by Marata Eros
“Kiev,” I whisper and softly rap on his door. “Kiev, it’s Audrey.”
Still no answer. I put my hand on the doorknob and slowly twist. It’s unlocked.
“Kiev,” I call again, leaning into the cracked open door. Pale light spills across his room as I open the door another few inches. “Kiev, are you in here?” I stop short, the sight of the room startling.
Unlike the rest of the house, it’s bare bones in its furnishings. No bed. No nightstands. Only a mattress on the floor, and workout equipment. Moonlight spills in, illuminating Kiev’s sleeping face. He’s naked, with the blankets twisted around his torso, covering one leg and hiding his cock.
Should I go in? I don’t know what that would do to Kiev, though I’m certain it would end with something physical, one way or the other. Warmth rushes down my center, and I bite my lip, thinking about Kiev’s fingers working against me.
The floor creaks from downstairs. My heart skips a beat in fear, and I turn and run, leaving Kiev’s door open. I make it back to my room and into the shower before someone notices.
It takes hours before I fall asleep, and when I do, I have nightmares about being trapped inside this house while everything around me burns and I am forced to watch. I wake up early and can’t fall back asleep. Since it’s my turn to make breakfast, I go downstairs now.
Kiev’s door is closed.
I pause outside it, listening, but hear nothing.
Hanging on the inside of the pantry door is a menu that Father Weston makes himself. Today I’m supposed to make omelets, sausage, and a fruit salad. I pull out the ingredients and find we are low on eggs. I set a carton of strawberries on the cool granite counter top and go out the back door.
A bit of a chill is in the late June air, but the sun shines down full force.
I cross the patio, eyeing the small chicken coop at the end of the yard. The grand house is situated on a little over an acre, and the grass is neatly manicured and green. Flowers are planted along the white fence, which lines the perimeter of the property.
The effect is more than pretty. It looks like something I saw a time or two before in one of those magazines featuring farmhouses, magazines my mother used to dreamily flip through, hoping one day we could live somewhere open and free.
This place is anything but.
I run my eyes along the fence, noticing for the first time sunlight gleaming off a small silver wire. I walk past the chicken coop and outstretch my hand. I can feel the electricity on my skin before I make contact with the wire.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
Kiev’s voice behind me makes me jump. I snatch my hand back and whirl around.
“That wire is amped up, enough to fuck you up.”
I swallow. “Why is the fence electrified?”
Kiev’s eyebrows rise. “Isn’t it obvious? To keep my father’s precious wives within arm’s reach. God forbid any of his whores have any sense.”
“I’m not a whore,” I spit out. “And I like to think I have sense.”
He licks his lips and strides over. “You do.”
“What are you doing out here?” I ask and take a step away from him, going back to the chicken coop for eggs. “Are you following me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” Dressed in athletic shorts, Kiev was obviously going for a run and spotted me in the yard. “I think the better question is what are you doing out here? And don’t tell me you were innocently gathering eggs. You’re a good twenty feet from the eggs.”
I turn, looking over the fence at the rolling hills that surround The Community. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”
“See what?”
“How fucked up all this is.”
“You were young,” he says softly. “And it’s easy to buy the lies.”
I look at him, our gazes locking. That unspoken understanding is back, and the softer side of Kiev comes out, making him seem more like a human being and not like the asshole he’s rumored to be.
I take a deep breath of fresh air and open the gate to get in with the chickens. “What’s your story?”
“My story?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Bullshit,” I say, and he smiles at my retort. “You left and came back. Why would you come back if you were out of here?” My question says more than I intend it to, and Kiev takes advantage of that.
“Do you really want to leave, Audrey?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to help you leave?”
I close my eyes in a long blink, feeling the sun on my cheeks. “Not only me. I want my parents to come with.”
He crosses his arms. “You do realize that’s easier said than done, right?”
“Yes.” I sigh. “It hit me yesterday when—when… you know. My parents didn’t have much at the time, but they gave it all up. And not just possessions. My mom had a job. She had friends. I had friends…”
“You do have sense,” Kiev says in a low rumble.
I pick up two eggs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is a bad thing,” he whispers, and I don’t think I’m supposed to hear him. “It’s a dangerous thing, Little Bride. Weston banks on your blind loyalty. You don’t want to know what happens when someone questions him.”
“I can only assume it’s not good.” I shiver, remembering his beatings, and grab another egg, then slip it into the pocket at the front of the apron Father Weston makes us wear when we cook.
“It goes deeper than Father Asshole being pissed, ya know.”
I wrap my fingers around a brown egg, still warm. “I know.” My heart lurches, and nerves tingle down my arms.
“Do you?” he presses. “Having sense means you don’t buy the bullshit anymore. Having sense means you question everything. And the people here need this everything. After all, they gave up their lives to be here. Traded everything for a new fucked-up kind of everything.”
I straighten, trying to make sense of his words. “One weak link compromises the whole chain,” I say, remembering the old phrase. “If I question things, someone else will.”
