12. Margarete
CHAPTER 12
Margarete
T he church told me that physical bliss was evil, tempting me away from the righteous path of God. Every time I allowed Hans to touch my body in the past, the insufferable weight of guilt and shame bore down on me.
But this time, it’s different. Hans’ touch doesn’t evoke impending doom. His soft lips release a rush of exaltation as they brush against my flesh. The reverence and peace the church should inspire finally wash over me, but it’s twisted, a perverse echo because this touch belongs to Hans—a man I was told to view as a brother but only saw as a lover.
“Hans.” I breathe his name into the safety of the morning stillness. Here, I’m not worried about judgment. In this silent refuge, I can leave behind my upbringing and become who I am.
“Yes, sweet girl?”
I turn on the bed, and we stare at each other like we did when we were kids and needed comfort from our fucked up lives.
“Is something wrong with my body? Is there a reason you don’t want to, you know, go all the way?”
“Maggie, you’re so beautiful that it hurts to look at you sometimes. Gazing at you is like feeling the sun on a frigid winter day. You dissolve the pain and heartache and dispel the coldness in my heart. No, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. Your body is the only temple I’ve ever known. Touching you is the closest thing to paradise.”
“Then why did you stop last night?”
Hans turns onto his back and scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I’m petrified of fucking everything up. Nothing in this world is more frightening than you hating me.”
I rise off the bed and straddle him. My hands move to his hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands. “Look at me.” Hans’ eyes bore into mine. “No. I want you to look at my body.”
Slowly, his gaze roams my body, landing on my exposed chest.
I cradle one breast in my hand, presenting it to him. “When we were in that prison, forced to follow arbitrary rules and hide everything we felt or thought, the only thing that kept me going was the way you looked at me. Now that I’m in a strange world, surrounded by the unfamiliar, you don’t get to abandon me. Touch me, Hans. Connect with me in all the ways they labeled as sinful. Burn for me, and let me incinerate for you.”
Hans grips my waist, adjusting my body before he lifts his head. He peers into my eyes, leans forward, parts his lips, and draws my nipple into his mouth.
I hold him to me as he sucks my nipple between his warm lips. He’s still holding back, his teeth bared a fraction, careful not to nip my flesh. I don’t want him to treat me like spun glass, scared that if he says or does the wrong thing, I’ll shatter into a million pieces. Being seen as weak is something I never want.
I need to take the plunge, fully immerse myself in the experience of life, or I’ll never truly grasp the breadth and depth of the truth. Is self-exploration scary? Yes. Could this destroy every fiber of who we believe we are? Also, yes. But a life lived in deceit is not a life lived.
“I don’t want you to hate me,” he admits.
“You don’t need to hold back. I won’t hate you, Hans. I could never hate you, but I need to know you. We need to explore who we are without the chains of The Covenant. You’ve been a shield for me my whole life, and now I need you to remove the armor and show me the entire man. Don’t hide from me.”
“He’s not holding back, Maggie.”
Heart pounding, I shove Hans away, my eyes locking on Xander as he stands menacingly by the door. I don’t know how he sneaked in so quietly or why we didn’t hear a sound.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice shaking.
Xander says nothing. He steps closer, and my eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s covered in blood, his mask drenched in crimson. He looks like a nightmare from a children's story. “I want to be here.”
I can barely form coherent words, but not from fear. It’s from curiosity. “What happened to you?”
I jolt when Xander throws something on the corner of the bed. I lean forward to inspect it, and horror grips me. It’s a severed hand.
“What the fuck is this?” Hans demands.
Xander shoves his bomber jacket off and places it on a hook on the wall. Then he strips off his gun holster before removing his shirt. “Your dad’s hand.”
Hans rises from the bed and moves to Xander. He doesn’t say a word as he falls to his knees. I watch in fascination as he lifts his hands to Xander’s belt.
Xander looks at me. “You want to watch this, Princess? Or would you like to leave?”
A strange mix of curiosity, lust, and shame overshadows my anger. And immense confusion. I don’t understand what made Hans fall to his knees. It’s almost as if he left one prison to become enslaved elsewhere. “He delivered your father’s hand. What are you doing?”
Xander bangs his fist against the wall. I fear he’ll alert Azadeh and the others to our sick games in this room. “This is who he is, Margarete. This is who he is. Maybe you should figure out who you are.”
Maybe it’s my curiosity that keeps me from demanding he leave. Perhaps my life of forced servitude to men doesn’t allow me to challenge the words spilling from his lips.
“Show me,” I whisper.
Hans’ head shoots up. I gaze into his eyes, unable to discern what I see in their depths. I know it’s not anger. Maybe, like me, he’s a conundrum filled with emotions he doesn’t have words to convey. Maybe, like me, he wants to see the possibilities of a world without limitations. To explore those paths, we were told they were unattainable abominations because they would cause our demise. But unlike me, Hans has already disregarded the subjugating lies that limited his natural animalistic tendencies. He’s gnawed off part of the leash. And now, I want to break it completely. I want to see exactly what kind of gluttonous spree he’ll partake in.
My gaze moves to the severed hand on the bed. The skin is pale from lack of blood. The ring is a reminder of who Gabriel was and what he represented.
I brush my fingers over the brand on my ribs.
Xander chuckles. “I burned his dick for the brand on your flesh.”
“Don’t you have remorse for taking a life?” I ask. “It’s a sin.”
Xander shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t feel bad about a single thing I did tonight. Not a single fucking thing. If Hell is real and I’ll burn for my actions, I’d still do it again. You see, angel, some men are so vile that the only way to defeat them is to ensure they’re buried six feet under.”
Hearing Xander’s icy words tossed like daggers should repulse me. He cheerfully pronounces his pride at taking a life as if he’s God. Yet even knowing that his actions are laced with sin, I find myself morbidly curious about him.
The Covenant preached that all women were inherently sinful. A hereditary gene passed down by Eve. Perhaps Eve was tired of being forced to live a life she didn’t want. Free will is a fallacy when you’re constantly told that choosing incorrectly has a devastating result. Famines come in many forms. Though they fed my belly, they starved another part of me. Now that I have a feast before me, I’m going to gorge until I’m full.
Xander is the Devil, and I want to burn in his hell.
Xander’s booming laugh breaks into my thoughts as he abandons Hans on the floor. “What’s it going to be, baby girl?” He steps toward me, leaning down, his muscular arms flexing as he places his palms on the edge of the bed. “Will you sin with me?”
I take a deep breath and respond with the truth. “Yes.”