stack of feedbags. Sitting on them, he pulled her easily across his lap.

  Karen’s mind jumped back to her police academy training, to what she’d been taught to do in an assault.

  With a strength that surprised even her, she jabbed a sharp elbow into her captor’s ribs and was rewarded by an “oomph” from the larger man. Clay momentarily loosened his grip, more from surprise than any real hurt, and Karen took that opportunity to try and escape. But she’d only gotten a few feet towards the door when he grabbed her again, this time pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he said.

  Karen twisted her body to no avail, and realized that Clay had only been using a portion of his strength to hold her initially. Now he had a firmer grip and she thrashed about helplessly as he took his seat again.

  Her legs pin-wheeled as she tried to kick him, but he immobilized them by throwing his own long leg over hers as he positioned her face down over his lap. Karen struggled to free herself but could not find a way. This was one hold that had not been covered in the police academy.

  She was t
orn between panic and fury as Clay rested a hand on her bottom. “Last chance,” he said.

  “Fuck you!” she shot back. If this man thought she was anything like submissive little women he was used to, he had another think coming. So let him hit me, she thought. Just let him. I won’t shed a tear. And when it’s done I’ll have his ass thrown in jail for assault.

  But when his large hand came down – hard- on the seat of her jeans she cried out in spite of herself.

  “I was going to be easy on you,” he said, seeing as how this is your first time. “But you should know you’ve ruined that privilege by fighting and cursing.”

  “Go to hell!” she shot back, unable to keep the fear out of her voice even as she said it.

  His response was to start spanking her with rapid force. And Karen, who’d never been spanked – at least not like this - realized quickly that her plans to remain stoic were short-sighed. The blows hurt. They hurt terribly. And no matter how hard she tried to shift away she could not escape that merciless hand that rose and fell, rose and fell over and over again against the seat of her jeans. The fabric offered little protection against the building sting that started in the middle of her bottom and grew more intense as Clay shifted her forwards to concentrate the smacks on the lower buttocks just above her thighs. Karen was crying now, further angered and humiliated at losing control so easily.

  “Stop!” she cried. “Stop! Oh God please stop!”

  “Have you learned your lesson?” Clay asked between smacks that continued.

  “Let me go!” she screamed.

  “What were you doing out there?” He continued to spank, moving the blows up now again to the middle of her bottom.

  “Nothing! I was just making a phone call!”

  “To who?” He continued to spank.

  “Stop!” She sobbed the word. “Please stop. It hurts! It hurts so much!”

  “There’s only one way to get me to stop,” Clay said, letting the blows land randomly now. Karen bucked as he continued to strike her bottom, which felt like it had been assailed by a hundred beestings. “Tell me what you’re really doing here.”

  Karen could take it no longer. She felt she would die if she didn’t get relief, and there was one way, she knew, to make this man cease.

  “All right” She cried. “All right! I’m a cop, OK? I’m a cop!”

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re a what?” Clay all but pushed Karen off his lap and she stood, angrily wiping her teary face as she fixed him with a withering look.

  “You heard me,” she sputtered, now unconsciously rubbing her sore, throbbing bottom. “I’m a cop. And you’re under arrest for assault. You have the right…”

  Clay began to laugh. “You may have to call for back-up, young lady. Because it’s going to be hard to arrest me one-handed while you rub your backside with the other.”

  Karen’s face grew red with anger. “Don’t you dare mock me,” she said. “And this is no laughing matter. You assaulted me…”

  “I spanked you, Betty,” he said. “If Betty is your real name. I doubt that it is, though.”

  “It’s Karen Patterson. Officer Karen Patterson,” she said. “And it appears that the rumors about this place were correct. A systematic abuse of women, a weapons cache…”

  “Weapons cache?” Clay’s look had changed to one of surprise.

  “Don’t play stupid with me,” she said, pointing at the door behind her. “Ann Marie let it slip that something dangerous is in the room behind you.”

  “In here?” Clay stood up and turned, fishing in his pockets. After a moment he pulled out a key and slipped it on the padlock that secured the door. The lock slid open and he removed it and pushed the door open.

  “Here’s your dangerous stuff, Sherlock,” he said, pointing inside.

  Karen glanced at him and then walked over to look inside. The concrete walled room held fertilizer and weed killer.

  “Some of that stuff can be dangerous to animals and humans,” he said. “That’s why we keep it locked in here. We don’t like to use it, but we have to sometimes.”

  He shut the door and turned back to her. “Just like we don’t like to have to spank our women. But we have to sometimes.” He paused. “And I’ve half a mind to turn you back over my knee for lying to me.”

  Karen backed up, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. They were alone. She had no gun. He had her phone. He’d already proved that he could overwhelm her physically. Her mouth went cotton dry and she shook her head.

  “No,” she said feebly. “No, you won’t. I won’t stand for it.”

