by Celia Aaron
“Shut up.” I blink through my tears but can’t look away from the screen. Mom’s arms are drawn out beside her, tied down just as I was. The drip flashes through the dark at the same interval, and I can feel the water drilling into my skull right along with hers. It broke me, but my mother is already shattered. What will this do to her? “Let her go.”
“You don’t give the orders around here, freak.”
“I’ll do what you want. Just let her go.”
“Oh, the time for bargaining has passed.” She circles back around to her desk and grabs the remote. “You will do as you’re told when you’re told. If you do, your mother will remain in the Rectory. Unharmed.”
“Unharmed?” My voice rises on the tide of panic. “You call that unharmed?”
“I call that uncomfortable.” She clicks the remote and the screen changes to a room with a handful of men sitting around playing cards. “I call this true punishment. These guards are off duty at the moment, but one call from me will have them on their way to the Rectory. I figure it would only take one or two to hold her down while they take turns. Then again, she’s so thin now from the addiction, they probably wouldn’t have to work at it. Maybe she’d beg them to do it as long as they promised her a hit.”
In all this time, I knew Grace was a monster. I’ve seen what she’s capable of. But this cuts me, dragging a dull knife across the deepest parts of me.
“You can’t do this,” I repeat dumbly.
“I can. And what’s more, I would make you watch what they do to her. I’d watch, too, and love every minute of it. Because it’s justice. Because she has it coming to her just like you do. The Lord rejoices when sluts like you and your bitch of a mother get what they deserve.”
The desire to fly at her, to try and strangle her with my bare hands almost overwhelms me. But that image of my mother going through the same hell I went through keeps me in my seat.
“I’ve seen your file.” She sits down in her chair but leaves the video of the men playing on the monitor behind her. “Your mother gave up on you. She cared more about getting high than you. If I had a mother like that, this—” she waves her hand at the screen “—wouldn’t burn me too badly. Which is what I told the Prophet when he suggested we take her and bring her here. ‘There’s no way this will work,’ I told him. Respectfully, of course. But he disagreed.” She points at me. “He knew you were weak and sentimental. And he was right. Look at you. Blubbering over poor addicted, whoring mommy who doesn’t give two shits about you.”
“Shut your mouth.” I dig my nails into the arms of the chair.
“I won’t. And I’d watch my tone if I were you.” She opens her drawer and pulls out a black binder, then slides it across to me. “We need to get started on our lessons for the day. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Prophet, not when your mom’s on the line.”
I stare at the black binder as Grace watches me with hawkish eyes. What little choice I thought I had has vanished into the ether. I reach out a shaking hand and take the notebook, settling it into my lap.
“Good.” She folds her hands on the desk. “Let’s talk about your future husband.”
I open the binder. But I do something else, too. I make a decision. Killing my sister’s murderer isn’t enough anymore. Torching Heavenly isn’t enough. If I want to destroy the evil, I have to start with the base of the tree and cut it down, then dig out the roots one by one, and salt the earth when I’m done. Each piece of it must wither and die, and I have to be sure that nothing will ever grow in this place again.
“He enjoys watching other men fuck his toys.” Her grin spreads wide across her face. “Did you know that? You’re going to be ripped apart by strangers while he films it.” She points to the binder. “Flip to the third tab. We have stills from a few videos. Research material for you.”
I hold her gaze for one more moment, a silent message on the air between us—her, transmitting smug power; me, transmitting the truth.
You’ll be the first to die.
Chapter 12
Noah
“If you know where he is and you aren’t telling me.” My father’s eyes dart around his office, his dark irises huge. “You know. You’re probably the one who took him. You must know!”
I wish I did. But I’ve gotten nowhere on trying to figure it out. “Dad, if I knew, I’d tell you.” Pants decidedly on fire.
He swipes his hand across his desk, knocking off a paperweight and some documents, though he’s careful not to scatter his precious coke container. “Castro! Bring Rachel!”
“Dad. I swear I don’t know.” I scrub a hand down my face, my several days’ worth of beard scratching my palm. “I was with you when he was taken, remember?”
“You were?” He sits down, his shoulders slumping. “That’s right.” He waves a hand at Castro who’d headed for the door. “Forget it.”
The iron band around my heart relaxes as Castro re-takes his seat.
My father stares at me, and I wonder if he’s slept at all. When he found out Adam was gone, he sent every one of his minions out onto the compound. Every building has been searched, and the grounds have been combed by men with dogs. A trail led away from the cross, into the woods, and onto the road, but then it vanished. Whoever took Adam had access to a vehicle.
“You could still know.” Dad’s words come out in a mumble.
“I don’t.” I shrug and hold his gaze.
“I want the grounds searched again. He has to be out there somewhere. Maybe—I don’t know—maybe he’s hiding out on the land you’re about to clear for farming. Maybe he hopes that you’ll find him.”
I could point out that there’s no way Adam would survive out in the cold—no food, no water, no shelter—but I don’t. “I’ll have some men go through the area again.”
