Devoted to Love

by Shayla Black

  “Any idea how far we are from the main greenhouse? My truck is parked behind it.”

  “It’s at least a football field away, probably more.”

  That gave him a clue. “When you entered the house, did it have a little kitchen on the right and, on the left, a seating area with a big brown sofa, a fireplace, and a braided rug, minus a TV?”

  “Yes.”

  Josiah should have assumed Mercy would bring him to her lair. “Perfect. Did Coleman walk you upstairs or down?”

  It had felt like the latter to him, but basements weren’t a typical thing with Texas’s shifting soil.

  “Down. We’re in something that looks like a makeshift cellar.”

  “Okay.” Josiah scanned the room for anything he might use to secure the sect’s leader to the folding chair, but the room was otherwise empty. He set the knife aside and shrugged off his shirt, ripping the arms from the body of the garment, then shoved one in Maggie’s direction. “You start with his hands, secure them together and to the back of the chair, but keep it loose for now. We’re only getting out of the room because Coleman thinks he’s untouchable. The next layer of resistance will know better.”

  Maggie gave him a shaky nod and did as she was bid while Josiah bent to Coleman’s ankles and secured him with a constrictor knot. As he finished, so did his girl. She stepped back to give him space, and Josiah slotted right in, binding Coleman’s wrists with the same treatment. Then he ripped away the collar from his shirt and shoved it in the con man’s slack mouth.

  “Let’s go.” Josiah grabbed the knife again.

  With a shaky nod, she followed, looking back as if she worried Coleman would jump up and pursue her with deadly intent again, like an unkillable villain in a horror movie. But he sat slumped—and very much a mere mortal—in the rickety chair. He’d probably be out another five minutes at most. Josiah hoped like hell they’d found their escape by then.

  He turned the knob slowly, unsure if Coleman had left anyone guarding the door. Sure enough, as soon as he stuck his head out, he connected stares with one of the big brutes he’d seen before, who went wide eyed. No gun today, but he was still armed with meaty fists and meanness.

  Josiah pounced, using the surprise to his advantage. With an uppercut to the jaw and a twist of the neck, the thug fell, the snap of his bones still ringing between Josiah’s ears.

  “Oh, my lord . . .” Maggie sounded shocked.

  She knew he hadn’t been a Boy Scout, but this was probably her first rodeo with death. It was right in her face, and Josiah couldn’t do a damn thing to change that. It unsettled the average person. As much as he wanted to spare her, he couldn’t now.

  Instead, he pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  When he bobbed his head toward the top of the stairs, she nodded. Good. She understood that someone would likely try to take them down at every turn.

  When he gestured her behind him, she fell in as he rounded a dark corner. Thankfully, no one stood between him and the cellar door.

  “You’re good at creeping quietly,” he murmured as much to calm her as to hear her voice.

  “Hell-raising teenage years. I sneaked out a lot.”

  Despite the shit they were in, he grinned. He could picture Maggie, determined not to miss a football game, party, or cute guy to flirt with.

  “Had to get past your grandparents?”

  She shook her head. “I think they’d halfway given up on restraining me by then. But my sister . . .”

  His grin widened. He could see Shealyn mommying her. Well, as much as Maggie would have let her.

  “Stay close,” he said as he grabbed the handle of the knife tightly and reached for the doorknob.

  Maggie sidled up to him. “Selfishly, I’m relieved to see you, but I didn’t want you to risk yourself for me.”

  He dropped his grip on the knob and turned to her. If things didn’t go well, this might be his last chance to hold her.

  “I’m always going to come for you.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m always going to be there for you. I’m always going to do my best to save you.”

  “But you’re risking your life . . .”

  “I love you.”

  The squeak of the door opening behind him jerked Josiah to attention. He whirled and dragged the intruder down the stairs. Before the door clicked shut quietly, shards of light penetrated enough for him to recognize the face. “Hi, Michael. Come to check on your daddy?”

  Darkness consumed the cellar again. Josiah could no longer see the other man’s face, but he could feel the zealot’s malice.

