The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

I scramble off the bed and reach for my dress.

Adam pulls me back down onto his lap. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to help her.”

“You can’t.” His arms are like steel around my ribcage.

“Let me go!”

Sarah’s cries are tearing me apart.

“There’s nothing you can do, little lamb.”

“I can go in there and—”

“And what? Confront her Protector, challenge him to a duel?” He wraps his hand around my throat. “He’ll hurt you, just like he’s hurting her. And then I’ll have to kill him. Is that what you want? More blood on my hands?”

“No.” A sob threatens. “I just want him to stop.”

“He won’t. None of us will. That’s part of your training. The Prophet will keep you safe from the wolves, but there’s no stopping his lions from ripping you apart. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for you.”

“Is that what you want?” I claw at his hand. “For me to break?”

“I’m going to break you. It’s only a matter of when I choose to do it.”

“Fuck you!” I dig my nails into the back of his hand and struggle against his hold.

“There’s that spirit I saw in you the very first day, by the fire.” He splays his fingers along my ribs and keeps me tight against him.

“Get off!” I try to break free, but he is solid, like a sheet of molten steel.

“You aren’t leaving this room,” he growls in my ear, and my fight is over. There’s nothing else I can do except listen to the screams and the degradation of the banging bed.

He sighs, his breath tickling past my ear. “Let’s get back to the conversation we were having before I was so rudely interrupted by the scent of your wet cunt.”

“You can help her.”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You could go in there and—”

“She is none of my concern. You are.”

He shifts beneath me, then pulls a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Shaking it open, he hands it to me. I see my face staring back at me, my mom’s information printed below it. “Have You Seen This Woman?” in huge, stark letters across the top.

My hands shake as I try to make sense of the flyer. The screams die down and stop along with the banging bed. Sarah’s ordeal is over. No one helped her, not even me.

“I found this not far from the Compound. Why would your mother be searching for you if you told her you were safe and sound in the Cloister?”

“I don’t know.”

“No idea?”

“No.” My mom didn’t want me to go. Not because she feared for my safety, but because she’d lose her last chance at scaring up drug money. One of her many boyfriends introduced her to heroin while I was away at college. She hadn’t been the same since. Only a ghost of the mother who used to care about me, who was so proud when I got a full scholarship.

When Georgia died, I even thought maybe it was a good thing Mom was out of it, insulated from the grief. But the day I buried my sister, my mom showed up in a black dress more fit for a night club than a funeral. Her hair in disarray, days-old mascara smudged under her eyes. Even so, I was glad to see her, to feel the faded warmth of her embrace. She pretended to grieve, even held my hand as I watched Georgia’s casket being lowered into the cold, hard earth. At least she waited until we walked away to ask me for money. I gave it to her.

Later, I had to see her again, to tell her the outline of my plan to find Georgia’s killer so she’d play along. She agreed to keep my secret, to give perfect answers if anyone from Heavenly Ministries came calling, and I only had to give her what was left of my final student aid check to make it happen.

If I tell Adam her weakness, he’ll use it, maybe crack her open until she spills all my secrets. I can’t have that.

“You left just then. Something’s going on in here.” He strokes my temple, then moves back to my hair and grips hard. “Are you being honest with me, little lamb?”

“Yes.” The roots of my hair sting as he pulls my head back until I meet his gaze.

He stares, as if measuring the truth in the grayness of my eyes, then releases me. “Get the bag by the door.”

I scramble off his lap. The bag seems innocent enough, but I open it slowly, wondering what fresh torture lies within. I recognize the blue first. Reaching in, I pull out my favorite sweater, a navy cable-knit, and then my favorite pair of jeans. I hug the clothes to me as if they’re an old friend. Somehow, even though I’ve only been at the Cloister for a week, it feels like years have passed since I’ve had a glimpse of my old life.