“I want him found today!” He fumbles for his cross-shaped box of white powder. “This is a disgrace. An affront to me, to the Lord, to the Father of Fire. Whoever took him will be up on the cross next to him.” He points at me. “Do you understand? I want that traitor found and nailed up like the thief he is. No mercy for him. No mercy for anyone who seeks to undermine my will. I am the Prophet of the Lord!”
It’s amazing to me that I believed in him for as long as I did. Watching him now—an old man, unhinged and addicted—I can’t link him to the all-powerful Prophet that I thought he was. Instead, he’s a decrepit monster, one who preys on young, hopeful women, with big dreams and bright eyes. What’s worse, I’ve been a part of it all along. I may not have killed Georgia, but I didn’t stop all the bad things from happening to her. I could have saved her a million times over, but I never did. Because I was a fool. Because I believed that this broken down man in front of me, snorting cocaine with a practiced sniff, was holy. Now I know that, if anything, he’s evil incarnate.
Maybe my hatred shows on my face, because he narrows his eyes at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not looking at you like anything. Just thinking about all the discipline my new Maiden requires.”
His face sours even more. “That bitch is a fucking pestilence. Nothing but trouble from the moment she got here. Ruined my son. Tried to ruin this deal with the senator. What was she on about last night? I saw her hit you. But you got her in line eventually.” He points at me. “A firm hand Noah. No leash for that one. She has to be ready for her post. The senator is too important.”
“I can’t believe he still wants her.”
“He does, but he’s a fool for it. She’ll poison him the same way she did Adam if we don’t get her under control.” He finishes his coke communion, then leans back, his mood growing lighter. “But I’ve got her under my thumb now. She’ll fall in line.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I found her pressure point.”
I swallow hard—anything he does to her is going to complicate things for me. I promised Adam I’d look out for her. Do I see a way to do that? No. Not right now, but a promi
se is a promise.
“I have her mother over at the Rectory.” An easy smile takes over as the coke hits his bloodstream. “Leverage.”
Complication? Check.
I stand and stretch. “Well, it’s time for my visit. I’ll see if she’s more inclined to be a good girl.”
“No marks,” he warns. “Now that she’s damaged, we need to keep her as clean as we can for Senator Roberts. He’s not too happy with the delay, so we need to mitigate that with other things. No marks …” He taps his fingers on the desk. “And don’t fuck her in the ass. I don’t want any evidence that she’s been touched more than she has been already.”
I feign outrage. “But Dad, if I can’t—”
“I said no.” His voice remains gentle, as if he knows what a crushing blow this is to me. “But you can still have her suck your cock. That doesn’t leave a mark.”
I sigh. “I guess I’ll have to live with that.”
“That’s a good boy.” He nods. “You always were my favorite, you know?”
His favorite because I’m dumb and gullible. Yeah, I know. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll get to it, if that’s all right with you?”
“A firm hand, don’t forget.” He waves me away.
“Yes, sir.” I stride out and head down to the basement, my body loosening with each step. Just being near him bunches my muscles, twists them until it almost feels like a cramp.
“Hey.” Castro follows me down the steps.
Shit. I don’t know what he wants, but it can’t be anything good. Then again, maybe he knows where Adam is?
“Outside.” He pushes through the back door near the bar, and we step out into the cold night.
“What?” I keep my voice down and lean against the brick wall.
“Your mother has a message for you.” He pulls a pack of cigs from his pocket and offers me one.
I shake my head. I love my nicotine, but I have standards about who I’ll share a smoke with. “What’s the message?”
He takes a long drag. “She knows where Adam is.”
“She took him?”
“No.” He blows the smoke up until it forms a plume above his head, a comic bubble over an idiot character. “But we know who did. He’s on the compound.”
“Where?”
“That’s not important. What you need to know is that the plan is still on. Everything will be in place for a smooth transition. Now that Adam is safe—pendejo.” He spits, then continues, “Rachel still wants him to lead. But, if he can’t, she’ll make you the new Prophet. Either way, the old Prophet will be gone, and she will be in charge. Understand?”
“I’m not Prophet material.”
“Neither is your puta brother, but it is what it is.” He shrugs. “That’s what she wants, and I’m going to give it to her.”
“When is all this supposed to go down?”
His gaze shifts away. “Soon.”
“Like tomorrow soon or next week soon?”
“Soon. Your mother has it all well in hand, and I’ll be there beside her taking care of business.”
“Why? I mean, why are you backing her?” I stare at him. Castro is maybe forty, dark hair, fit build. I can’t say he’s attractive—mainly because I’m almost certain I hate his guts—but he could find a woman, settle down, maybe have some kids that take after him and turn into total assholes. Mom isn’t ugly or anything, but the two of them together doesn’t make sense to me.
He takes another long drag, though he keeps his eyes on me. “For years, I’ve served your father. For years, he doesn’t make me a Protector. When he promoted Zion, that should have been my time. When that fucker Newell got popped, that was definitely the time. He should have done it then. Instead, he promotes that piece of shit Trey. Not me. Not the one who’s been there day in and day out for years.”
“So, you’re jealous of Zion and Trey.”
