by Tarah Benner
“Soren —”
“It’s okay,” he said, cracking a grin. “If you still want to be with me, I don’t care if —”
“Soren, stop!” Lark cried. “I love you!”
Soren looked up, and Lark froze. An overwhelming heat surged through her body, followed by a tingle of embarrassment. She hadn’t planned on saying that. She hadn’t even known that that was what she was feeling. But as soon as those words left her mouth, she knew without a doubt that they were true.
“You do?” Soren croaked, searching her eyes as if to make sure that she was certain.
Lark gave an enormous shrug and nodded. “I do.”
Soren started at her for nearly a minute, and Lark began to get an itch to flee. He didn’t love her. She could live with that. They could just go their separate ways and pretend as though this had never —
“I love you, too,” he whispered. “So, so much.”
Those words caused an immediate ache of happiness to erupt inside of Lark. It exploded in her body like a firework, dimming all of her aches and pains.
She didn’t know what to do — only that she had to get to Soren. She crushed her lips against his mouth, and when they connected, Lark felt as though her entire body had been electrified.
Soren kissed her back hungrily, and Lark climbed into his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and Soren’s tongue found its way to her mouth. She gripped the back of his neck for support, and a second later, Soren lifted her butt cheeks and lowered her hips into the hollow of his lap. She could feel every part of him pressed against her. He groaned softly against her mouth, and Lark felt her body melt.
It didn’t make any sense, she thought. People didn’t fall in love from the other side of a prison fence. That was just lust, and whatever heady feelings they experienced in the aftermath had to be a chemical hangover.
And yet Lark knew that that wasn’t what she felt for Soren. He illuminated something inside of her that burned hotter and brighter than anything she’d ever felt — a glimmer of hope for the future that she’d never experienced before. It was like a deep magnetic pull that made her want to orient herself to Soren at all times. Whatever their relationship had started as, they were much more than that now.
Soren deepened the kiss, and Lark sensed their little interlude building toward something else. Soren’s hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. His eyes drank her in for several seconds, and Lark felt her body flush.
She pulled him toward her and groaned with pleasure. Crushed together skin to skin, Lark could feel every detail — every burn, every scrape, every place Soren’s body was hard against hers. She knew that he was hurting just as she was, but they needed this to heal.
A second later, Soren lifted his hips and threw her back onto the bed. The air left Lark’s lungs as she hit the mattress, and Soren’s hands forged a trail between her legs and up her hips and chest.
He ripped off her sleep shorts and underwear in one rough motion, and Lark felt a rush of cool air tingle over her body. It accentuated the heat that flared through her as Soren stood up to kick off his pants and flung them halfway across the room.
The morning light seemed to caress every inch of his body as he stood there, throwing deep shadows where his muscles connected and stealing Lark’s breath away. He climbed slowly onto the bed and straddled her hips, his chest heaving with exertion. His mouth crashed back down on hers, and Lark felt every part of her body tighten.
Slowly, carefully, Soren slid his whole body down until it was flush against hers. He laced his warm, rough fingers through Lark’s, and she felt herself shudder with pleasure.
They locked eyes as Soren slid into her, and Lark felt her body welcome him. He rocked her gently back and forth, and Lark felt something inside of her burst as their bodies came together for the first time in months.
His heat became her heat. His breath became her breath. Lark bit down on his shoulder to stop a moan that threatened to burst out of her mouth, and Soren gripped her tighter. He squeezed his eyes shut, and they held on to each other for dear life.
When it was over, he collapsed onto the bed beside her, and Lark rolled over and twisted her limbs around him. She felt warm and sweaty and completely spent, but she also felt whole for the first time in months.
Slowly, quietly, they got out of bed and began hunting around for their clothes. Lark winced when she put weight on her twisted ankle and limped toward the dresser to grab her bra and T-shirt.
Soren saw her pained expression and leapt across the room after her. “Hey, hey . . . Take it easy,” he said, coming up and snaking an arm around her waist for support.