  “No?” he asked, coming towards her. “And why not? You’ve already said you were going to have me arrested. I might as well make it worth your while. And you certainly deserve it, coming in to our community on false pretenses, accepting our hospitality all while hoping to dig up some kind of dirt that could get us in trouble. And for what? What’s in it for you, Officer? A promotion? Or did Ann Marie’s parents put pressure on you?”

  Karen looked away, blushing deeply. Clay Sanders was succeeding in making her feel foolish, and it infuriated her not just because he was pushing her buttons, but because he was doing it with the truth.

  “The public has every right to know whether there’s some sort of dangerous group in their midst,” Karen shot back, ignoring his spot-on speculation. “What’s going on here with these women isn’t natural. You know that.”

  “It’s not natural to outsiders, young lady.”

  “Don’t call me ‘young lady!’” Karen raised her voice this time. The power this man had to agitate her, to put her on the defensive, was maddening.

  “I’ll call you what I want.” He spoke the words emphatically, his deep voice sending a chilling stroke down her spine. “And you’d be wise to mind that temper. You’re still at Heartfield, and you came in knowing that you’d answer to me.”

  “I came in undercover,” Karen said. “I only said that to get in here. I do not answer to you.”

  He stood until he was just inches from her. “Yes you do,” he said. Karen backed away, suddenly afraid. “If you don’t believe me, then smart off again.”

  Karen eyed him defiantly, but her knees were shaking under her. She wanted to tell him to go straight to hell, to fuck off, to remind him that if he hit her now it would be not just assault, but assaulting an officer because he knew who she was. But she knew he wasn’t bluffing, and the idea of going back over his knee was not a risk she was willing to take.

  She dropped her gaze.

  “Clever girl,” he said, and then put a finger under her chin, tipping her face up. “Now,” he said, “we’re going outside and you’ll be free to go, but only after you sit down with this community and they get a chance to tell you what you need to know.”

  ***

  The sun was out when they left the barn. When she looked up at the bright blue sky swimming with clouds, it was hard for Karen to believe there had ever been a storm. But when she looked around it as apparent one had visited. The destruction wasn’t bad, but the winds had not left the community unscathed. Awnings had been blown from windows and chickens were everywhere, having fled from a partially collapsed coop.

  Two children were helping Ann Marie gather them back up. When she caught sight of Karen, she smiled.

  “Betty!” she said, running over. “Oh my gosh! I thought you were right behind me. I’m so sorry. Are you OK?”

  Karen felt a pang of guilt. This woman, who barely knew her, was genuinely concerned.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I found my way .. I mean, Clay here showed me to the barn.”

  Jake Markum, Ann Marie’s husband, was walking over now to join the conversation.

  “She just suffered a bruised leg,” Clay said. “And a bruised ego.”

  He looked from Ann Marie to Jake. “Our guest isn’t who she appears to be.”

  “Who is she?” Ann Marie asked, but before Clay could answer, Karen spoke up.

  “I�
��m fully capable of explaining myself,” she said and looked up at the couple. “My name is not Betty Linden. I’m a police officer. My name is Karen Patterson.”

  Ann Marie’s face fell. “Oh lord,” she said. “Did my parents put you up to this?”

  “They pushed for the investigation,” said Karen. She felt guilty when Ann Marie turned away, teary-eyed, to be comforted by her husband.

  “This was the first place Ann Marie said felt like home to her,” Clay said quietly. “I’m sure you’ve been told that she was a high-powered career woman who’s come under some sort of cult-like influence, but she sought us out. When she came to us, she was pretty close to a nervous breakdown from the pressure her job and family was putting on her.”

  “What about the pressure she’s under here?”

  “And what pressure is that?” Clay asked.

  “The pressure to obey,” Karen relied. “To obey or be beaten. Isn’t that pressure? Can’t a person crack under that just as easily?”

  Clay rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Are there rules on the outside? Punishment? What happens if you run a stop sign? Pass a stopped school bus? Fail to pay your taxes? Aren’t there punishments for that?”

  “Well, yes,” Karen replied. “But we agree to those rules. And we agree to the penalties.”

  “And so do we.” Ann Marie had been listening in to the conversation and was now stepping forward. There was no anger in her voice, only a disappointed weariness as she addressed Karen. “I’m not opposed to the society outside of Heartfield,” she continued. “None of us are. But we were all just looking for something different, something more traditional, something we can’t find outside. When I lived in town I was constantly told what to do, even as an adult. ‘File this report’ ‘Assess this skill set’ ‘Attend this function’ –all to meet supposed goals I never even wanted to meet. Do you think someone who is blissfully happy collecting eggs or milking goats could be truly happy rubbing shoulders with people who talk of nothing but their country club memberships? But I was expected to be one of those people, and pushed – even as an adult – by my parents to live the kind of life I knew inside I wasn’t born to live. I was pushed to be their idea of a leader, but learned that ultimately the only way I could really succeed in life was by becoming a follower.”