Under His Rule (His 1)

“Why me? Why not any of the other girls in the community?” I ask. “You could pick any one of them, and they’d fawn all over you. They’d drop to their knees right in front of you.”

He leans onto the table with his elbow. “I don’t want any other woman, Natalie. You’re the one.”

There’s such persuasion in his voice that I’m almost starting to believe I’m special.

But I’m not. I’m just a girl who was taken from her simple life and thrust into a cult-like world without any explanation other than a symbol. That symbol is what binds us and what keeps me from getting killed.

So I ask the only question that could bring me close to real answers. “Where is my mother?”

He smiles. “All in due time, Natalie. Now eat your breakfast.”

“Why should I? It’ll only keep me alive longer.”

He cocks his head again. “Are you threatening to go on a hunger strike? Because I can arrange for you to be tube-fed if necessary.” He picks up a piece of pancake with his fork and casually stuffs it into his mouth.

“There are no limits to your depravity, are there?” I say with tears staining my eyes.

“No. You’re too important,” he says.

“The others didn’t seem to think that way, did they?” I muse, cocking my head too now.

“The patriarchs, you mean?” His nostrils flare. “They’ll come around.”

“You aren’t following the rules, are you? Am I even allowed to be in here? To eat with you?”

There’s a pause before he answers. “No.” He swallows down a piece of pancake. “But rules can be changed.”

I knew it. He’s going against protocol, which means he’s vulnerable right now. Maybe, just maybe, if I kick up enough of a ruckus, they’ll make him change his mind about me.

“I know you’re scheming, Natalie. I can see it,” he says. “But I will warn you now, if I don’t get my way … no one gets what they want.”

I press my lips together. He says it like he means it, and I believe him … I believe wholly that he’s capable of killing me if push comes to shove. If he had to … if there was no other way to save his own skin from the wrath of the other patriarchs, he’d probably do it.

There goes my idea.

But I can’t give up yet. Maybe if I can find out more about the others living here, I could use it to my advantage. If I could talk to one of them, maybe they’d let me go or convince Noah to do so.

“Normally, the women eat separately from us men, as business is discussed at the breakfast table, which is not relevant for the women.”

Because they’re wives, and their only objective in life is to please the men, but he won’t say that out loud.

“But I want to make an exception for you because you’re special.”

“I’m not,” I say.

“You are,” he says. “Just because you don’t believe it doesn’t make it any less true.”

Why is he always so cryptic? Why can’t he just tell me and get it over with? Or is he saving the details for some kind of devious plan?

I grab my toast and take another reluctant bite. The smile that follows on his face makes me want to spit it all out again.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he muses.

“Not when I’m being held captive,” I say.

“You’re not. You can go anywhere you want as a patriarch’s wife.”

“Except home,” I spit back.

He puts down his fork and knife, and says, “This is your home now.”

My lip twitches. “You do know I had a life, right? I had a job. Friends. People will miss me, and they will tell the cops about my disappearance.”

His brows rise again. “No, they won’t, because they’ve all been sent a text or email with the notification that you’re moving to another country and will not be coming back.”

My jaw drops.

“You’ve also resigned from your job … at a local food shelter, right?” he adds, grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

I don’t know what to say. “You … You can do that?”

“Natalie …” He sighs. “You underestimate me.”

Maybe I have.

“And our ability to disguise our actions,” he says, taking another bite.

No wonder he knew my name. He must’ve found out where I lived and invaded my apartment just to get my private details and erase me from my own life.

“Right, because you’ve done this before to other girls,” I say, letting out a sigh.

“Not me. The other patriarchs,” he replies. “Some of them have … special wishes.”

“Fresh wombs,” I add, feeling queasy just from uttering those words.

“You could call it that,” he says, casually leaning back in his chair. “But it’s mostly for pleasure. The girls usually end up getting married to other men in this community first.”

“But not me,” I say with a scowl. “You’re the only patriarch to ever marry an outsider?” I ask.