Under His Rule (Dark Romance Suspense)

by Clarissa Wild

  “God’s love is life,” I say.

  The silence that follows is deafening. I can practically hear my own breath against the door while I try to listen.

  Suddenly, the metal moves away from me, and I take a step back.

  There’s a big, bearded man standing in front of me, glaring down at me as though I’m lost or something. Was it not the right word? Shit. I should go. What am I even doing here?

  He suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me inside.

  Just like that … I’m in.

  I look around for a second at the grimy enclosure, which looks more like the inside of a cell in a prison than a bar where a gathering is taking place.

  A sudden loud bang makes me jolt, and I turn to see the door has been slammed shut by that same burly man. He grunts at me and looks as though he might chew my head off if I say anything about it, so I don’t.

  Instead, I continue walking. Is there another exit? I have to find one before things get out of control. Because who knows what’s going to happen at a meeting like this.

  “Keep walking,” the burly man growls.

  I smile gently at him, trying not to be so obvious in my ignorance.

  I wonder if I’m the first one who got inside without an invitation. If I’m the only one who stumbled into this mess.

  When I get to the main area, I think I have my answer.

  My jaw drops as I look around at the hundreds of people watching a few people on stage talk about religion. Many of them look like regular folks such as me, who probably got in just like I did because they were curious about what went on in here.

  But unlike me, they probably want to know why they should join.

  All I want is to find that man; the one with the symbol on his hand.

  There must be a reason he has that tattoo and why I’m wearing a scarf with that same symbol on it. It can’t be a coincidence, right?

  I move through the crowd, listening to the speaker on the stage.

  “God is within us all. You must understand he watches over everything you do. God is not right or wrong, God is everything and both. God is all around us. He created every living being and the world. He created us exactly as we are. With love. With compassion. With needs. With all our inhibitions and flaws. And he loves us all. There is no reason you should prohibit yourself from your natural instincts. Why should you punish yourself for doing exactly what God intended? What you were made of.”

  “What about sex then?” someone in the crowd asks.

  The speaker, an older, gray-haired man with a beard as big as the burly man in front of the door, licks his lips. A tepid smile inches through the cracks, fading as quickly as it came. “God … God’s love is unending. Were you not born without your clothes? Were you not born with love in your heart? Were you not born with needs and wants? Only adults refer to this idea that love must only be given to those who deserve it. But this idea doesn’t stem from God; it stems from fear. It stems from the human inability to understand emotions. To understand that it is natural to feel and have needs. Sex is only a natural part of that.”

  “So you’re saying God wants us to have sex?” someone says. “With like everyone?”

  Some people burst out into laughter and giggles.

  The speaker nods. “Under certain circumstances … yes.”

  The serious tone in his voice completely stops the laughter.

  “Awesome, I think I’ll join then,” one guy in the crowd comments. More snorts ensue among his buddies along with obscene gestures meant to rile up the ladies standing next to them.

  The speaker clears his throat. “We will start the applicant process but be aware that only the worthy will be accepted. What that means is entirely up to the Family’s protocol as outlined in our statute, which you can read once you’ve made it through the initial screening.”

  “Screening? No one said we’d go through that,” the same guy boldly states, trying to get his friends to agree.

  The speaker looks up and blinks once, controlled. “No one said you were going to.”

  The guy seems confused. Then, out of nowhere, three other burly men appear and walk over to him, threatening him with their physical size as they force him toward the exit.

  “Hey, I didn’t do shit. What do you want?”

  “Out,” one of the burly men says, pointing at the open door.

  “What the hell? You fuckers make no sense. Whatever,” the guy says, throwing up his hands before shrugging the burly men off and sauntering off toward the door I came through.

  Everyone looks at him as though he’s a black sheep.

  The unwanted one.

  And more and more people start to flock toward the speaker.

  “That is what happens when you don’t take God seriously. Only the devout are able to see the light.”

  People hang on his every word, and I’m left questioning whose lead I should follow … the crowd or the man who just got kicked out. The smart thing to do would be to leave, but I can’t until I have what I came here for.

  Taking a few steps closer, I watch the crowd disperse when a man on the side of the stage sets up a table and a seat down below, placing a few stacks of papers on top. I glance around the room as people peek over each other’s shoulders, trying to get a view of the documents. But all I see are the men on the stage and a few beside it, barely hiding behind a curtain as though they want to remain unseen. But I see them.

  One in particular … with a tattoo on his hand.

  It’s him.

  My eyes home in on the man and his clean-shaven, handsome face, which isn’t at all a face I’d expect on a man who belongs to this group. With his hair casually thrown to one side and his strong jaw and prominent chin, he looks more like a sexy mobster than a Family man. Still, I can’t stop looking at him, at the way he moves his hand to his thin lips and chews on his nails, or how he scans the room as though he’s looking for something … like I did when I found him.

  And now … he’s found me.

  When our eyes connect, I freeze.