“I’m okay,” said Lark, attempting to shuffle back across the room to her jeans without putting her full weight on her leg.
“You’re not fine,” said Soren, lifting Lark clean off her feet and carrying her back to the bed. He set her down and grabbed her jeans off the floor, dropping to one knee to help her into her pants.
Lark grinned as Soren slid the jeans over her legs and thighs, lifting one butt cheek at a time so that he could slide them up onto her hips. When she was dressed, Soren helped her onto her good leg and supported her all the way down the hall. Lark was still slightly dazed from their heated reunion, which was the only reason she let him do it.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Axel, Simjay, Portia, Conrad, and the Baileys were already seated around the table. Portia looked pale and a little weak, but she was sitting up in her chair and seemed to be on the mend.
Bernie was bustling around the kitchen making tea with a little extra spring in her step, and Lark noticed Simjay’s lovesick gaze following her around the room. Conrad looked awkward. Axel and the Baileys all seemed serious, but none so much as Walt.
“We need to talk,” said Axel, staring at Lark and Soren as though they were walking in late to a pre-planned meeting.
“Yeah,” said Soren, holding out a chair for Lark so that she could sit. “I guess we do.”
“The Sons of David are still at large,” said Thompson without preamble. “As far as we can tell, nobody died in that fire. They all took off in the middle of the night, but we don’t know where they went or for how long.”
“I hate that those creeps are still out there,” said Katrina.
“It’s a problem,” Simjay agreed.
“I heard shooting when I went in to find Lark,” said Soren. “You’re telling me that all of them survived?”
Axel shifted angrily in his seat. “It was dark, okay? We was on their turf. I’m tellin’ you, Gideon bolted.”
“Gideon fled, took all the vehicles, and left his parents to fend for themselves,” said Walt.
“What?” said Soren. “How do you know?”
“I know because they told me as much,” said Walt, wiping his glasses on his flannel and replacing them carefully. “They’re sitting in the next room.”
There was a loud scrape as Soren threw back his chair and jumped to his feet. Lark saw a flicker of pain pass over his face and knew that he had stood up too quickly.
“They’re in there?” Soren yelled. “In the house?”
“Yeeaaah, I wouldn’ta led with that,” Axel mumbled to Walt.
“Please, sit down,” said Walt, an edge of irritation in his voice.
But Soren was trembling with barely controlled rage. His hands were balled into fists, and he looked as though he were half a second from running into the living room and strangling them both. “What — are they — doing here?” Soren growled. “Their son nearly killed Lark! They left her in that house, and she almost died!”
“They left the house because Mrs. Miller cannot walk,” said Walt angrily. “And they are here because you all burned their home to the ground.”
Lark glanced at Axel, who was shaking his head in silent rage.
Walt took a deep breath, clearly trying to remain calm. “Their son Gideon fled in the night and left them stranded with no place to go. Mrs. Miller
is in a wheelchair, and Mr. Miller has angina.”
“We only burned their house down ’cause they kidnapped three of our people and were gonna marry ’em off to a bunch of sick nut jobs,” said Axel.
Simjay nodded. “To be fair.”
“They understand that,” said Walt. “But it is my opinion that Mr. and Mrs. Miller had nothing to do with Gideon’s scheme. That boy is a bad seed — always has been. I think that he has been livin’ in that house and bullying his parents into letting him use their farm for his own sick ends.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t have put up much of a fight,” said Soren bitterly. “I found Lark tied up in their pantry while the house was in flames.”
“I’m not suggesting that the Millers are blameless in all of this,” said Walt. “But they have been my neighbors for thirty-five years, so you will listen to what they have to say. You might even find that they have some information about Gideon that could prove useful.”
“I don’t wanna talk to them,” said Soren. “As far as I’m concerned, they don’t deserve to live.”
“Boy, sit down,” Walt snapped. “You are stayin’ in my house, and you will not talk like that under my roof.”
