Deep Redemption (Hades Hangmen Book 4)

by Tillie Cole

  Her sorrow-filled voice cut me where I lay. “What I deserve,” I replied, my voice husky. Harmony shook her head, as if she was going to argue, but I cut her off. “Will you . . . will you remove your veil for me? I want . . . I want to see you. I need to see your face.”

  Harmony stilled, and her wide eyes searched mine. “Harmony,” I said quietly, speaking from my heart. “I don’t believe you are cursed.”

  “But . . . but I have been declared so,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “I don’t believe beauty is devil-created,” I assured her. I swallowed hard. “I used to, Harmony. For so long I believed it to be true, I didn’t doubt the teachings . . . But now . . . ” I trailed off. Harmony was silent, waiting for me to finish. I sighed. “But now I think that maybe it was just another falsehood. Another belief that I devoutly honored, and now wonder if there was any substance to it at all.”

  Harmony’s eyes narrowed above her veil as if trying to read me. I stared back, open and honest. I had lied so much in my life, pretended for so long, that I no longer had the strength to keep up any form of charade. Not with Harmony. I wanted her to see me. And only me. Not Cain . . . but me.

  I was tired. So fucking tired of it all.

  The minutes ticked by, and Harmony didn’t move. I feared that she had decided I wasn’t a person to trust. I had just given up hope that I would see her face when she lifted her hand and brought it to the side of her head. I could see her fingers shaking as she unclasped the veil and guided the pale-blue material away from her face.

  I held my breath as the delicate fabric fell away. Heat filled my chest when Harmony looked at me, free from the barrier.

  She was quite simply the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.

  Tingles of warmth raced down my spine as Harmony swallowed nervously. The apples of her cheeks were kissed with a pink blush and her dark eyes glistened. Her skin was silky and pale in color. Her cheekbones were high and defined, and her lips were deep pink and plump. “Harmony,” I said on a long exhale. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But I held back. As a Cursed, my comment on her beauty would be the last thing she wanted to hear. “Thank you,” I said softly.

  Harmony’s eyes dipped in a sudden shyness, a simple action that melted my heart. Her head turned slightly, then everything stilled. There was a large red mark on the side of her face, the skin mottled and swelling underneath.

  “What happened?” I asked abruptly, through gritted teeth.

  Harmony’s eyes snapped back up to mine and I saw a hint of anger on her face. “Prophet Cain,” she whispered and brought her hand up to cover the mark, wincing as it made contact. I couldn’t speak. I was so furious, so incensed, that my voice was stuck in my throat, my heart beating a harsh rhythm like the loudest of drums. “I . . . I tried to stop him from touching me . . . ” Harmony said, a deep red flush engulfing her face. She clenched her jaw, and angry tears formed in her eyes. “I took hold of his wrist.” She paused. “And I held it with all of my strength. In a moment of madness, I tried to stop the leader of our faith from taking what he wanted from me. I resisted. I foolishly and stupidly resisted. I do not know what I was thinking.”

  I had balled my hands into fists so tightly they ached. But at the same time, a rush of heat spread across my chest—pride. I felt proud that Harmony had done that, that she had tried to shield off Judah’s unwelcomed touch. “Good,” I managed to push out.

  Harmony froze as she looked at me. “Good?”

  I nodded my head curtly, as much as I could in this uncomfortable position on the floor. “He should not be allowed to do that,” I replied. “It is not his right.” A small flicker of relief hit me as I spoke those words. I was relieved because I knew, with one hundred percent conviction, that I would never force my touch on a woman. No matter how much power I gained, I would never have done that.

  At least in this, I was the polar opposite to my twin.

  Harmony lifted her hand to her face. It took me a moment to realize that she was wiping away tears. But I could see they weren’t tears of sadness. They were hot tears of anger, of frustration. The fire I had wanted to see in her beautiful face was being bared to my eyes.