“That’s if you’re lucky.”
“And if I’m not lucky?”
Clouds of pewter darken his gray eyes. “No one likes to feel threatened. And questioning everything is a threat in their eyes.”
He’s right. The people of The Community wouldn’t take well to someone questioning the very principles they gave up everything for. “Then I won’t let anyone know I have sense.”
He smiles. “You have something else then too.”
“What is that?”
“Smarts.”
I let out a shaky breath and gather more than enough eggs. “Has anyone questioned Father Weston before?”
“Of course.”
I leave the coop, shut the gate behind me, and fall in step next to Kiev as we walk toward the house.
“Have you seen it?” I ask.
“Seen what?”
“People question him.”
“I have. It’s not pretty.”
I bite my lip, my heart racing. “Is that what happened to you?”
He halts. “In part. Listen, Little Bride, this isn’t something to play around with. If Father Weston feels threatened, the people who more or less worship him feel threatened too. Piss off one fucked-up zealot and you’re in enough danger. Piss off the whole fucking village…”
“I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.” He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. “Threats are eliminated.”
“Eliminated? Like killed?”
“Yes,” he hisses.
I don’t believe it. “No.”
Father Weston might be a self-centered prick, but he’s not a killer. “Father Weston won’t kill anyone.”
Darkness flashes in Kiev’s eyes. “Don’t be a fool. What do you think happened to my mother?”
My heart feels as if it drops to th
e bottom of my chest. “What do you mean?”
The air around Kiev changes, his anger giving way to grief for a moment.
I take his hand. He looks down, questioning the gesture, then flips his wrist around and laces our fingers. He turns his attention back to me, and for a moment, we look at each another.
There is a softness to Kiev that he doesn’t show. A softness I like, that I want more of. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m sorry for whatever happened.”
“It was a long time ago,” he says quietly. “But thanks.” He gives my hand a squeeze and lets go.
“I don’t want that to happen to me.”
“I won’t let it,” he promises. “I won’t let that bastard hurt you again, not like he did to my mother.”
I move my head up and down, my hair falling around my face. I believe Kiev, missing him already, though he’s standing right here in front of me. Sooner or later, I’ll have to go back into the house alone.
Alone with not just a liar but also a possible murderer.
Chapter Twelve
Kiev
The eggs click against one another in the pockets of the stupid apron Audrey wears as she scurries after me.
Shouldn't have said that shit about my mom. But it's done now. Can't take back the confession. All I want is to visit her grave. Find where she's been laid to unrest. But that's after I bury The Community.
For Mom.
For me.
My eyes slide to Audrey, rushing beside me to keep up. Maybe for the Little Bride.
Maybe for her more than I want it to be.
“Hey!” Audrey says in an out-of-breath whisper. “You can't drop that bomb and not explain.”
I whirl, and she slams into my chest.
Audrey stumbles backward, and I wrap my hands around her upper arms.
She gasps, that electricity we have coming instantly online.
I've got an idea. It's not original, but I like it.
I think of Langley. And his suspicions. Because coming by the house without verifying that Audrey's underage seems sloppy. Granted, it's Tea, South Dakota, small-town USA. Still, his visit had the feel of gauging shit.
But what?
I let Audrey rip her arms out of my hold. “Speak to me. Stop all this cagey crap.”
“When all the facts come to light, you'll know everything, I promise.” Early summer heat pounds the yard into submission, whitewashing everything like bone dust.
Not Audrey. She's a torch of color in the early morning glare. Her rich hair has many colors in the sun. Black, chocolate brown, and a few red strands sparkle in the sunlight. Her eyes hold me captive. Wide, sky blue—innocent.
Angry.
“I don't like these games you're playing, Kiev.” Her bottom lip trembles, and a wisp of hair lifts in the breeze, and my hand moves of its own volition, tucking it behind her ear.
“That's the thing, sweetheart—I'm not playing games.” She has no idea how much this is not a game.
“Audrey!” a sharp voice cuts the languid sexual tension building between us.
She whirls, the picture of guilt, crossing her arms protectively in front of her chest.
It's Ginny, wife number one. Sanctimonious bitch.
Her mouth is a grim slash across her middle-aged face. Betcha she's not getting a slice of the getting-fucked-by-Father-Weston pie anymore.
Makes me smile.
Always hated her. She'd lie to Weston, tell him I'd done things I hadn't. Especially after Mom disappeared.
Guess who he believed? Always a wife. The glory of pussy power.
She doesn't have much of that left. Ginny's getting the beginnings of facial dump, fine lines have deepened to a number eleven between her brows, and laugh lines have miraculously appeared, though I never remember her being first in line for a humor award.
Now she looks at Audrey with the same brand of hate she has for all the wives.
I stare at Audrey, looking at her through Ginny's eyes.
Young. Pure. Beautiful. Audrey doesn't need the affectations Weston has such a fucking hard-on for. And that's probably the main reason a cruel smile seats itself on Ginny's tired face.
Weary.