  “Sire might be peaceful and believe the best of all humans. I know better.” He sensed more than saw Michael crouch in a ready stance. “I learned to fight young, starting with my parents, all the way to my pimps. I’ve fought my way through life. I can take care of myself. C’mon. Show me what you’ve got.”

  Before Josiah could attack, Michael jabbed. Josiah ducked out of the way in time to avoid the blow, but Michael managed to knock the knife from his hand. It clattered across the creaking floor. Fuck.

  Michael dove for it, but Josiah stopped him with a roundhouse punch toward the henchman’s jaw. Michael grunted but proved he was a fighter because instead of connecting with the goon’s face, Josiah only punched air.

  God, he fucking hated brawling in the dark. Unable to watch his opponents and dissect their weaknesses to use to his advantage, he was forced to listen for Michael’s every movement, his telltale heavy breathing—while struggling to control his own.

  Behind him, he sensed Maggie. She might be staying out of the way for now, which was where he wanted her, but he worried. Had Michael spotted her when he’d entered? Figured out that he could use her against him?

  “I saw through you, you know,” Michael taunted. “I tried to tell Mercy you were a fraud. But her pussy has some sort of fever for you because she wouldn’t listen. I can’t wait to kill you and throw your carcass at her feet.”

  Josiah didn’t bother with a response. He merely gritted his teeth and edged to the goon’s side. If he could get behind Michael and take him down, another snap of the neck . . . and he’d be doing the world a favor.

  Suddenly, Michael lunged, not attacking him but shoving him out of the way. His back hit old wood packed over soft earth. Then he heard a female yelp.

  Maggie.

  He hurtled himself toward the sounds of scuffling and grunts of strife. But again, Maggie surprised him.

  “Motherfucker,” Michael croaked out in pain.

  That tone of voice was universal. “You kicked him in the balls?”

  “I got my knee under there and shoved as hard as I could,” she confirmed.

  “God, I love you even more.”

  While Michael was doubled over and helpless, Josiah plowed the bastard’s face with his fist. He went down with a satisfying thud. But when he checked Coleman’s deputy for a weapon, he came up empty. Damn it.

  Josiah lifted Michael’s dead weight, dropped his inert form on the floor at Coleman’s feet, then locked the pair of them inside the little room.

  When he turned back, Maggie was right there. Josiah dropped a quick, hard kiss on her lips. “You okay?”

  “Fine. You? Your hand hurt?”

  Least of his problems now. Fuck, she smelled good. He’d love to stay and linger . . . but they had one chance to find freedom or it would be too late.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to grope around the floor for the knife. As he took a step, he kicked it with the toe of his boot. Josiah felt around the floor until the hilt filled his hand again. “Onward.”

  “With you.”

  Yeah, she was. Behind him, beside him, with him in every way. Josiah refused to let her down. They were going to get out of this.

  No one greeted them on the other side of the cellar door. He pop
ped his head above the ridge of the trap door in the floor and found a pair of women bustling in the kitchen, windows wide open despite the frigid day, as they concocted more of their homemade hallucinogenic brew.

  Thankfully, neither was difficult to subdue. They willingly went down the stairs and into the spartan cellar with Michael and Coleman. One rubbed her distended belly with a wail when she caught sight of the unconscious men. Sad . . . One of them had obviously impregnated her. Instead of looking at this as her chance to escape, they’d brainwashed her—and a score of others—into believing they were helping the world by breeding more followers.

  What would happen to these kids?

  With a shake of his head, he locked the door behind the quartet. The rest of the house was empty. From top to bottom, Josiah searched for a phone, the weapons he knew they’d once stashed here— something to aid their escape. But fuck if the place wasn’t devoid of both electronics and firearms now.

  He peeked out windows to get his bearings and plan an escape route. Gun-toting crazies roamed everywhere. Suddenly, they appeared keyed up. Dread gripped Josiah. Something was going on.