  “It should not be acceptable,” she said tightly. “He should not be allowed to take whoever he wants, whenever he wants . . . no matter how young or broken they may be.” Harmony sniffed and her eyes searched mine. “Why? Why is it that this can happen? All those children in the Lord’s Sharings, there without choice. The awakenings forced upon us without a say, the Cursed accusations at such a young age, forever changing the path our lives take . . . ” Her voice quieted to silence. I watched her try to fight back her fury. It was a battle she failed. “I know the scriptures teach it so,” she burst out. “I know it is a practice that has been carried out for years. But why do only a few of us question it? How has it not already been stopped?”

  As Harmony gasped for breath, I said, “Harmony, Prophet David set the precedent years ago when he said that God revealed it to be so. The people believe it is what God wants of his chosen tribe—us.”

  “I do not believe that,” she stated, her voice thick with conviction. “If there is a greater power, He would not sanction men violating children. Taking away any form of choice from women.” Harmony laughed a humorless laugh. She stared off to the side. “I met him . . . I met Prophet David, Rider. A very long time ago. And I hated him on sight, like I do all the disciple guards and most of the men I have ever encountered. But today, Prophet Cain was something else entirely.

  “He had a chilling wickedness in his stare.” She let out a harsh laugh. “He is a beautiful man; his looks are the most pleasing I have ever seen.”

  I released a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Because if she thought Judah beautiful . . . she would find me so too. But that vain excitement was quashed when she added, “But as I looked into his eyes, all I saw was an ugly soul. I disliked Prophet David for what he allowed to happen to little girls . . . to me . . . ” She didn’t finish that sentence. She schooled herself again, then continued angrily, “But when I looked into Prophet Cain’s eyes, I felt real fear, Rider. That man . . . ” Her skin paled. When she looked at me, I felt her fear. “He will get what he wants, no matter the cost. He will hurt our people, and they will blindly follow him . . . he will hurt me, too. And this time, I am not sure I will come back from it. I have known men like him. They never stopped. When they wanted something . . . someone . . . they never stopped until they had broken them to nothing, or worse . . .”

  “Harmony.” I pushed my body to the side, as close to the wall as it would go. I wanted to hold her in my arms. I wanted to make her feel better. Something within me wanted to make everything better for her.

  “He has a consort. She is called Sarai.” Harmony breathed deeply. “She holds the same wickedness in her stare as the prophet.” A single tear fell down Harmony’s flawless cheek. She let it fall to the stone floor then looked into my eyes. “I know what my duty is. I came here knowing what path lay before me. But . . . after today, I cannot help but question: what is my life going to look like as his wife? Sarai has his love, it is plain for all to see. And I could see hatred for me in her eyes,” she said. “I do not know if I can do it, Rider. In this moment, I do not know if I can go through with living under their cruelty. I have lived like that before. I cannot . . . I am not sure I am strong enough to endure it again . . . ” Her voice faded to a whisper.

  Panic burst through every cell I had in my body at the defeat in her voice. “Listen to me,” I said firmly. “You are strong. You have to keep that strength.”

  Harmony cast me a weak smile. “I am not as strong as I appear. Inside I am trembling. I am shackled with fear.” I felt my heart break. But before I could try and comfort her, she spoke again. “Prophet Cain is different to Prophet David in every way. Something inside tells me he will lead our people to ruin, not raise them to glory. The sermons
he preaches, the guns . . . he will lead us straight to the gates of hell by himself, with no help from these devil’s men he so frequently refers to.”

  I didn’t know what to say. And more, I couldn’t stand hearing the pain she was in. Without thinking, I lifted my filth-ridden hand and pushed it through the gap. When I had reached as far as I could, I laid it flat on the floor. My eyes darted to Harmony’s. She had frozen completely still, her eyes staring at my hand.

  Feeling stupid, I went to pull back my hand. I shut my eyes to escape the embarrassment. Just as I did, I felt a small warm hand cover my own. My eyes snapped open. Harmony’s delicate fingers were draped over mine. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the sight.

  She was touching me of her own free will.

  She was touching me without fear or reluctance. . . it felt . . . good.

