by Brent, Cora
After a quick shower I toweled off my hair and looked at myself critically in the mirror. Gray thought I was beautiful. He said it often enough and I saw the truth in the way he looked at me. The memory of him made me smile. It was going to be a long twenty four hours.
I dressed in shorts and a light green t-shirt and stared at myself again. I looked like just a normal young woman. I looked like everyone else.
The geode Gray had split in half was kept on the tiny table beside the bed. I walked over and lightly fingered the two jagged pieces. Then I carefully held them together, pleased that they fit seamlessly, and replaced them on the table.
The sudden cold wave which washed over me was puzzling. My pulse raced and my mouth was instantly dry, but sometimes instinct precedes awareness. A primitive combination of physical and cerebral responses warn the body of what the mind cannot yet recognize: Danger. I knew it was in the room with me before I turned around.
I looked into the face of my nightmare and it smiled at me.
“Hello, wife,” it said.
***
“Don’t,” he warned as I opened my mouth to scream. “There are soldiers surrounding you. We know that the men are gone. You wouldn’t want to risk the women, would you?” His voice was syrupy with malice.
I closed my mouth. Rachel. Kira. No, I wouldn’t risk them.
Winston motioned to the opposite chair. “Sit, my dear.”
I shook my head, clenching my fists and bracing for what would come next. He wouldn’t touch me. I would fight him to the death. Desperately I looked around for a weapon. The gun. Gray had left the rifle just inside the door.
Winston sighed. “All right, then.” He smiled at me as if he were of no more threat than a kindly uncle. “I’ve come to fetch you home, Promise.”
“Fuck you.”
Winston raised his eyebrows slightly but seemed undisturbed. He looked me over casually. “I see you’ve acquired some new habits in your time away. Took some doing to get here, you know. All I had to go on were the words written on the jackets of those gang members who stole you. Once we realized where Rachel was, that wanton bitch, it all made sense.”
I couldn’t breathe. I remembered my discomfort in the presence of man who had been in the bar yesterday. He did know all about me after all. Because he had been sent to find me.
Winston’s smile was unwavering. “Your sister is back among us now. She’ll be searching for a husband to look after her.”
I caught his meaning. But I wouldn’t be fooled again. Resigning myself to Jericho Valley imprisonment and torture wouldn’t help my sister one goddamn bit. “I hate you,” I said.
My words seemed to have little impact on him. He looked around Gray’s trailer with open distaste.
“Tell me, Promise,” Winston Allred said mildly. “What was it like to fuck the devil?”
I didn’t flinch. “I can tell you that,” I said loudly, “as well as any of your other wives.”
He stared at me for a moment and then moved with terrifying speed. I made a dash for the door. This time I would not submit. This time he would have to kill me.
Just as I managed to fling the door open, my hair was grabbed from behind, yanking me backwards into a clumsy stumble. As I went down I kicked out at his fat knee. Gray had told me it was a vulnerable place on the body and to always take advantage of it if I could.
Grayson.
What would he do when he came home to find me missing? Or dead? He wouldn’t recover, I knew that much. He would retreat into the violent despair which had threatened to overcome him in prison. He would be lost.
As Winston grunted and grabbed the front of my shirt, I kicked out with more force, catching him in a weak spot and causing him to lose his footing. I desperately grabbed a chipped plate from the table and brought it on his head with every source of strength in my body.
The impact was satisfying, as was Winston’s moan of pain, though the plate shattered and cut my hands.
Then I glimpsed the rifle. It leaned casually against the wall just to the right of the door. In a few more lurching steps it would be in my hands. My fingers closed around the stock and I saw the mess of blood from my cuts. I knew the rifle was loaded. I swung it around but Winston had already managed to rise. He crashed into me with the force of a mountain, tackling me into the door. I felt the jarring blow of my head hitting something hard as the door gave way and spilled us both in a tangled struggle out into the dirt. Winston bled freely from the wound on his head but I saw with horror it wouldn’t be enough to stop him.
I still had the rifle in my hands. But then suddenly Winston had his hands around it too. His fist lashed out and caught me on the right side of my head. My knees gave way automatically and my face was suddenly inches from the gritty sand. I stared at it, wondering stupidly if hidden somewhere in that beige blandness was a nest of tadpole shrimp waiting to hatch.
And then I looked up and saw him. Teague. He stood perhaps twenty yards away staring at me with a blank expression as Winston struggled to get to his feet behind me.
I looked into that man’s eyes and remembered what he’d said the day I arrived, about his home turning into a halfway house for indigent young women. I knew he resented my presence as much as he resented a lot of things. But I also remembered the way Gray had warmly slapped him on the shoulder with confident trust. I remembered how they both wore the jacket of Defiant.
Winston panted and fiddled with the gun. I wondered if he intended to shoot me. Teague switched his gaze to my tormentor and I saw the hatred narrow his eyes. I shouldn’t have doubted him. Not for a moment.
Despite the fact the Winston was readying the rifle Teague barreled ahead anyway, breaking into a run. Winston raised the rifle but it wasn’t soon enough. Teague tore it from his hands with a grunt. Without pausing, he spun around with the rifle gripped in his hands like a bat and smashed it into the side of Winston’s fat face.
