Under His Rule (Dark Romance Suspense)

by Clarissa Wild

  “That door means you’re marked,” he says, leaning against the Jacuzzi’s water vents on his elbows. “They’ll see you enter through it.”

  “Okay.” I avert my eyes.

  “And I’ll keep an eye on you,” he adds.

  “Fine.” I turn and walk, trying not to make this a bigger deal than it is.

  But as my hand touches the handle, he says, “You’re mine now. You know that, right?”

  I swallow … and then smile.

  “Yes.”

  I made a choice.

  I chose him.

  But I never said I would be truthful … or fair.

  And I never said I actually came …

  Because I fucking faked it.

  And with my middle finger pointing straight down, I turn the handle.

  Chapter 16

  Natalie

  When I exit the door, several patriarchs are already waiting on the stage for the rituals to begin. People are dancing and drinking in just their tightly wrapped towels, some of them even tearing it off to put on a show.

  I stand and watch from a distance, hoping this’ll go by quickly and without a lot of ruckus.

  “Natalie? Oh my … Nat!” It’s Emmy, and she’s coming straight toward me, waving at me like a lunatic. “Nat, where did you go? We lost you.”

  “Ahh … different showers, that’s all.” I shrug.

  Her eyes widen when she spots the door behind me. Shit. Maybe I should’ve taken a few more steps.

  “You came from the patriarch’s room? Oh wow …”

  I hold up a hand. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, it is,” she says.

  Holly and April quickly run up to us the moment they spot us even though I’m trying not to get noticed.

  “Natalie!” Holly yells. “Where were you?”

  “The patriarchs took her to their private room,” Emmy explains before I can even say a word.

  Holly’s jaw drops, and she stammers. “What? No!”

  “Yes!” Emmy squeals and hugs me. “You’re such a lucky girl.”

  Luck? Nothing about this had anything to do with luck.

  “What happened?” April asks casually. She the only one who doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about.

  Emmy turns around and grabs April’s hands. “A patriarch …” She points at me. “Chose her.”

  She says it so loudly that the people around us turn and look.

  If I wasn’t completely red already, I am now.

  “Not so loud,” I hiss.

  “Why are you hiding?” Emmy asks. “You should be celebrating!”

  She grabs my hand and pulls me along with her into the crowd of dancing people, forcing me to dance with her. She seems incredibly elated about something that has nothing to do with her, and I don’t get it.

  “No, stop. Why are you so excited?” I ask, managing to jerk free.

  “Because it means that he chose you … as his wife.”

  I frown. “What?”

  Wife? No, no. This was just a fuck. No marriage involved. Right?

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Married? To a patriarch?” Holly screams.

  I immediately shove my hand against her mouth. I don’t want the people to hear, let alone the patriarchs sitting on that stage right now.

  “Is that true?” April asks. “How? How would you know?”

  “Well, they have sex with you,” Emmy whispers.

  April’s pupils dilate. “Ooh …”

  Emmy’s suddenly up in my face. “Did you?”

  “What?” I’m overwhelmed by questions and faces and things I don’t want to be thinking about right now. “That’s none of your business.”

  “So you did …” Holly whispers when I take my hand off her mouth.

  “Just stop, please,” I say. “I don’t know what it was, but I just want it to be … private. For now.”

  “Okay, we’re zipping up,” Emmy says, pretending she’s throwing away the key on her zipped-up lips. But I know that can’t be further from the truth.

  “It won’t be official until the patriarch announces it anyway,” Holly adds with glee.

  The door opens, and Noah steps outside.

  We briefly glance at each other, his commanding eyes attracting attention, but I force myself to look away.

  “It’s him?” Emmy whispers.

  I close my eyes and sigh.

  But when I open them again and look at the stage where Noah is sitting … I spot that same woman with the auburn hair again. She’s standing behind a man sitting on the middle seat. With her hand, she swipes away as strand of hair that was covering her face, and her towel slides down just far enough to reveal a bruise on her chest.

  Then she looks at me.

  I freeze.

  It’s for just a few seconds, and then she looks away again, but it’s enough for me.

  It’s her. It has to be.

  I know that woman.

  And if she’s standing there right behind that patriarch, then she’s not a figment of my imagination. She’s real.

  “Mom …” I mutter.

  It has to be her. There’s no other explanation.

  She’s the woman from my memories, the one who gave me the scarf.

  “What?” Emmy asks, but I ignore her.

  “Mom!” I yell out.

  The woman looks my way again, and the look on her face is distraught, shaken.

  I push through the crowd, heading straight for her. People around me look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and Emmy even tries to stop me, but I jerk myself free from her grip. I have to know.

  So I push on, beyond the crowd, right through the pit where the people are fucking and toward the stage at the edge of the balcony. Noah stands up from his seat, glaring me down as though to strike fear into me, but I’m not afraid of him.

  His fingers beckon, but not at me.

  Suddenly, two guards jump on me, grabbing both my arms and pinning me down.

  “No! Let me go!” I yell as they drag me away through the crowd.

