by Marata Eros
Hot tears run down her face, and I brush them off with my thumbs.
“You have a thing for showers, Kiev,” she says, trying for funny but holding back tears that make this look like what it is: sad as fuck.
“Listen,” I say, swiping another fat water gem from her cheek, “I couldn't stand his cum on you. Had to get rid of it, had to give you something good.”
I cup my hand over her slit, and Audrey closes her eyes. Pain, passion, and relief wash over her features, and I insert my middle finger, feeling my seed inside her coming out.
Her eyes open, a startling blue. Tears and redness make them even more arresting. “You did, Kiev.”
She wants to say more. I see it.
I know what it is.
“You own me,” she whispers.
“Tell me what all this is,” I say, not replying to her comment.
“He's going to fuck me, I know it.” Her lip trembles. “I don't want to, Kiev—I don't!”
I can't stand the thought of Weston touching her. Hell, he came on Audrey, and that caused a firestorm of shower and fucking. How would I feel if he fucked Audrey?
Better not to think about it. Better to stay with the plan.
I pump my finger inside her, and I know the plan is unraveling. Ragged breaths drive in and out of me. I'm this close to hyperventilating from a finger inside her. I tear it out and straighten.
“I can't—” I mutter and step out of the shower. I don't look back at Little Bride. Can't.
Won't.
“Kiev—take me with you, wherever you're going.” Her voice becomes hoarse, and she slams into me from behind, wrapping her small arms around my waist in a death grip.
I cover her hands with my own.
“I am going, but I have to take down The Community first.”
I slowly turn. Hold on to her arms. “He has to be stopped, Audrey. Forever. This theft of people's life savings, their property. All of it. And there's one wife who I think is sympathetic to our cause.”
“Who?” Audrey asks, frantically searching my eyes.
“Anna.” I smirk. “Weston can't get anyone pregnant. He's fucking sterile.”
Audrey's hand covers her gasp. “Then why take other Chosens?”
“Why do you think?”
“Just to own us?” she whispers with a disgusted look on her face.
I nod. Weston's a sick fuck, taking a new teen bride every few years, and hiding behind the need for a young wife to bear his children makes it seem more legit. It's not, especially given he can't have more kids.
“If we can go to Langley, express our doubts, get his help in tracking down my mom—”
“You—where do you think she is?”
My inhale rattles. “Dead for sure. She would have never left me. Never. I think Weston got rid of her when she began to question the need for more wives.”
“But is he capable of murder?” Audrey asks, her eyes slinking around my room. She catches sight of her sundress and picks it up between her fingers. One of the straps is completely gone.
I can't help my grin. “He'll buy you another.”
“I don't want him to,” she admits, and another slow tear slides out of her eye, rolling a grief-stricken pathway down her face.
I pull her into me and tuck her head beneath my chin. “I don't know if he actually pulled the trigger...”
Audrey steps back, tilting her face to mine. “Trigger?”
I wave it away. “It's an expression. I don't know if he actually did the deed. But I know he had something to do with it.” I cover my stomach with my hand. “Gut feeling.”
“What did he tell the police when your mom disappeared?”
My face tightens. “That she ran out on him.”
I can tell by Audrey's look of disbelief she thinks that excuse is pretty convenient.
Cuz it is.
“I have an in now with Langley. He's already suspicious. Now we go to him with the bullshit from The Community, we tell him how my mom never came back, that Weston beats you—”
Audrey shrinks away from me.
And I lean into her. “Don't go soft on me now. You're the one who said you'd do anything.”
She stands there nude and vulnerable. I feel like a fucking bully. But I have to see this thing through. For me.
Mom.
Her.
“Father Weston can hurt my parents, Kiev.”
Christ. “Audrey, outing him for the sadistic perv he is will help your parents.”
“I don't know,” she says, her voice fragile.
I move to my bed and beckon her with my hand.
She walks over. Beautiful, naked—small and unsure.