Winston managed to feint slightly so that the full impact didn’t catch him. But it was enough to deliver a substantial blow and he stumbled backwards, falling.
Teague glanced at me. “Run,” he said.
He aimed the rifle at Winston’s sputtering figure. I tried to get my feet underneath me, gritting my teeth against the lightheaded haze which threatened. At first I couldn’t make sense of what I saw. Then I remembered Winston’s words.
“There are soldiers surrounding you.”
The man who stealthily approached looked vaguely familiar. As he came closer I recognized him. He was Winston’s eldest son, one of the few young men chosen to remain in Jericho Valley and fulfill their version of destiny. He carried a gun and was a younger image of his wicked father.
I tried to scream out a warning to Teague but he was grimly intent on the enemy in front of him. Winston panted and blood dripped from the side of his head as he cowered in front of the rifle.
The crack against Teague’s skull was audible as Winston’s son, named Harold I remembered, moved in quickly and pistol whipped him across the back of the head. Teague sank to the ground, dropping the rifle and landing face first in the dirt.
A cry of despair ripped from my throat as I tried to crawl over to him. But someone reached under my arms and hauled me roughly to my feet. I struggled to break free but hard hands grabbed me under my chin and with terror I beheld the furious face of Bishop Talbot.
“Wicked girl,” he spat before flinging me away.
I fell back to the dirt on my hands and knees, the sandy grit mixing with the blood from my cut hands.
Bishop Talbot glanced casually down at the prone body of Teague. I tried to discern if Teague was still breathing but my hair kept falling in my face, obscuring my view.
My uncle slapped Harold on the shoulder and motioned that he ought to help Winston, who moaned and struggled to wipe the blood which continued to drip from the side of his face. He looked at his red fingers and seemed stunned by the sight of them.
Bishop Talbot cast a dispassionat
e look on the entire tableau and nodded his head toward someone standing behind me.
“You. Get the girl. We are leaving this evil behind.”
When more hands reached for me I lashed out with a violent burst of fury, kicking, scratching. If Winston and my uncle assumed I would go meekly they were mistaken.
Bishop Aston Talbot gave me a disgusted look. “You have caused enough trouble. I thought it better to leave you to this horrible world but your loving husband believes you can be redeemed.”
I rose to my feet slowly and directed all the fire of my rage towards my uncle. “You are evil.” I nodded to Winston. “All of you. You do what you do because you are terrible men. No god would demand it.”
Aston Talbot took two steps in my direction and cheerfully slapped me across the face. But I grabbed his rubbery arm in futile wrath and tried to hurl him to the ground.
“I’m not fucking going with you!” I yelled, feeling more powerful every second as the words rang out in the desert and the fierce sun extended a warm hand of strength.
The man who had grabbed me on my uncle’s orders was a son of Emory Thayne. He hung back and looked at each of us with uncertainty.
Winston was virtually growling as he lurched in my direction.
“Wanton bitch,” he snarled. “Just like your cousin.”
I shook through and through. “You sick fuck.” My voice rose as I threw my head back and yelled at the sky. “Rapist!” I screamed. “Wife beater!”
“Promise.” The shocked face of my father loomed in front of me.
“John,” my uncle croaked. “It was decided you were to wait in the truck.”
My father didn’t take his eyes from my face. “I thought better of it.”
He reached a hand toward me but I shoved him away.
“How could you?” I choked out. “Not just me. But Jenny.” I beat on his chest with my fists. He didn’t stop me. “JENNY!” I screamed.
My father took a step backwards. “No,” he shook his head. “Jenny is fine. She is back home and waiting to see you.”
“It’s not home,” I told him icily. “I’m not going fucking anywhere with you.”
I hadn’t noticed how close Winston had managed to get. He grabbed my wrist and twisted cruelly. “You belong to me,” he hissed. “And you will come where I say.”
I sank my teeth into his fat hand until he released me with a yelp.
“She’s deranged,” my uncle said with wonder.
Winston’s white fury was written on his face. He gestured to his son. “Put here in there,” he motioned to the trailer. “I only need ten minutes to convince this wayward girl to abandon the ways of the devil.”
“You’ll have to kill me,” I said simply and from the look on Winston’s bleeding face I realized the idea was somewhat appealing to him.
But John Talbot stepped in front of me.
“No,” he said.
Winston sneered up at him. “I will do with her as I like. She is my wife.”
“She is my child first,” said my father quietly. He nodded at his brother. “We are leaving now. And Promise will not be returning with us.”
But Winston Allred would not be denied his vengeance. “Shoot her,” he commanded his son.
My father raised his arm. I didn’t notice until that second that he held a gun. He fired one shot at Winston. Immediately he redirected his aim at Harold.
“Drop it,” he demanded.
Harold obeyed. Winston had fallen to his knees. His right arm had a dime-sized red hole by the shoulder.
“The next one will not be in the arm,” my father said quietly. “I promise.”
I heard the click of the nearby shotgun before I realized who was holding it. She must have heard the commotion and slipped behind the row of trailers, emerging from the brush armed and angry as a goddess of furies.