Soren sat, but he was still glowering at Walt. Lark knew that the prospect of speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Miller had to offend Soren to the core. He and Walt usually got along so well, and Soren had never spoken to him with even an ounce of disrespect.
“Have you talked to them?” Soren asked Axel.
Axel shook his head.
“I wanted a chance to talk to everybody before you all went in there and scared the ever-livin’ daylights out of them,” said Walt. “They are my guests, which means that you will keep it calm and civil.” His gaze lingered on Soren as he said those words. “They might have information that could help.”
“Fine,” said Soren, meeting Walt’s gaze. His hand found Lark’s under the table, and he held it there on her leg.
Walt stared at them for several seconds as if to make sure that his message had really sunk in. Then he got to his feet and shuffled out of the kitchen. Lark’s chest filled with dread as they followed him into the living room, but she refused to hide upstairs like a coward.
When she rounded the corner, the first thing she saw was that Mr. Miller was seated in the chair closest to the door. Lark thought that he might be poised for a quick getaway, but a closer look told her that neither of the Millers would be making a run for it anytime soon.
Mr. Miller was tall and tan and dressed in a pair of faded Levi’s and a very old denim shirt. He was built like a rail, was completely bald, and seemed to be slowly shrinking inside his skin.
Mrs. Miller was a slight woman with thin blond hair that she wore pulled back in a gold clip at the base of her neck. Her eyes were bright, fearful, and alert, but her body looked weak and wasted.
Mr. Miller scrutinized each of them as they filed into the room. Lark crowded onto the couch with Bernie, Katrina, and Thompson, while Soren perched on her armrest looking primed for a fight. Simjay took a seat on the floor beside Bernie, but Axel remained standing with his beefy arms crossed over his chest and his trademark scowl firmly in place.
Mr. Miller cleared his throat. “Well . . . I can’t pretend this isn’t awkward . . .” He glanced over at Axel, who was still wearing his most intimidating glare. “But I’m glad we can all be civil about this.”
“Speak for yourself,” Axel grumbled.
“I can assure you that it will remain civil as long as we are under my roof,” said Walt in a loud voice.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Miller. “I understand that there is plenty of bad blood after what my son did . . .”
A muscle began to twitch in Soren’s jaw, and Lark saw his knuckles whiten on his knee.
“But we need to talk about who’s going to repair the damages to my property.”
There was a long drawn-out pause as they all processed what he was saying.
“Are you kidding me?” Soren growled.
His tone was venomous, but Mr. Miller met his gaze without so much as a flinch.
“You boys burned my house to the ground,” said Mr. Miller. “Two-thirds of my crops were destroyed, and my outbuildings —”
“Your son and his crazy friends kidnapped my girlfriend,” Soren snarled. “He kidnapped Bernie” — he nodded at Bernie — “and he kidnapped Portia, who is pregnant. He held them hostage in your barn, and he nearly got Lark killed.”
“That wouldn’t have happened if you all hadn’t set my house on fire!”
“So it’s our fault he kidnapped them for his psycho cult?” Soren spat.
“No, of course not.” Mr. Miller swallowed and shook his head. “What my son did was unforgivable, and I’ll never understand what I did to make him go so badly astray. Moira and I didn’t raise him this way. He just showed up one day with all these ideas . . .”
Mr. Miller trailed off, and Lark felt a pang of sympathy for the old man. He didn’t seem so terrible, and he had acted shocked and appalled when Gideon had hauled her into the farmhouse.
“At first it didn’t seem like the end of the world,” Mr. Miller continued. “But it just became one thing after another with him. First his friends needed a place to stay, and then he tried to get us involved with the Sons . . . Soon it felt as though we were prisoners in our own home.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?” asked Soren in a low voice.
“I tried,” said Mr. Miller. “But you can’t reason with Gideon. That boy is as stubborn as the day is long.” His brows lifted as his eyes filled with tears, and in that moment, Lark actually felt sorry for him. “He’s my son,” Mr. Miller choked. “What should I have done?”