  A small group approached a shack about fifty yards away and pounded on the door. Moments later, Marcus emerged, shirtless and scowling and tense. He had no idea what Coleman’s henchman had been doing with Mercy, but he doubted it was painless or G-rated.

  As an agitated Marcus dragged a shirt over his head, Newt shouted. The others ignored him, pointing toward Mercy’s place, then tossing their hands in the air. Had they noticed Coleman’s prolonged absence?

  Suddenly, Marcus’s gaze snapped in his direction. Josiah dodged the second-story window, but it was too late. The flock had seen him, and Marcus was a warrior. Michael might have fancied himself a tough guy, but Marcus actually was. He’d fight mean and dirty and to win.

  “We have to get out of here,” Josiah snapped. “Let’s try the back door.”

  “There are too many people,” Maggie objected, voice low. “They’re headed this way.”

  “We have to make a run for my truck.” Thankfully, he kept a spare key in a magnetic box in the wheel well.

  “Can we make it?”

  “We can only try.” Josiah took Maggie’s hand and led her down the stairs, past the bathroom that doubled as a greenhouse, and sprinted for the back exit.

  He’d like their odds a hell of a lot better if he had a fucking gun. The only good news? Dusk was setting in. Once the sun disappeared, their creep to freedom would be easier.

  Except Josiah had a feeling this would be over well before the sun fell.

  Gripping the knob and feeling his heart pound, he squeezed Maggie’s hand. She had to live. For the first time in years, he was desperate to stay alive, too. He wanted to draw breath, thrive, and grow old simply to spend all his days with her.

  He damn well would—if they lived through the next three minutes.

  After opening the door, he led Maggie outside, into long shadows against the house. As they inched across the back wall, voices neared, roaring with righteousness and demanding blood.

  When Josiah reached the corner, he peered around the side of the house. A pair of shooters headed straight toward them. Behind him, Maggie tugged on his shirt. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the approaching duo.

  “Baby, we’ve got company coming.”

  “They’re already here.” Her voice shook.

  Josiah glanced behind him. Sure enough, another pair of cultists had flanked them, vengeance gleaming in their eyes.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were surrounded, four goons each with a gun—and likely more on the way—against two with a single knife between them.

  Their odds of survival had gone from shitty to virtually impossible.

  One of the approaching duo grabbed his arm and tried to twist the knife out of his grip. Josiah held tight, ready to fight. It was their only chance.

  Marcus marched up behind the others and sneered his way. “Not so tough now.”

  Josiah tried reason—something he doubted Marcus could grasp. “You can’t kill us. People know we’re here.”

  The big soldier shrugged, then gestured to Maggie. “She has a purpose, and if she’s too much for my sire to handle, I’ll be happy to tame her. You? Despite what Mercy thinks, you’re expendable. Let’s go.”

  As Marcus gripped his arm and gave a mighty jerk, Josiah yanked down, whirled around, and flipped Marcus over his shoulder. When the asshole landed on his back with a thud, Josiah reached protectively for Maggie. “Fuck you. You’re never touching her.”

  She was safe for the moment, but as Marcus cursed about revenge, the other four pointed their weapons in Josiah’s face.

  Maggie squeezed his hand. These were his last moments, his last heartbeats, his last opportunity to give her his heart and tell her he was so fucking sorry. He could only hope she endured long enough to escape or until the cavalry arrived.

  “Waste him,” Marcus spat.

  An instant later, a shot rang out, surprisingly distant. Josiah heard the whiz of a bullet on his left, inches from his ear. Then a thwack. The thug at his side dropped to the dirt, a neat bullet hole through the middle of his forehead. His brains spilled out from a gaping opening in the back.

  Help is here! Thank god they’d come with hollow points.

  In the pandemonium, shouting ensued. Josiah dropped the knife and trapped it under his foot as he grabbed the dead man’s rifle and butted Marcus in the face with the stock. Coleman’s second-string grunted and fell, out cold. Josiah didn’t spare a second to celebrate. He simply backhanded the last goon on his left with the butt of the rifle, knocking out a few teeth, along with his consciousness.

