The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

She folds her hands in front of her, the picture of contrition. “But Prophet, you have inspired my better nature. And I know, without a doubt, that Delilah cannot perform her duties in a way that will glorify you. She is not ready. Just this morning, she threatened to kill the senator when he visited her in the Cathedral. I was watching the video, ensuring that she acted in accordance with the Cloister’s teachings on her place.”

The Prophet looks at me, his dark eyes accusing. I tilt my chin up just a smidge, even though my insides are going cold, and I feel the ghost tap of water on my forehead. Will my behavior get me sent back to the Rectory?

“What did she say to Senator Roberts?”

Grace lifts her hand and waves at the guard near the door—the same one who accompanied the senator this morning.

The tips of my ears go cold.

“Please tell us what Delilah did this morning.” Grace looks up at him, her expression expectant, hungry.

“I took the senator into the dormitory like you asked me, Prophet. This one was in the shower.” He gestures at me. “She threatened to kill him. Told him she wouldn’t do what he said, would fight him, try to escape, and then said again that she’d kill him.”

“Why didn’t you report this to me earlier?” The Prophet pulls his napkin from his lap and throws it down onto the table.

“I-I—” the guard stammers.

The Prophet makes a sharp chopping motion with his hand, dismissing the guard. He turns to me. “You led Adam astray, and now you think you’re free to threaten the man I’ve chosen for you? You think you know better than your Prophet?”

“You aren’t my Prophet.” The words spill out, the truth emblazoned on the air.

The wives gasp, and Grace reaches for her baton.

“No.” The Prophet holds a hand out toward Grace. “This is my cross to bear.” He reaches over and grabs me by the hair, yanking me from my seat and dragging me through the tables and out into the hall.

I scratch at his hand and try to kick, but he doesn’t let go. He’s strong for his age, and despite the food, I’m still tired and weak.

“Let go!” I thrash as my scalp burns, and I fear he’ll rip my hair all the way out.

He throws me on the floor in the adjacent living area, my hands sliding across the baby-blue rug and burning as they go.

“Hold her!” he bellows and yanks his belt free from its loops.

I struggle to stand, but Grace is on me, shoving me back down to the floor as the guard grabs my arm and holds me in place.

Grace rips up my linen skirt. I’m not wearing panties. Ruth didn’t offer me any.

“Slut!” the Prophet yells.

My ass erupts in pain before I even hear the stroke of the belt. I buck, but Grace and the guard keep me still. He strikes me again, his fury arcing across my flesh like burning electricity.

“‘I will punish the world for its evil, the wicked for their sins. I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty and will humble the pride of the ruthless.’” He punctuates his words with ruthless strikes.

I scream, agony leaving my mouth in a torrent of cries, but he doesn’t stop. His belt ravages my ass, the backs of my thighs. Again and again he hits me until my body is nothing more than a conduit for pain.

When the strikes stop and I’m nothing more than a sobbing heap on the too-soft carpet, the Prophet leans down, his red face darkened by his black eyes. “You will obey me. You will obey the senator. ‘Slaves, submit yourselves to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the cruel.’ I don’t care what he does to you. In fact—” he spits in my face, the wetness trailing across the bridge of my nose “—I hope he does far worse than anything you’ve ever imagined. You deserve it, filthy harlot, for what you did to my son.” He grabs my hair again and wrenches my face to his. “You will submit to me, serve me, and be obedient, or I will string you up like the witch you are. But first I’ll let every man on this compound have his fun with you.” He shoves my head back down and stands.

I close my eyes and curl into a ball, my lower body ringing with agony, and my mind a torrent of hate and thwarted wrath.

“Grace, take her back with you. Teach her to be obedient. Once she’s ready, send word, and I’ll let the senator know.”

“Yes, Prophet.” The smugness in her voice is another wound.

“Now, children, come give me hugs and kisses. I must be on my way.” His voice is so calm, warm even.