I open my palm, and she takes it. “Come ’ere.”
She slips in beside me. “Do you think we're safe?”
I nod. “Hell yes. Weston gets off with you then runs off to do his ʻwelcome the new members’ spiel? Yeah, he's going to parade you tonight, right?”
Her blue eyes grow wide. “How do you know?”
“Weston uses a punish-reward system. You do something dirty for him, then he gives you something in return.”
“Did he do that with you?” she asks.
Tangled bodies and grunts surface in my memory like dirty footprints on snow.
“Yeah,” I say in soft reply. “He forced me to watch him have sex with the wives.” I give her a swift look. “My mom was already gone.”
“Oh, Kiev,” Audrey says as though she's mourning my stolen innocence. It's nice someone is. “How old were you?”
I look away. “About eight, I guess.”
“He's fucking awful.”
Can't refute that. “Yeah.”
“But that’s not the worst he’s done,” I say, words spilling from my mouth before I can stop myself. Why does Audrey make me come undone?
“What can be worse than that?”
“He made me join.”
“Join?” Her eyes widen in horror. “When?”
“After puberty.”
“Oh my God. That's like child rape or something.”
I hadn't thought about it like that. I'd been watching my dad fuck women for five years. When he'd called me out of the closet where I'd stood as voyeur, it was natural to join in.
Especially when the alternative was a beating.
“Or something,” I say, raking an unsteady hand through my hair.
Audrey nods. “You went away…how?”
I smirk. “I started causing trouble. On purpose. Tried showing the bullshit for exactly what it was: bullshit. Father Weston had to uphold his reputation as a supreme being. Kicking me out didn’t jive with that. And having two family members disappear is too obvious. So college was a perfect solution.”
She nods again, and I know the notion of any sort of school is odd to her. The thought of college probably hasn’t even entered her brain. Fuck. I need to get her out of here. I need to give back what’s left of her life. I’m finding myself longing to see her happy, to see her living a normal life.
“Why?” she asks.
“Why what?”
“Why was he so horrible to you? You’re his son. His firstborn.”
I shrug. “I suppose it was because I reminded him of my mother. She couldn’t be manipulated, couldn’t be fooled. It must have felt like failure to him.”
Silence falls between us. Audrey takes in a breath and locks eyes with me. “I hate him.”
Her eyes search mine. “If he knew we were making love?”
Making love? “He'd hurt us. Weston wants a virgin. He wants me doing what I'm told, on his terms. I haven't touched a wife in ten years. It was a punishment to them. Having his teenage son screw them while he watched. Forced them. He victimized us all.”
Audrey shudders.
“Once I got old enough, eighteen, I had done what he'd wanted, and he gave me the money for college.” I shrug, but a weird stinging begins behind my eyelids. As if they're on fire.
I blink.
; And Audrey's finger is suddenly there to catch what falls.
Weak.
I'm fucking weak.
She holds my face, kissing each wet piece of my soul away until it's only her lips.
Her love.
My self-hatred lessens in her hands.
*
I startle awake.
Disoriented. Because there's a soft curving form tucked into my side like a missing part of my body—found.
Audrey sleeps quietly beside me, and I smell her hair without opening my eyes. Running a hand down her side, hesitating at the valley of her waist and then feathering my fingertips over the lush swell of her hip has me popping an instant boner.
I smell me on her, and underneath that, only Audrey.
Her scent is becoming home.
Lethal.
My mind travels to all the things we discussed. Her fear of her parents being the whipping boy for her misdeeds. Mine.
But it's gotta happen. What he did to me, he'll repeat with my half siblings. Weston's compulsive. And I can't say that he wouldn't do something worse to my little sisters when they reach a certain age. I have to protect them since no one was there to protect the boy I was. Since no one is here to protect any of these people.
Weston is no shepherd of his flock but a wolf in disguise.