  Instantly, he turned to defend Maggie, but whoever had sniped the first Chosen had also managed to take out a second. Despite having a weapon, the remaining follower looked young and damn scared now that his posse had all dropped.

  Maggie took a handgun from the dead guy at her feet and pointed it at the last cultist. “I won’t flinch. Put your rifle down or I’ll blow your head off.”

  Josiah couldn’t help but swell with pride at her toughness as he raised his own weapon and backed her up. “And if she misses, I won’t. Drop it or die.”

  With a strangled yelp, the kid released the weapon and raised his hands. “D-don’t kill me.”

  “Then sit down. And don’t move a muscle.”

  What they needed to get out of here was more shade and an insurance policy. This guy wouldn’t do, but Marcus would.

  At a dead guy’s belt, Josiah spied a few pairs of zip ties and tossed them Maggie’s way. “Secure them. I’ll cover you.”

  Questions ran across her face, but she nodded, giving him her faith. His heart swelled. God, he was proud of her. She had a million reasons not to trust. Hell, she’d barely learned how. But Maggie had buried her doubts, regardless of the overwhelming odds against them, and put her fate in his hands. Once she had given her heart, she hadn’t wavered. He wanted that—and her—forever.

  Maggie quickly bound the scared kid’s wrists first, then turned to Coleman’s lieutenant and restrained them tightly just as the ugly asshole began to come around.

  Josiah switched weapons with Maggie, then pressed the barrel of the semiautomatic to Marcus’s temple as a whole new posse of Chosen closed in like an armed mob.

  “Get us out of here,” he growled.

  Marcus refused to move. “You’re outnumbered.”

  “Yep, but I have no problem splattering your brains everywhere. Your drones are mindless enough to think you’re close to a god and will do anything to spare you. So start walking or I start shooting.”

  Snarling curses of retribution, Marcus marched forward, spurred by Josiah’s prodding.

  As soon as they reached an open clearing, the members of the flock stood and stared in slack-jawed astonishment. Horro
r flared across most faces . . . but not all.

  One young woman came forward, cradling her swelling belly, and spit on Marcus. “I hope someone rapes you in prison. Then you’ll understand.”

  The vindication on her face was full of stark pain, and Josiah could only imagine what Marcus and the other perverted misogynists in this hellhole had done to the too-trusting women who had joined looking for utopia and found only debasement and pain. She’d give birth in a few months and have to look at her child by a man she despised for the rest of her life.

  No one in the group dared anything stupidly brave as Josiah shoved Marcus toward his truck. He sensed some were afraid, others relieved.

  Either way, Enlightenment Fields’ reign of terror in Kendall County was over.

  “No!” The female screech to Josiah’s left had him whipping around to the sound. “You ruined everything. Die, you bastard!”

  Mercy charged directly at him, a board riddled with long, rusty nails raised. As she ran closer, she aimed straight for his head. If one of those went through his skull, he’d definitely be done.

  In a moment, he weighed keeping Marcus subdued versus defending himself against Mercy. Failing to do both would be fatal, but he only had one gun and could only point it at one person at a time.

  Decision made, Josiah whirled Marcus to face the brunt of Mercy’s attack. Her eyes flared as she realized too late she would strike her “brother.” She tried to freeze and redirect, but Josiah gave Marcus one fatal shove.

  The board cracked over the top of the bastard’s head. He shouted as nails penetrated his head in multiple places. He gurgled. Blood spurted. Mercy gasped, hands plastered in horror over her mouth. But it was too late; Marcus crumpled to the ground. If he wasn’t dead yet, he would be soon.

  In the same moment, the report of a rifle resounded at Josiah’s side. He half expected to feel the burn of a bullet through his flesh or see Maggie fall to a heap. Instead, she recovered from the recoil of the rifle smoking on her shoulder, watching as Mercy sank to her knees and clutched her bleeding shoulder with an incredulous shriek.

  “That’s for what you did to my grandmother,” Maggie bit out.