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Despite the flaring pain in my scalp, I glue my lips together.
Evan grabs the front of my towel and rips it away.
I will not cower. No matter what he does.
He licks his lips as the guard presses a cold barrel against my temple. “Apologize.”
“Don’t move. Either of you.” Evan pulls his phone from his pocket and holds it up.
“Sick fuck.” I want to smash his goddamn camera.
“You have no idea.” After a few camera clicks, he grins, pockets his phone, then motions to the guard. “Now put that away.”
“She needs to—”
“I said put that away!” His yell is like a shot.
The barrel disappears as does the grip on my hair. I scoop my towel off the floor and dart past the guard and into the large dormitory with the baby-blue carpet.
Evan follows me to Ruth’s alcove. “I’ll be back for you, Delilah.”
I edge away from her bed, though I eye the clothes she’s laid out. I won’t let Evan catch me off guard. “I’ll kill you.” It’s not a threat. Just a fact.
“Do you have any idea how hard that makes me?” He runs the heel of his palm over his crotch.
“I’m not playing some power game with you.” I shake my head at him. “This isn’t foreplay or some sort of lure. This is me telling you that I want you dead. I don’t know how to make myself any clearer—I will fucking kill you if you touch me.”
The guard moves up, his glower verging on a death mask.
“Oh, I believe you’ll try. Probably several times until I break you.” Evan straightens his tie and runs a hand through his too-perfect hair. “But I will break you.”
“I hope you like the taste of your own blood.” I don’t know how to fight, but I will do whatever it takes. Desperation can turn anyone into a gladiator.
“I’ll enjoy the taste of yours more.” He gives me a smug grin. “But I won’t be paying full price for you. Not anymore. I’ll head up to the church and do some horse-trading. After that, you’ll be mine.”
“I’ll never be yours.” I put every ounce of venom I have into my words.
His smugness increases ten-fold as he turns and walks away. “Oh darling, I love it when you underestimate me.”
Chapter 3
Noah
“Rat me out. See if I give a fuck.” I stagger past the guard on the road leading to the punishment circle. Or maybe there are two roads? It’s fuzzy at the moment.
“The Prophet said—”
“Fuck off!” I keep walking.
He gives up.
I kind of wish he’d put his hands on me so I could stomp the shit out of him. Damn. I’m thinking like Adam. Not good. Especially considering where thinking like Adam got Adam. I chuckle and burp, but somehow manage to keep walking.
The day is chilly though the sun is high and bright. The morning service ended an hour ago. I had to attend, waiting in the wings. But I took two bottles with me, drinking up as my father preached about the new year and the new future for Heavenly.
All I can think about is the numbing liquor and Adam. I can still hear his screams. They echo through my mind whenever things get too quiet. So I drink to keep the noise going, the slosh of my mind roaring in my ears.
Adam doesn’t move as I approach. For a moment, I fear he’s as dead as Christ on the cross. But Adam won’t get a second chance to come back. If they roll the stone away from his crypt, they’ll only find rot and death, not a fresh new savior.
“Shut up,” I berate myself and continue walking toward him until I’m standing beneath the cross. “Adam?”
His eyes open, and he shifts his feet on the narrow plank. “Afternoon.” His hoarse voice hides the pain that I can see all too well in the bright sun. Bloodied hands, each one with a nail through it. His skin is already chafing at the edges of the leather straps that hold his upper arms to the wood.
My eyes water. The pain isn’t gone. The liquor didn’t dull it enough. Fuck. My knees go weak, and I drop to the cold ground. Great, heaving sobs that aren’t fit for a man like me—they come anyway, rolling through my body.
It’s all so fucked, and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t take Adam down. I can’t stop my father’s madness. I can’t even fucking drink myself to sleep like a decent alcoholic. I weep until my nose is running and I can barely breathe.
“Noah.” His voice scratches its way through to me.
“I’m sorry.” The words hurtle out as I gaze up at him.
“Not your fault.” He winces and changes position again, his legs shaking from the effort.
“I can’t do anything.” I shake my head.
“I know.” He lets his weight go for a moment, allowing the leather straps to hold him up and give his legs some relief. A low wail rips from him, and his hands bleed more, crimson drops plopping to the barren ground.