First I'll sneak Audrey out of this hellhole and go straight to Langley. Tell him about what happened when I was growing up. No matter how fucking embarrassing it is. Weston beating Audrey. Scamming people out of their money.
My suspicions about Mom's death—not a disappearance.
I pull Audrey closer, and she murmurs something in her sleep, disturbed small noises leaking out. She snuggles closer to me and sighs. She's not awake to know as I lean over and kiss her temple, rolling the side of my face against her soft skin.
Peace infiltrates my vengeful thoughts for fleeting seconds.
A furtive noise has my eyes slamming open, my heart hammering.
Weston stands above us like a dark demon, his arm raised with something. Bat, my mind conjures in spontaneous recognition.
And then pain explodes, darkness covering my mind like an unwanted blanket.
My last thought is of Audrey and how I can't protect her after all.
Chapter Fifteen
Audrey
For the first time in days—hell, maybe the first time in the years since I’ve been here—I lay down to sleep and felt safe. Before being forced to marry Father Weston, I had visions of the world burning, and I wondered each time the sun set, Will this be the last time?
The world isn’t ending. But if I don’t get out of here, my life is.
Warmth from Kiev’s body relaxes me, and I try to think of a future, of something happy to occupy my mind, but I come up shorthanded. Not being able to imagine a happy ending is as fucked up as my current situation. I snuggle closer to him and drift to sleep, only to be awoken by something shoving against me.
I jerk away, blinking in the dark. Kiev begins to sit up then slumps forward as something hard bludgeons his head.
My heart stops beating. The shadowy figure of Father Weston stands above us, holding a baseball bat in his hand.
Oh shit! Terror paralyzes me. I reach for Kiev, darting my eyes from the devil himself to the man I’d been sleeping next to, the man I think I’m in love with. Silky crimson holds little reflection in the moonlight, seeping from a cut on Kiev’s forehead.
Oh God!
He’s passed out. Passed out and injured, and I need to help him but—
“You filthy little whore,” Father Weston sneers, his lips pulling up to reveal his teeth. “You were supposed to be mine!”
My breasts heave with each rapid intake of breath. The bat falls out of Father Weston’s hands, and he lunges forward.
I try and fail to jerk out of the way. He lands his hands on my legs, his fingers digging into my flesh. He rakes his nails down, tearing away the soft skin on the inside of my thighs, and grabs my ankles. I madly flip over and try to hold onto something—anything—to keep him from pulling me off the mattress.
Fueled by pure rage, Father Weston possesses a strength I can’t battle against, and my body falls onto the hardwood. My skin sticks to the floor as he drags me to the middle of the room and climbs on top, pinning me down with his body.
He takes my hands above my head, slamming my wrists against the floor with as much force as he can muster.
“You whore, you bitch,” he mutters as I struggle against him. “You were mine for the taking, and you gave it up to him.” He slaps me hard across the face. Once. Twice. Three times and now I’m tasting blood in my mouth. Weston takes a fistful of my hair, twists, and lifts my head off the ground only to slam it down.
I cry out in pain.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he growls and straightens up, unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his cock. It’s semi-hard already.
Beating Kiev into unconsciousness and roughing me up is turning him on.
What a sick fucker.
He spreads my legs, forcing himself between mine.
“No!” I scream. “No… no…” I plead, hoping to appeal to something in him, any shred of humanity. It’s useless. There’s no humanity left inside this man. “The Reckoning… you…wait… no!”
He ignores my cries and lowers himself, the wet tip of his cock trailing down my stomach. His legs hold mine open, and his weight is suffocating.
I push against his broad shoulders to no avail. I’m trapped underneath him, like I’ve been trapped inside this house.
“Stop! Get off me!”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” He hits me hard in the face then flips me over. “Did you like it when he fucked you, when you let him deflower what was mine? Tell me you like it, you slut.”
“Stop!” I scream.
He puts one hand on the back of my head and presses the profile of my face into the hard floor.