  Everyone’s looking at me, but I don’t care. I need to get to her. I have to speak with her. It’s the only way to know for sure.

  So I struggle and fight every step they take, my body being slid across the concrete as though I’m a bag of sand. “No! I have to talk to her!” I yell.

  The guards ignore me, but the woman doesn’t.

  She can’t take her eyes off me, and neither can I as I’m dragged all the way back through the door. A final peek is all I get. One single glance … before the door is shut tight, and the promise of truth flies away with the wind.

  Noah

  “Was that …?” Marsha mutters, her hand slowly covering her mouth. When she turns her face toward me, the look in her eyes changes. She immediately marches over to me and grabs my wrist. “You promised me!”

  Fuck. If I’d known Natalie would go and do that, I would’ve never let the two of them exist in the same space.

  I shake myself loose from her grip. “Things. Change.”

  “You son of a … You can’t do this. This is wrong, and you know it,” she says, shaking her head. “You saw how she yelled!”

  “Don’t. Make. A. Scene,” I growl, trying to keep my voice low. “That was the deal, and you broke your end, remember?”

  She makes a face. “You know exactly why. She doesn’t belong here, and you know that.”

  The president gets up from his chair too and approaches us with care. “What’s going on?” he asks.

  Marsha side-eyes him over her shoulder. “Nothing, dear.”

  “Are you sure? Because you two sure seem to be having a heated conversation,” he says, folding his arms as he comes to stand right beside his wife.

  “Marsha is just feeling a little sick today. Aren’t you, Marsha?” I say, cocking my eyes while staring at her.

  She swallows away the lump in her throat and presses her hand against her chest, right where her bruise is. “Ah …
yes.” She coughs a couple of times and turns around to face her husband with a charitable smile on her face. “I almost felt the need to go to the bathroom just now. But I’m okay. I don’t want to ruin the ceremony.”

  A tepid smile shortly adorns his face. “I’m glad to hear.” He clears his throat and addresses the crowd of people hanging on his every word. “Let us continue the ceremony and start the rituals.”

  The people cheer and dance, and then the fucking recommences.

  Still, Marsha glares at me from the corner of her eyes.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done,” she mutters. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  “Marsha.” The president looks her way, narrowing his eyes at her with a certain hint of a threat hiding behind it.

  It’s a threat she knows all too well.

  And after a final glance my way, she turns and walks back to his seat, where she stands behind him like a wife should in this community.

  But she’s no ordinary wife, and she knows that.

  And it’d be a fucking shame if her husband discovered that too.

  Natalie

  A week later

  I scrub the floors on all fours until my fingers are raw and my feet ache so much I can barely stand. After the guards brought me to my hut and locked me in, an elder sister came to give me my punishment; washing all the floors in all the huts … across the entire community for a week.

  It wasn’t a punishment I’d accept with a smile, but it was this or go back to the concrete hut with no windows and no water or food, so I chose this.

  Now I’m not so sure it was the right decision, but it’s too late to turn back and ask for forgiveness. I don’t think they’d accept it regardless of whether I tried. I ruined the ceremony. Literally shouted on the top of the roof at someone I don’t even know.

  At least, that’s what they think … but I know my eyes don’t lie. She saw me, and she reacted.

  She knows me just as well as I know her. The only question is how?

  Suddenly, the door opens, and I stop scrubbing for a second. My fingers hurt as I look up. An elder’s wife stands before me, the same one who taught me at their uncivilized “school.” She throws me a demoralizing gaze, her eyes devoid of any sympathy whatsoever at the sight of my crumpled up fingers.

  “It’s time,” she says.

  I put down the brush and sit up on my knees. Time for what?

  “Come with me,” the woman says, opening the door farther.

  I get up and pick up the bucket and brush, but she says, “Leave it. Someone else will clean that up.”

  Okay … what the heck is going on? Is my punishment over, or am I in for something way worse?

  I follow her out, and we walk all the way back to my hut, surprisingly. Emmy, Holly, and April are there waiting, and the moment the elder’s wife leaves, they grab me and take off my clothes again.

  “Ah, stop, what are you doing?” I mutter between being shuffled around.

  “Getting you dressed, silly,” Emmy explains.

  “For what? We just had a ceremony yesterday,” I say.

  “Not the ceremony,” Holly says with big, bright eyes. “The prayers.”

  “Prayers?” I narrow my eyes.

  “Yeah, it’s when we all give prayers to God to help the women of this community get pregnant.”

  I cringe at the thought. Of course, they want more babies. More people to indoctrinate and work for them. It’s like one big, well-oiled machine.

  When they’re done draping me in that same old white outfit, we all go outside. Tons of other women join us on the path, like a sea of white cloaks, and we all flow in the same direction to a big building in the center of the commune’s grounds.

  Men are among us too, but they don’t have to dress a certain way, and none of them are silent like us. It’s as if it’s an unwritten rule for the women to shut up and listen while the men are allowed to do pretty much anything except screw someone else’s wife.

  Unless you’re a patriarch of course … then all the rules go out the window.