Nobody said a word. Lark knew that everyone was thinking about the crazy cult and Gideon’s creepy smile. Lark didn’t doubt for a moment that he had walked all over his parents; it was probably how he’d gotten that way to begin with.
Walt was the first to break the silence. “You can stay here as long as you need to,” he said. “I believe you didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping, and we are neighbors, after all.”
Soren and Axel opened their mouths in protest, but Walt kept talking over them.
“We will help you rebuild your home. It only seems right. But not until we can be sure that Gideon is permanently out of the picture.”
There was a long drawn-out silence as Soren and Axel stared furiously at Walt, but then Mrs. Miller started to weep. Lark wasn’t sure if she was crying tears of gratitude or if she was weeping at the prospect of losing her only son.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Miller finally. “I don’t think he would have any cause to return. He and his followers will probably keep moving until they find another farm to grow their flock. That’s all he wanted from us anyhow.”
Lark shivered.
“I hope you’re right about that,” said Walt.
“Listen,” said Mr. Miller. “I understand what you must think of my son, but Gideon would never harm you or anyone in your family. A lot of things about him have changed, but those old loyalties run deep.”
Walt stood up, looking none too pleased. “That may be true,” he said. “But he held no such regard for the people staying with my family. I’m sorry, but unless you agree to turn Gideon in to the authorities, I cannot help you rebuild. It puts all of us at tremendous risk.”
“We can’t stay here,” Soren broke in.
Walt fell silent, and every pair of eyes turned to look at him. Lark hadn’t been expecting Soren to say that, and judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, no one else had, either.
“What?” said Katrina.
“We can’t,” said Soren. “I’m sorry, Walt. As much as I want to help you, it isn’t safe for us as long as Gideon’s out there. You heard what he said. You and your family might be off limits, but we aren’t. I won’t put us at risk.”
Thompson looked startled. “Until he comes back —”
“Until he comes back,
we’ll always be looking over our shoulder,” said Soren. “He nearly killed Lark once . . . I’m not going to let that happen again.”
Thompson opened her mouth to argue, but Axel cut her off. “He’s right. I ain’t usually one to cut an’ run, but this crazy fuck scares the shit outta me.”
“It’s not forever,” said Lark quickly, looking from Soren to Axel. “We just need to be sure he’s gone.”
Soren swallowed but didn’t say anything. Lark could tell that he would be happier with forever, but she also knew that the wounds were still fresh. They all needed time away from the farm to feel safe again, and she guessed that once a few months had passed, he would be open to coming back.
Walt let out a deep sigh and got to his feet. “Well . . . it looks like we’ll soon have plenty of room for you, Abraham.”
His voice sounded unbearably sad, and Lark felt a painful stab of guilt. After everything Walt had done for them, she hated leaving like this. Running at the first sign of trouble seemed like a very poor way to repay him for his kindness, but she knew she couldn’t share the house with her kidnapper’s parents.
They all got up to make breakfast, but Walt heaved himself to his feet and walked straight out the front door. Lark watched him through the window as he headed for the fields, a leaden weight settling in the pit of her stomach.
It was true that they had been planning on taking their supercrops on the road, but this felt much more like fleeing than saving the world from famine. She had hoped that they could wait out the winter on the farm and leave early the following spring, but with Gideon and his followers still on the loose, running felt like the only option.
18
Lark
One week later, everyone got up early to load the cars and prepare to leave. Axel and Soren had wanted to go sooner, but Lark had insisted that they stay to help Walt with the harvest.
Thompson had been gone for days on her quest to contact a few of her old police connections in Denver and Albuquerque. She’d asked them to keep an ear to the ground for any movement from the Sons of David, but Lark wasn’t hopeful that the authorities would have any luck tracking down Gideon. News traveled so slowly those days that it was nearly impossible for law enforcement to coordinate their resources, and she didn’t think the cult was big enough to attract the attention of the federal government.