He flicks the cigarette. “Sometimes I think you’re just as dumb as your brother.”
“Douche.” It’s a reflex.
He shakes his head. “Jealous? No. I’m righteous. Your mother knows I’m worthy. She treats me with the respect I deserve. She doesn’t hold this against me.” He gestures to his face. “Doesn’t care where I come from or who my parents were.”
It clicks when he says that. For years, my father has been privately teaching what Adam calls “white supremacy for dummies.” It’s not the in-your-face pointy hats and cross-burning, but there’s a reason why all the Maidens are white. Even when we opened a Heavenly branch in the poorer section of Birmingham, it was just for appearances. Nothing more. My father wanted to stop the influx of all people of color to the main Heavenly campus. “Build them their own church, collect their tithes, and that’s it,” he’d said. “Problem solved.”
“You aren’t better than me. Your pendejo brother is certainly not better than me. Your mother knows that. She sees that I can lead.” He straightens, his chest puffing a bit. “That’s what this is about.”
I scratch my jaw. “Okay, then. I get it now. So you’re jealous and mad that Dad discriminates.”
He throws his hands up and launches into a litany of curses in Spanish, then opens the back door, walks in, and slams it behind him.
For the first time in a while, a genuine smile pulls at my lips. No wonder Adam likes fucking with that guy. It’s easy and way too fun.
Chapter 13
Delilah
I look up when the door opens and Noah walks in. So different from Adam. He doesn’t seem inclined to make me kneel, to dominate me in all the animal ways that Adam thrives on. I wonder for the millionth time where Adam is and if he’s okay.
“Hey.” Noah walks over to the bed and sits down beside me. “How was your, um, day?”
I would laugh at the banality of his question, but I can’t. I can’t laugh or smile or seem to do anything other than endure. “I’ve had better.”
“You and me both.” He leans back and spreads out on my bed, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. “Lie next to me.”
I clutch my dress, my body unwilling to move. Not for him.
“Come on, Maiden. I’m here to work on your obedience.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Do it or we’ll both be fucked in the ass.”
Point made. I scoot next to him, lying on my back. My ass still stings, but Abigail came by earlier to check on me. “Healing,” she’d said. “Seems like you’re always healing these days.”
Noah is a big man like his brother, but he keeps to his side of the bed, the only encroachment from his elbow on my side of the pillow.
“What did you and Grace get up to today?”
Small talk. Is this small talk?
“She showed me—” A bunch of depraved photos taken by my fiancé. I try again. “She showed me some information on the senator. Things I’ll need to know to be a good wife to him.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
“What?”
The smirk in his voice is biting. “Be a good wife?”
“Yes.”
“How will you please him?”
“I’ll be in perfect obedience.”
He turns to look at me, his blue eyes searing despite his nonchalant tone. “I mean how will you fuck him? How will you use your mouth, your hands, your pussy?”
His words are like physical blows, and I cringe away from him.
“Not so fast.” He reaches out and grabs me, wrestling me until I’m astride him, my dress tight and twisted around my right hip, the marks on my backside stinging.
My heart slams against my ribs, and fear momentarily dazes me.
“Show me.” He tucks his hands behind his head again, his eyes on me. “Show me how you’ll ride his cock.”
“Noah, please—”
“A firm hand, Delilah.” He glances toward the camera. “That’s what I need to have with you. A firm hand that guides you back down the proper path.”
This is all a show. He’s in on it. I tell myself these thing
s over and over again, but it doesn’t change the shame that creeps into my cheeks. It doesn’t stop tears from pricking behind my eyes. He has to degrade me for the camera. For show. But my humiliation is as real as it ever was.
Reaching up, he grabs my dress, freeing it from my hip and bunching it in his fist. “Ride me, Maiden.”
I close my eyes and move my hips. My skin scrapes against the seam of his jeans, but I keep undulating. With my eyes closed, I can pretend Adam is beneath me. Even though everything tells me it’s another man. Noah doesn’t smell the same, doesn’t speak in the same gravelly voice. No, it’s Adam. I force my mind into compliance, and imagine Adam staring up at me with his unfathomable dark eyes. “Ride me, little lamb.”
My hips loosen, and I let myself go more, let myself feel Adam beneath me. His cock hardening, his thighs tensing, his breathing speeding up. His hands digging into my hips as I rub myself against him again and again. My nipples harden, tingling with need as I lick my lips and think about him, his hands, his belt, his tongue.
“Fuck.” A voice. Not Adam’s.
I slow and stop. Opening my eyes, I find Noah beneath me, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy-lidded and intense. More shame, more embarrassment—everything piles onto my heart. I cover my face.
“Delilah.” His voice is gruff. “That’s enough for now. You’re learning. The senator will be more than pleased with your fucking skills.”
I climb off him and lay back down.
He turns toward me, his back to the camera. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“It’s okay.” Is it?
“We have to. Understand? We have to do this.”
I nod and meet his gaze. “I know.”
His brow furrows. “Don’t cry.” He swipes my tears with his thumb. He’s gentle. His nature is far softer than Adam’s, but I can sense something steely underneath.