  He captures my full attention away from the busy room and crowd of mumbling people. I am solely focused on him, even when I don’t want to be. I can’t pull my eyes away, and neither can he.

  But in his eyes, I don’t see kindness or the gentleness of a Family man.

  All I see is a bitter frenzy … directed straight at me.

  Noah

  There she is.

  Right there in the crowd.

  The moment our eyes connect, I know it’s her … the girl I’ve been looking for.

  Her pretty red hair cascades down her shoulders and onto the scarf she wears around her neck, but those luscious locks don’t distract me. It’s her eyes … those hauntingly beautiful eyes. I don’t need anything other than her staring straight back at me to know that I’ve found the one I’m going to take. The one who’ll be mine.

  With a flick of my fingers, one of our devoted elders for the day comes toward me. “Her.”

  I narrow my eyes at the girl, and his follow suit.

  “Now?”

  “Now,” I reply.

  He nods and walks off the stage, going straight toward her in the crowd. Dread fills her eyes the longer she looks at me. I can’t stop staring because I know, deep down, she can see straight through me … straight into my wicked, stained soul.

  A wretched smile forms on my lips. I didn’t think it would be that easy, that simple, but it is.

  By the time she noticed my man approaching her, it’s already too late to flee. He grabs her arm and talks to her, then pulls her away into a separate room.

  He knows what he has to do.

  Natalie

  Within seconds of spotting the man with the tattoo, someone has his hands on me. I sputter some words but don’t know what to say as the unknown man drags me away to a room in the back. I don’t know what he wants or why his boss sent him to grab me.

  “Stop, wait, I didn’t sign a form,” I manage to mutter. The peo
ple in the crowd were about to line up for a document, but I never got my eyes on a single piece of paper. And still, I’m pushed into a room and locked in against my will.

  I bang on the doors, but no one answers.

  “Let me out!” I scream.

  Seconds later, it rattles, and I step back, hoping they’ll let me out and tell me it was all a mistake. I didn’t sign up to become one of them. They have no right to hold me.

  But one look at his hands makes my eyes widen and my heart stop.

  A bag.

  And it’s pulled over my head and cinched tightly at the base.

  I scream, but the bag muffles the sound. Someone snips holes in the bag where my nose is, but I still struggle for air. I squeal and try to shove them away, but I miss. Oh God, oh God, oh God, what did I do? What did I get myself into?

  I have to get out. I have to escape.

  In a panicked frenzy, I run toward anything and everything I can find, bumping into walls, tables, chairs, then falling to the floor only to get back up and try again.

  Suddenly, two arms wrap around my waist. “Hold her, goddammit,” a voice growls.

  A sharp object punctures my skin. I squeal, but my voice feels weak. Fainting. Just like me.

  My whole body goes numb as my muscles refuse to listen to my commands, and I sink to the floor while my eyes slowly close.

  I can’t let them do this … I can’t let these people take me … Can’t …

  Too. Late.

  Noah

  On my lap lies an angel. A pretty girl with beautiful, long red-painted hair with streaks of auburn hidden underneath. A girl with the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen before she closed them tight. Right now, she’s blissfully unaware of what’s going on around her, of how I’ve taken her from that joint and put her in my car, and that she’s coming with me.

  The drugs to subdue her were easy to administer, but it won’t be easy on either of us once they wear off.

  My fingers caress her hair and cheeks softly, and I wish I could keep her right here with me. But I need to win her trust first, so this needs to be the final time I touch her … for now.

  I murmur into her ear, “I can’t wait for you to become mine.”

  She’s breathing so softly that it’s almost as if she’s sleeping. But we both know that isn’t true.

  When she wakes up, she’ll learn exactly what it means to be owned.

  Chapter 2

  Noah

  “What do you intend to do with her?” Patriarch Patrick asks me while we oversee the transport of her limp body to the community.

  “Let her go through the initiation process,” I reply, watching from my window.

  “What? Why?” he asks.

  I turn to look at him. “She’s a captured, isn’t she? All captured go through this process.”

  “Yes, but … this one was chosen by you. For a reason, right?” He narrows his eyes.

  He’s prying for information, but I’m not willing to dish any.

  “She’s just someone who caught my eye, that’s all,” I say, waving it away as though it’s no big deal.

  But it is. Even though I won’t say that out loud.

  She’s the one. The one girl who’s going to change everything.

  As long as she makes it through initiation, which I know will be rough on her.

  “You normally never pick your own,” Patriarch Patrick adds.

  “Well, this time, I did. Does it really matter who chooses, whether it’s a helper or an elder, or even a patriarch? What’s the point in being a patriarch if you can’t have a little fun?” I muse.

  He nods, smiling wickedly. “True, true …” He clears his throat. “Maybe one of these days, I should pick one.”

  Hmm … He may think that’s an option, but it’s not. Not for me.

  “Plenty of willing women already live in the community who would drop at your feet at the chance of getting in your bed, Patrick,” I say.