  No wonder they all seem to enjoy their position so much.

  When we arrive in the giant building, rows and rows of people all line up in front of the stage where the same patriarchs sit, and everyone goes to their knees. It’s as if they’re all worshipping them, and I’m left questioning my sanity when I do exactly the same thing.

  I sit down in the back, looking down the hall, trying not to stick out. I don’t want more punishment, but I can still observe. There are women standing behind some of the patriarchs, but not behind the president in the middle, which I find unusual as there was before. In front of them, there’s also a circle where there are no people kneeling, and I wonder why.

  Suddenly, the president stands from his seat. The people look up in awe at this man. Both Emmy and Holly seem completely transfixed, and even April’s staring with anticipation. It’s almost as if everyone’s hanging on his lips, dying for his words. “Dear people of the Holy Land. Today, we pray to God so our family may flourish and our hearts will remain full of love.”

  “Amen,” everyone says.

  “God has blessed us with so many fruits. Our fields are bountiful, and our women are fertile.”

  Bile rises, and I swallow it back down.

  “Our men are strong and kindhearted. Our children are curious and eager to learn,” he continues. “We have much to be thankful for, so today we say our thanks to God.”

  “Amen.”

  The people bow their heads each time they say the words, their hands on their laps, opened like blooming flowers. It’s almost as if they want me to believe they’re innocent. But I know better than that.

  “Praise the Lord for giving us so many blessings so that we may serve him now and in the afterlife.”

  “Amen.”

  The more they chant, the more goose bumps scatter on my skin.

  The president clasps his hands together and closes his eyes. “It’s time to bring in our blessed women.”

  The people look up with bright, starry eyes as doors on the side of the room open. In walk a couple of women, some of whom I recognize from the rituals while others are completely unfamiliar to me … but some of them look pregnant.

  The smiles on their faces are huge as they stand in front of the crowd, facing the patriarchs and the president. Two elder wives come toward them, give them two kisses on the cheeks and bow … then they rip off their dresses.

  My eyes widen, and my jaw drops.

  One by one, the women’s white clothing are torn off and thrown aside as if it’s nothing, but they’re naked … in front of everyone.

  My heart is racing, and I want to leap out and protect these women from these men’s eyes, but I know that would cause me more problems than I’d be able to get out of, and I don’t ever want to go back to that concrete hut. These women don’t even seem bothered by the fact that hundreds of people are staring at their naked bodies.

  That could be anyone. It could’ve been me right there.

  I shiver in place.

  “Cold?” Emmy whispers.

  I shake my head. “What’s happening to those women?”

  “They’re getting their blessings from the patriarchs,” she whispers back.

  “For what?”

  “For hopefully getting or being pregnant.” She raises her brows and points at the one woman with the bigger belly. “She’s confirmed. But late. We would’ve done a prayer sooner if they’d known earlier.”

  “Okay.” It all sounds crazy to me. “So you don’t know if the others are carrying children?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter.” She smiles and gazes at the same scene as I do with a look of awe. “Receiving a patriarch’s blessing is the biggest honor there is, and once you’ve been blessed, you’re no longer available to be picked at the ceremony.”

  So basically, it’s like an official marriage confirmation.

  The patriarchs step forward and each place their hands on
the woman’s belly. And all of them smile as though it’s nothing.

  “You are now blessed with the seed of God,” all the patriarchs say.

  “Praise!” everyone yells.

  “God will give you a child. Whether it’s this day or the next,” the president says. “All of you will bear for Him, because it is right.”

  My whole body begins to tremble.

  “Are you cold or something?” Now it’s Holly asking.

  “No,” I say.

  “Silence, girls,” says an elder wife who’s kneeling behind us.

  My nostrils flare at her, but I don’t say another word. Now is not the time to argue.

  “You are now wives,” the president continues. “Give your husbands whatever it is his heart desires, and He shall do the same for you. God is giving; God is love. Love encompasses all that we do here at the commune, and we thank the Lord for all he has given this family.”

  “Amen,” the people say.

  The president snaps his fingers. Two men step forward, who I assume are elders, and they hand the patriarchs red cloaks. They drape them over the women and clasp them together at the neck, which makes them look like Red Riding Hood to me, but I guess it has a spiritual meaning.

  Emmy leans in. “That cloak signifies the end of their initiation and the beginning of their wife-hood.”

  “I thought every woman only wore white here,” I whisper back.

  “This is a special occasion. It’s only for women who are no longer untouched.”

  That’s complete horseshit. But I guess that ultimately suits these men’s narrative … make women believe their virginity is something holy, something that’s to be celebrated when it’s claimed by a man.

  Men rule this world.

  But that doesn’t mean it’s right.

  “That girl bled like a slaughtered goat,” Holly whispers, while pointing at the girl with the visibly pregnant body. She sniggers. “But she got taken by three different men that evening, so it was a good night.”

  That’s what she calls a good night?

  “I thought they were only allowed to be claimed by one man?” April asks.

  “The patriarchs always have the final say. If they want a girl, they can claim her on top of someone else’s claim.”