She probably looks like that because of the pretense of The Community. It'd zap a person's youth quicker than gravity, time, anything.
“Yes?” Audrey asks, guilt plugging her voice an octave lower than usual.
“What are you doing out here in the yard with Kiev?” Accusation hits Audrey like a physical blow. “Breakfast needs to be made, and it's your day.” Ginny's hands peg her wide hips, her beady eyes swiftly moving between the two of us.
She makes me rethink hitting a woman. “I was sexing her in the chicken coop, Ginny,” I say with a straight face.
Ginny gasps. In one breath believing my lie, in the next she's clearly infuriated by my comment. I'm making fun of her, being crass simply for the sake of shock value. She's pissed.
Feels fan-effing-tastic.
Audrey bursts into tears, wrecking my feelings of superiority, and basically making me feel like a huge dick.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She doesn't turn around to acknowledge me. Audrey stalks toward Ginny, saying as she passes, “I was collecting eggs.”
She brushes by Ginny in a huff, and wife number one and I face each other. With my eyes, with the tense line of my body, I challenge her to say anything.
“You will not speak to me that way.” Her voice is a low command. “I am a Cho—”
I roll my eyes to the view of the sky then laser back on her. “Fuck you, Ginny, and the Chosen horse you rode in on. I'm not a scared six-year-old boy you can frame for kicks anymore.”
Swift satisfaction swarms me when her mouth thins. Her silence is her answer.
“Stay away from me”—I look down on her, both literally and figuratively, as I move by—“and stay the fuck away from the new bride.”
“Or what?” she asks, cocking her eyebrow.
I lean down into her personal space. She's got balls, this wife. That's what a couple of decades of living with Weston will get a woman. Perseverance.
“Or I'll make you miserable.”
“Is that a threat?” she asks.
I shake my head and pull my lips back from my teeth like a shark scenting blood. “Nah. A promise.”
*
I finger the business card Langley left on the table for Audrey. She didn't get it, though. I'd scooped it up instead.
Time to come clean. Time for a chat, a little sit-down.
But first—time to set things straight with Little Bride.
I glance at my thick black sports watch and note it's the witching hour. Oh, excuse me, worship hour.
I smirk.
Making fun of The Community has become a hobby.
Audrey is breakfast girl this morning. She's not the wife to be pranced around the pulpit today.
Plus, I'd heard breakfast didn't go well.
I don't knock on her door.
I turn the knob and walk right in. A shower is running, and I feel a big grin sweep my face. Nice.
I glance at my watch again. Another hour until Weston comes back from Worship. Unless he has new followers.
That'll take more time.
I turn the lock on Audrey's door.
After quickly taking off my clothes, I toss them on the floor beside her bed and stride to the en suite bathroom.
Each wife has her own bathroom.
Audrey is lathering her body. Seems like her hands are spending a lot of time between her legs.
I move to the clear glass partition.
The water from the large showerhead sheets the glass like rain outside a window during a storm.
But this is no storm. Unless you include us doing what I plan for us to do.
She turns, not having heard me enter, and screams.
I rip open the glass door and clamp a hand over her mouth.
Hot water hits my bare back and runs between t
he crack of my ass, then makes its way down the back of my legs.
Feels good.
Not as good as her big tits smashed against my chest. Her wide, terrified blue eyes are blinking up at me.
“We're done playing cat and mouse. I'm the cat, and I'm here to fuck the mouse.”
Audrey's hands leave her pussy and frame my face.
The gesture is so unexpected I drop my hand from her mouth, and those turquoise eyes damn me with her tenderness.
“You don't have to play games with me, Kiev.” She clamps her teeth on her full lips as the spray from the shower drops gems of water on her eyelashes. She blinks them away and says in a low voice, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Kiev.”
No. My stomach feels as if it's falling out my ass.
This is not part of the plan. I slap the cold tiles on the shower wall. Colder than my heart.
My heart that is beginning to melt for this girl.
I shut my eyes against the expression in hers.
She runs her small hands along my unshaven jaw, her skin whispering against mine.
I capture one of her hands in my own. “Don't fucking lie about shit you don't understand. I want to fuck my dad's Chosen—his wife.” I swallow, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “This isn't about love, Audrey.”
“It is for me,” she says and puts her hand on my cock.
My dick jerks in her inexperienced hand, and my exhale is one long, excruciatingly raw breath.
“Take me—take me before he does, Kiev.” Her eyes plead with me. Her soul.
I don't think, just react.
I grab her, forcing her down in the large walk-in shower, and move my cock to the cradle of her hips, kissing her with every part of me.
Parts I didn't know I had.
“He'll know you're no virgin.” God, don't let her fuck Weston. I want to be the only man to fuck this woman.
Her pussy is mine.
Audrey shakes her head as though dismissing my words, her wet hair a soaking fan beneath her body as it anchors her head.
I take her mouth again and again until Audrey can barely breathe. Her legs widen, and I finger her wet pussy. I find the barest bit of the barrier still left, the shallow little shield built into her body as proof of her purity.