  He raises his glass. “Very much so.” He takes a sip and makes a loud ‘ah’ sound. “But still … I’d like to have some fun for myself too.”

  I clutch my glass firmly and look him directly in the eyes. “No.”

  He pauses and lowers his brows at me, questioning my authority in the matter.

  But I have all the chess pieces in place, and there is no fucking way he is going to ruin this for me.

  “This ‘fun’ for me is also an order.”

  “From who?”

  “The president himself,” I say.

  He gulps, visibly shaken. “Oh.”

  “Exactly. So don’t go do something against the rules.”

  “But why would he let you and not me?” he asks.

  I shrug. “You know why.”

  He grinds his teeth. “Right.” He sighs, defeated. “It’s about time for prayers anyway. Are you coming?”

  I gaze out the window at the girl being dragged toward the concrete hut right now. Even knowing what’s about to happen to her will break her, I’m not doing anything to stop it.

  It’s as though I’m thrusting a dagger into my own heart.

  That girl will be my undoing, I just know it.

  But I’ve already made the choice, and now I must commit.

  “Yes,” I reply. Getting up from my chair, I set my glass down and take my eyes off the window. The chess pieces are set in place, exactly as they should be.

  Right on schedule … just in time for a real-life, literal checkmate.

  Natalie

  When I come to again, I feel dizzy and nauseous, and I instantly turn around to puke on the floor below me. I grunt in pain and curl up into a ball as my stomach feels like it did a somersault. My eyes crack open, but there’s no light in sight.

  No.

  The pure darkness surrounding me fuels the panic inside my veins.

  Where am I?

  Then I remember the man with the tattoo. His penetrating gaze … and the man who came to get me.

  I immediately touch my face, but the bag is gone. My fingers slide across my skin, my lips, my eyes, my hair. Everything’s still intact. Except for my sanity.

  My hands slide down farther, but they find no fabric, no clothes to cover my body. I’m naked. Completely naked.

  Someone undressed me.

  Who did this?

  My whole body starts to shiver. Are they still here? “Hello?” I cry out.

  My voice is hoarse, either from the drugs or from screaming out for help.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been here … or how many times I tried calling out before.

  All I know is that my way back to reality was long and hard, and that I might pass out again just from being in this darkness.

  Am I alone? “Is anyone else in here?” I ask, but there’s no reply.

  Why? Why did they put me here? Why did they pick me?

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” I call out, hoping someone from the outside can hear me and will set me free from this dark prison. “Please. Let me out.”

  My voice echoes against the walls surrounding me. No response.

  Shivering, I get up from the floor and feel my way around. I’m in a small cell big enough for maybe two to three people. The shivers become worse and worse.

  Then my hands stumble upon a different material. Softer. More giving. Warm.

  I stop and tap three times. Definitely wood. A door maybe?

  My hand slides down, touching every inch until I find a door handle. I jerk it hard, every tug a little harder than the one before. But no matter how hard I pull, it refuses to open.

  Tears fill my eyes as I bang on the wood as hard as I can.

  “Let me out!” I scream. “Let me out, goddammit!”

  Tears stream down my face as I sink to the floor and bury my head in my hands.

  My body is so cold, and it’s growing numb with fear.

  Sickness overcomes me, but I swallow it down. I don’t know how long I’m going to be in here, or what they’re going to do with me, but
if I’m going to survive … I have to focus.

  Keep it together, Natalie.

  You’ll get out.

  In the darkness, there is no mindset that can save you from insanity except hope and pure fantasy. Hope that one day you’ll get out of here. And the fantasy to know that you’ll be okay.

  Because deep down, I already know this is going to scar my soul.

  Now

  Water.

  I never thought I could have a single wish. That I could want for nothing more than just water.

  It’s all my brain can think about while I lie shivering on the cold, hard floor, wondering when this torture will end.

  I don’t know how many hours have passed, but I know I’m thirsty as hell, and I’m almost to the point of contemplating drinking my own pee. The thought alone makes me want to puke.

  Stop thinking about it, Natalie. Just stop.

  But I can’t.

  Whoever put me in here is beyond cruel.

  Without any explanation, I’ve been put here in this hole like a goddamn criminal. I didn’t do anything to deserve this, yet I’m here anyway.

  All because I looked at him.

  That man was the devil himself.

  I’m sure of it.

  It’s because of him that I’m stuck here like a rat in a cage.

  But when is he going to come and release me?

  Only time will tell, and I have plenty.

  So much that I’m counting down the seconds until I’m in the millions. I’m talking to myself, to the wall, to anything that surrounds me. My tears have dried up on my cheeks, my skin cracking underneath.

  In the middle of the cell, I felt a set of clothes lying on the floor, but I don’t dare put them on.

  Putting those on means conforming. It means listening to their demands. It means giving in.

  And I am not done fighting yet.

  Suddenly, the door opens, and my ears and eyes perk up like those of a dog whose master came back home. But I am no happy dog … I’m the one with sharp teeth and a killer bite.