  “Rider,” Harmony said quietly. “I see such agony in your eyes that I feel it all the way down to my soul.”

  My heart tore at the sadness in her voice. My throat clogged at her compassion. This is what this feels like, I thought. This is what affection was—unbarred, unforced . . . natural. No coercion. No panic. Just freely given.

  Harmony’s fingers twitched. She swallowed hard, then began to stroke the back of my hand. It soothed a fire I hadn’t realized flared in my heart. She was silent as she brushed her fingertips along my broken skin. I tried to breathe, but her touch stole all the air from my lungs.

  “Tell me,” Harmony whispered. I closed my eyes at the sound of her gentle voice. “Tell me what is wrong. What plagues you?”

  What I wanted to confess was on the tip of my tongue. But when I opened my mouth, my soul spoke instead. “I’m lonely,” I said, brokenly. “I’m so damn lonely that I can barely breathe.”

  I opened my eyes to see Harmony’s deep brown ones shining with tears. “Rider,” she hushed out. Her fingers stopped stroking my skin. Instead her hand slipped under mine, and her fingers threaded through my fingers. She gripped them tight. She didn’t say a word, but I understood . . . she was here for me.

  She was with me in my pain.

  I stared into her eyes, and she stared into mine. No words were spoken, but they didn’t need to be. Words were useless right now. Our silent touch gave me more peace than I had ever felt in my entire life.

  A single sweet touch took away the hurt . . . just for one cherished moment.

  Suddenly, I heard a gasp from the doorway. In a flash, I had released Harmony’s hand and rushed to sit up straight. I turned my head to see who had entered my cell, and my eyes clashed with Phebe’s. She stayed frozen, eyes wide as she glanced down to the brick-less gap in the wall.

  The water basin in her hands shook. “Phebe,” I whispered, moving away from the wall.

  The blood drained from Phebe’s face, but she managed to pull herself together and close the door of my cell. She ducked her eyes and walked slowly toward me. She placed the basin on the floor, keeping her head down. She dipped the rag into the water, picked up my arm and began washing the blood from my skin. She never once lifted her head.

  My heart raced. She had seen me holding hands with Harmony.

  I couldn’t let Phebe tell Judah. I couldn’t let her tell the guards. I wouldn’t let them take Harmony from the cell beside mine. I wanted her here . . . I needed her here.

  As Phebe moved to wash my other arm, I flipped my hand and gently took hold of her wrist. The touch was soft, but Phebe jumped as though I had just slapped her across her face. I frowned as she tried to pull away.

  I kept hold.

  “Phebe,” I said quietly, my eye drifting to the door. She was beginning to panic. I didn’t want the guards to hear her. “Phebe,” I tried again. “Please . . . I won’t hurt you.”

  At my words, Phebe seemed to come back from whatever nightmare she had drifted to in her mind. Her head was still turned away from mine as she tried to control her breathing. I gently pulled on her wrist. Her body grew stiff. Confusion and concern fogged my mind. Phebe was not herself. Not at all. She was drawn in and flinching at my every touch.

  I wondered what Judah had told her about me to warrant this kind of response. Deciding to find out, I leaned forward and lifted my free hand to place my fingers under her chin. Phebe’s breath caught in her throat. She was a deer caught in the headlights. As gently as I could, I turned her face toward mine. She tried to resist at first, but then finally submitted.

  Just like every woman in the commune would naturally do.

  My eyes widened in shock. Her face was heavily beaten, her pale skin awash with black and blue. Fading yellow bruises laid the canvas for more recent cuts and wounds. Phebe kept her blue eyes facing down to the ground.

  “Phebe, look at me,” I ordered. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she looked up at my face. Tears tracked down her marred skin. “Who did this to you?”

  Phebe’s gaze dropped once more, but I tilted her chin up higher. “Tell me,” I insisted. Phebe closed her eyes, her bottom lip quivering with emotion. When her lids opened again, she stared right at me.

