I don’t like the coldness in her voice, the way she dismisses all those lives—even children. They are stupid, sure. But that’s not a capital offense. Unease crackles down my spine. “Jez, they haven’t done anything to—”
“No.” She stands. “They choose not to look, not to see. All they have to do is pull back the curtain, but they won’t. They want to live in this fantasy where the Prophet is chosen by the invisible man in the sky. Innocent?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They are at the root of all this, at its very core.” She holds her palm up, as if the church sits there. Perusing it from all angles, she smirks. “This entire shit-show is built on them. Their money. Their belief. Their entitlement. Their selfish need to feel like they are chosen. That’s what it’s all about in the end. Every one of them that crosses the threshold, that follows the Prophet—they do it because they can’t see past their own noses. They want to feel special. They fill that hole inside themselves with our misery.” She crushes the imaginary church in her palm, her eyes blazing. “And now I intend to show them just what their devotion to a false idol is worth.”
Chapter 11
Delilah
Grace walks down the long hallway, her footsteps sure as I follow her past the training room where the other Maidens are. She fetched me from my room this morning, her manner somehow even more severe than usual. I’d spent the night drifting in and out of sleep, my thoughts returning to Adam over and over again. Is he safe? Who took him?
“Eyes down.” Grace doesn’t even turn around, but she somehow knows I’m staring at her thin back.
I drop my chin and watch my feet as we move farther down the corridor, then turn toward the Spinner’s dorms. We keep going until we reach her office—the room where she’d broken my finger.
“Sit.” She points to the same chair as she walks around her desk.
I choose the other one. The aching skin on my backside protests, but I don’t let it show.
She raises a brow but doesn’t say anything as I take my seat. The monitors are lit behind her, my room still visible on the center screen.
Sitting in her chair, she settles back and stares at me, her unblinking hatred like a laser beam.
I meet her gaze and hold it. She intimidated me from the moment I set foot on Cloister ground. But not anymore. She can still hurt me in any number of ways, but I’m not backing down.
After what has to be a minute of intense silence that feels like an hour, she says, “You know, when you first came here, I figured no one would want you, given your freakish looks.”
I smile. It’s the response that I know will irk her the most.
Her eyes glint. “But I was wrong. Being a freak made you more desirable. Being different is what these idiot men like about you. Even Adam. He was drawn to you because of your appearance. Nothing more.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” My smile stays in place.
A muscle next to her eye twitches, but she continues, “Maybe you think that just because you’re a genetic disaster that you’re truly special. That you have something more to offer than a sideshow act.” She shakes her head. “You’re just like the others. Ass in the air for the enemas, eating the poisoned fruit whenever it’s offered, sucking your Protector’s cock the second you get a chance. You’re no different than any other Maiden, no matter what you may think.”
I study her, trying to discern the basis for her continued attacks. It has to be Adam. Her jealousy is the one emotion she ever lets show. For someone so skilled at playing mind games, she doesn’t do a good job of guarding her defenses. I know just where to turn the screw. “I suppose you think you were the different one. The special Maiden set apart from the others. But then Adam tossed you aside, didn’t he? Just like all the other Maidens.”
She leans forward, her shoulders bunched with tension. “I was special. I still am. Adam is mine.”
“Is he?” I reach between my legs and fake a wince. “Because I can still feel him inside me, even now.”
“You fucking bitch!” She lurches across the desk and grabs for me, but I scoot back, her grasping hand barely missing me.
I stand and back away.
She straightens and reaches for her baton. I bring my hands up, ready for the fight.
Closing her eyes, she takes in a deep breath through her nose and blows it out her mouth.
I’m wary, back against the wall, just watching her.
Leaving her baton in its holster, she lowers herself into her chair. “Sit.” She points at my seat.