“Bishop,” she said, training the gun on her father.
“Rachel,” he answered, spitting her name out like a curse.
Rachel called my name, not taking her eyes from her father. “Get behind me.”
My father looked at me, nodding slightly, and I dashed over to her.
“Now,” she said, “glaring at each of the men in turn. “This is over. You will leave and you will never fucking show up here again.”
John Talbot lowered his weapon. He nodded wearily. “Yes,” he agreed.
Bishop Talbot cast one final menacing glare upon his daughter and then began to primly march back to the road, followed by my father and Emory Thayne’s son.
Winston clutched at his wounded arm and gave me a long, murderous stare. I stared back. Harold tried to urge him along but Winston pushed him away.
“God sees,” he warned me.
“I know,” I answered, standing tall.
Rachel didn’t say a word or lower the shotgun until they were out of sight. I’d run over to Teague immediately, flipping him on his back and checking his vitals.
“He’s breathing,” I said with relief. Indeed, his pulse was steady and his breathing even.
“Shit,” Rachel said, dropping the gun and putting a hand to her head.
Somehow Kira had managed to sleep through the shouting and the gunfire. She widened her eyes in shock at the sight which greeted her in the yard as I called 911.
Paramedics got Teague loaded into an ambulance. One, a small Hispanic woman who appeared to be little older than me, tried to tend to the cuts on my hands but I waved her off. They had stopped bleeding and seemed merely superficial. I could clean them out myself.
She peered suspiciously at the swelling on the side of my head where I had crashed into the door when Winston tackled me. “You should get that checked out. Could be a concussion.” She frowned at me. “What happened here anyway?”
I looked her in the eye. “I fell.”
She jerked her thumb to where the ambulance was preparing to depart. “And him?”
“He fell too.”
She shook her head and gave a short laugh. “Right.”
Rachel was very quiet. Kira circled an arm around her and offered to drive us to the hospital so we could be there for Teague. She had already tried to call Orion but he was still on the road and didn’t answer.
“Yeah,” I said, watching my cousin. “Give me ten minutes to get cleaned up. Rach?” I said gently.
Rachel’s face crumbled. I took her in my arms and held her tight. She pulled back after a moment, wiping her cheeks and giving me a watery smile. “You’re a tough bitch after all,” she said, gently touching the swelling on my face.
“We both are,” I told her.
Kira brought me to the house where there was an ample store of first aid supplies. She helped me clean off my cuts, apologizing as I winced.
After the wounds had been dressed I flexed my fingers, balling them into a fist.
“It happened,” I said with wonder.
Kira’s blue eyes looked at me questioningly.
“They came,” I explained. “And I’m still here.” They hadn’t succeeded. My hurts would heal as they had before. And I knew my own strength now.
Kira hugged me. “It’s over.”
I hugged her back but shook my head. “It’s not over,” I whispered, thinking of Jenny.
Chapter Twenty Four
My shirt was a mess of dirt and blood stains so I changed it before climbing into the back of Rachel’s car. Kira waited behind the wheel.
Rachel had managed to get ahold of Casper. She glanced back at me as she spoke into the phone.
“She’s fine. Cas, make sure you tell him that she’s fine.”
I leaned back into the seat and closed my eyes. My head was throbbing.
Grayson.
He would turn around and ride back immediately, I was certain. I couldn’t wait to be in his arms again.
Rachel let out a shuddering sigh and made an odd noise. Her voice became rough and choked with emotion. “I love you too, baby,” she whispered into the phone and then hung up.
“They’re on their way,” she told us.
Teague had a Grade Three concussion and was unconscious for an hour. Dr. Callie Lopez met us at the hospital and looked over his chart with a wry grin.
“Son of a bitch is pretty thick-skulled” she observed.
Callie shone a light in my eyes, checking my pupils and asked me a series of questions. She seemed satisfied that I didn’t suffer from anything more severe than a bump and some swelling. She looked at my hands and agreed that stitches were not required.
Her dark eyes regarded me with gentle curiosity. “So what did the other guy look like?” Callie knew something awful had happened but she wasn’t going to pry.
“Worse,” I smiled, thinking of Winston’s gunshot wound and the blood on his face.
It was only the early afternoon but it felt as if the turmoil had lasted for days. I limped back to the waiting room and wished for Gray.
***
I should have known he would ride like hell ahead of the others.
Rachel was pacing back and forth across the floor. She couldn’t seem to sit still. I got the impression the day was for her a culmination of years of pent up wrath.
I was so tired. I sat beside Kira and leaned against her shoulder, closing my eyes, trying to recapture the serene happiness of the moments before I saw Winston. Kira started suddenly, poking me in the side.
“Promise!”
Grayson swooped in and picked me up. I clung to him feverishly, feeling as if we’d been separated for months instead of only a few hours.
“I’m sorry,” he kept saying as he kissed me over and over again. “I’m so sorry, angel. I’m here now.” He knelt before me, curling his powerful arms around my waist as he buried his head in my breasts. I ran my hands down his broad back and knew his emotion in every relieved breath. He smelled of leather and sunlight and nothing had ever felt as good as his arms around me.