“Put them on.” He watches me, the dark eyes telling me nothing of the thoughts within.
I pull the sweater over my head, the ghost scent of my old body wash lingering on the fibers. The jeans don’t fit as well as they used to. I suppose a week of Cloister cuisine has cut off almost five pounds.
He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and unlocks it. “Sit on the bed, act normal, and record a nice little video for your mother.” Rising, he points to where he’d been sitting.
I follow his instructions and sit, folding my hands in my lap and trying to school my features.
“Tell her you’re safe, happy, and there’s nothing to worry about. That you’ll see her soon.” He focuses on my hand. “Hide the splint.”
I tuck it beneath my other hand. “I’m ready.”
“No tricks.” He glowers at me.
“I won’t.” I shake my head, trying to look earnest. I’d never rehearsed some sort of code word with Mom so she’d know I was under duress, and it’s not as if I’d use it. More to the point, she would probably be too strung out to notice. She must have had help with the flyers.
“All right.” He taps his screen. “Go.”
Chapter 20
Adam
She speaks right into the camera, her big gray eyes sparkling as she lies to her mother, telling her she’s safe, well taken care of, and not harmed. I play it on a loop, her soft voice washing over my bedroom like calming waves.
She lies to me, too. I let her. I don’t know what she’s hiding. Maybe I like the extra bit of mystery. I take a drag from my joint and blow the smoke up and out, taking care not to obscure my view of Delilah.
“… was my choice to come here, Mom. Please respect my wishes…” Her eyes convey so much when she says that part, as if there’s another layer of meaning I simply can’t grasp. Even though I strip her bare every night, she still hides from me.
“Fuck.” I stub out the joint. This obsession of mine has to end. It grew overnight, a pale white mushroom, perfect as it reaches toward the gloomy sky and hoping for the sun.
Maybe she can be my sun.
“… I’ve never felt safer. I have a Protector who watches out for me at all times and…”
I’ll have to edit that part out. My father wouldn’t want the inner workings of his fucked up menagerie getting out to the masses. The Compound runs on secrets, concentric circles of them, all with the Prophet in the center.
I rub my eyes and suspect my brain is fried from blue balls and this new strain of weed that we’ve been pushing.
Having her the way I want isn’t an option. That’s the one rule that can never be broken. Fucking a Maiden is a sure way to get kicked out of the Compound for good. And for me, the price is far, far higher. But I can do other things.
I watch her mouth form tender words, ones not meant for me, and I free my throbbing cock from my shorts. Pretending—that’s the key to surviving here—is something I am exceedingly good at. Lying, dissembling, cutting the corners off the truth.
Delilah doesn’t have to pretend. No matter what words spill from her pale pink lips, she is my truth.
I stare at her mouth, knowing what delicious secrets it holds. How her tongue slides against mine. How her breath hitches when I touch her. How her soul tries to wrest itself from my grasp before she gives in and opens for me, showing me all of her with ruthless honesty. With hard, curt jerks, I bring myself to climax with her as my only thought.
“Bigger.” I point to the ring of trees surrounding the clearing. “I want these gone.”
“That’s going to be one hell of a bonfire.” One of our groundsmen, Chase, scratches his head. “Don’t reckon we’ve ever had one that big.”
“Good.” I grab a shovel and score an area in the center. “Start stacking the pallets out to here. Add whatever wood from the trees to the center at the bottom. It’s too wet to burn well, but once it catches, it’ll smolder for days.”
“All this for Christmas?”
“You think our lord and savior Jesus Christ deserves less?” I thrust the shovel back at him.
Chase’s bearded mouth drops open. Doubting devotion—that’s the one wound that no member of Heavenly Ministries can bear.
“Of course not, sir. The bigger the better. He died for our sins. I’ll build it higher than the tower of Babel if that’d please the Prophet.”
I clap him on the back. “Good man.” If I told him the real reason for the fire, he’d probably die of shock. Only my father’s inner circle knows that he serves two masters. The God above and the one below.