I can’t breathe.
My heart is racing a million miles an hour—my nerves are on fire. My stomach clenches in fear, and I think I’m going to be sick.
He hits me again at the base of my neck, and pain radiates down my spine, paralyzing me, and I can’t get my limbs to move. My fingertips tingle, and bile burns on my tongue.
Father Weston spreads my butt cheeks apart and forces a finger inside. I scream a pain that webs deep within me. “How much did you open up for him, whore? Did you let him in your ass as well as your cunt?” He pushes his finger in deeper. “Did you?”
“N-no,” I force out. Tears fall onto the polished wood. Father Weston takes his hand away and harshly flips me over again. He straddles me and grabs my neck.
He twists his hand, covering my mouth and nose. I can’t breathe! My palms slap against the wood, desperate for air.
My body goes into full panic, and all I can think about is getting another chance to inhale and not suffocate. He pulls his hand away not a moment too soon, and I gasp for air.
Then he’s on me again, spreading my legs. “This pussy was meant for me. You were supposed to bleed for me!”
Light spills into the room from the hall. “What’s going on?” It’s Anna. Her footfalls draw near, and for a moment, I think Father Weston will stop, move off me, and this nightmare won’t actually happen.
I’m so wrong.
Father Weston is on his feet, getting to the door just as Anna steps inside. Her face pales in horror as Father Weston swings, his big fist colliding with the side of Anna’s head. She stumbles back, hits her head on the doorknob, and crumples to the floor.
I scramble back, my hands closing around the baseball bat. But I’m not fast enough. Father Weston is on me in seconds, yanking the baseball bat from my hands.
“You want this?” He shoves me to the ground and puts the bat between my legs, pressing it against my vagina. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.” He grinds it against my tender sex, and I scream again. He brings the bat back and shoves it against me again. An
d again. Bruising the place Kiev just loved.
“Please, stop!”
Weston uses the handle of the bat to spread my labia, pushing it against my clit. I whimper, freezing up.
He’s not going to stop. He is going to rape me then kill Kiev. And then probably me.
And there is nothing I can do to stop him.
He throws the bat across the room, hitting Anna’s still body. He’s back on me, precum dripping from his hard cock. He spreads me wide and shoves himself in. Hard.
I’m still sore from making love to Kiev. Still sore from losing my virginity.
Father Weston drives himself in and out, in and out. I’m screaming and crying and want this to end. I can feel my skin tearing, can feel the blood pool inside me. The more I protest, the more I fight for my life, the more Father Weston enjoys his rape of me.
He groans, shuddering as he pulls out and comes on my face. He reaches down and strokes his cock, milking out every last drop. Then he smears it across my cheeks, down my neck, and over my breasts.
I stare up at him, my broken body one aching mass of agony.
Out of breath, he stands and pulls on his pants. Standing above me, he spits onto my stomach, looking at me like I’m nothing more than garbage. He runs a hand through his hair and moves into the hall.
“The Lord has bestowed me with the power to carry out his word,” he says loudly. “I can save. And... I can punish.”
I’m shivering, my mind blanking out. I feel everything yet nothing at the same time. Because there is only pain.
“Get the bath ready,” Father Weston says to someone. The floor vibrates, and Ginny stands over me.
I’m trembling, unable to move. Tears blur my vision, and I look up at her, silently pleading. There is no sympathy in her eyes. Instead there is anger. Disappointment. Annoyance.
She had to get up from a peaceful night’s sleep and deal with me.
“Get up,” she says gruffly.
I can’t. Physically, my body has shut down. I cannot move.
“Get up.” She nudges me with her slipper-covered foot. “Now.”
Somehow, I find the resolve to get up.
“Go downstairs.”
Naked, shivering, and covered in cum, I follow her down to the first floor. Tears roll down my face, and I have to remind myself to breathe. One breath in, one breath out. Keep breathing so I can keep living.