  “Prophet Cain,” she said softly and my stomach flipped over. I opened my mouth, to ask her to confirm that my brother had done this, when I realized that her voice had carried a strange inflection—she wasn’t answering my question at all . . . she was addressing me. She was letting me know that she did know who I was. She knew what Judah had done . . .

  . . . she knew.

  I nodded, not wanting to speak in case Harmony was listening.

  A small, relieved smile tugged on Phebe’s split lips. She pointed to my tattoos, hidden under blood and dirt. “It was confirmed by these, but I knew what he had done before that, because you are so different.” I glanced back to the gap in the wall. I turned back to Phebe, placing my finger over my lips. She nodded in understanding.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked again.

  Phebe picked up the discarded rag and dipped it into the water. As she cleaned me, she whispered, “The prophet pulled me from my duty as a sacred sister many weeks ago. In fact, he has pulled all of the women back who were recruiting in the outside world. He has grounded us all. We practice with guns like everyone else now. We are Rapture-focused.” She rinsed the dirt off the rag and brought it back to my chest. “At least, all of commune . . . but me.”

  The pain in Phebe’s voice was evident. “You are no longer his consort at all?”

  Phebe shook her head, keeping her focus on the job at hand. “Sarai did not want me there. The prophet does anything she asks of him.” Her hand stuttered on my skin. Phebe quickly righted herself, and said, “So he discarded me from his side.” She breathed deeply. “I was nothing more than a frivolous fancy for him anyway. I was skilled in seduction and sex; that is all I have ever done for this commune. I have outgrown my purpose.”

  A tear from Phebe’s eye dropped onto my skin. “A man, from the outside world, came to stand at the prophet’s side. I do not know where he is from, but he stays close to the prophet, along with Brother Luke, Prophet Cain’s right-hand man. The new man has no hair, and is very strongly built. I heard whisperings when he arrived that he was supplying the guns that will be used in the oncoming holy war.” Phebe released the rag and pointed at my tattoos. I understood what she was saying. The man had tattoos. “Though they are different.” From yours, I silently filled in for her.

  “He . . . he took an interest in me during one of the Lord’s Sharings I was made to attend.” Phebe’s face paled. “He has since claimed me as his. He . . . ” More tears fell from her eyes and she struggled to breathe. I reached out and held her arm. She flinched again, even though she knew that I was no threat. “He expects me to do certain things with him that I do not want. But the prophet has ordered me to stay with him. He said he is important, essential for the coming holy war. I do not know his name. He makes me call him Meister.” Phebe leaned forward and whispered, “Prophet Cain is planning an attack on the devil’s men.” Her blue eyes implored me to understand. “He wants t
o attack them, before they attack us. That is why the people are training so hard. We are to bring the wrath of God to their gates. Prophet Cain has received a revelation that we are to strike as soon as the order comes from God. We must be ready.”

  It took me several seconds to understand what she meant. A cold trickle dripped down my spine as I tried to decipher her words. When I understood, that trickle turned into a goddamn flood. “The Hangmen,” I whispered. Phebe nodded her head.

  Her hand was shaking. “He said they are to die. All of them—women and men alike. No mercies. He preaches that they are all sinners and defectors from the faith. He claims that the revelation he received ordered we are to leave no sinner alive.”

  “He wants revenge.” I sighed in frustration. He wanted revenge for them taking the Curseds from us. For their attack on our old commune. For killing our uncle . . . for fucking breathing. I replayed what Phebe had said . . . He said they are to die. All of them—women and men alike. They are all sinners and defectors from the faith . . .

  Women and men alike . . .

  He planned to kill Mae, Delilah and Magdalene too . . .

  “My sister,” Phebe said almost inaudibly, tears building in her eyes. “He will kill her for her desertion from our order. For fornicating with evil. For the men he lost when the devil’s men came to take her back.”

  My blood rushed so fast that my head became light. I tried to think of a way to stop it, to help, but I couldn’t. I was stuck in this fucking cell. I was always stuck in this motherfucking cell!

  Phebe seemed to read my face. “It is hopeless, is it not? He cannot be stopped.” Her breathing hitched. “My Rebekah will die . . . ”