Chapter 3
FINLEY
Grandma once told me the only certainty in life is death—of your heart, your soul, your spirit, and eventually, your body.
I’m not sure what part of me is dying right now. Because everything hurts.
“Finley-James, don’t look so sullen,” Mom reprimands as we leave the women’s chapel. “You’re not a lamb to the slaughter, so stop acting like it.”
Before we exit the double wooden doors, she pauses to fix the oversized sailor collar of my white cotton dress.
“To love the Lord is to sacrifice the wants and whims of your flesh. To love the Lord is to submit yourself to the holders of His priesthood. When you love the Lord, He shines His light on you. You will be blessed with a righteous home and godly children who will spread His light into all the corners of the earth. Do you understand, Finley-James?”
I swallow down the reply I want to give her, opting for the one she expects. The one that won’t have me whipped to reason again.
“Yes, Mother.”
She gives a last approving glance over me—the ankle-length skirt, the plain white pumps—as though piety can be measured by cotton and modest hems.
Asher Montgomery is exactly six feet tall, which makes my five-nine height too close for comfort. But he’s an Elder’s son with a reputation that doesn’t bear repeating. Beggars can’t be choosers. Especially after the Elders’ doctor told my parents my virginity wasn’t physically intact.
So, a week of cleansing. A week locked away in the women’s chapel with nothing but bread and water, with Evelyn Sylkes lashing me every morning until my sins bled out onto the floorboards.
One hundred sixty-one lashes—twenty-three for every year of my life.
Each one stings now as I walk behind my mother, Elijah’s mother, Evelyn, and beside Presley’s wife, Salem, who walks as silently as the rest.
The side entrance to the church looms ahead. My chest tightens. Salem glances at me, her flat smile saying she’s been here before, done this, and wears the husband to prove it.
Mary-Anne Sylkes, Elijah’s mother, guides us into the consecration room. Heavy white drapes mute the organ music from the altar. Sweat beads at the back of my neck as Evelyn gestures for me to kneel on the wooden hassock facing the veiled altar door.
“Kneel, girl,” she orders.
It hurts like hell. The raw skin along my thighs screams with every movement. I bite my lip to keep the whimper from slipping out.
“Something wrong?” Evelyn asks. One brow arches toward her taut gray hairline.
I shake my head.
“Good. Eyes to the floor. Think of submission. Of how grateful you are for the chance to redeem your family’s grace through it.”
Mary-Anne brushes my hair from my face before lifting my gaze to hers. Her eyes are Elijah’s eyes—dark, lonely, devouring.
“You’ve atoned for your sins,” she says softly. “Now the Lord can shine His light on you.”
“Blessed be His light,” my mother exhales before leaving with Evelyn.
“Come along, Salem. Time to take our seats.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Salem pauses in the doorway. “I need the bathroom.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“It’s the second day of my bleed. It’s heavy.”
My mother tuts. “How disappointing. Four years of marriage and no child.”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Salem replies meekly.
I don’t want this to be my life. Reporting my bodily functions like weather reports. Measured only by obedience, purity, fertility.
This isn’t living.
Pain tears through my thighs as I stand, biting back a cry.
Movement stirs outside the door. There’s another exit, leading to the serenity garden. If it’s unlocked, it’ll be a miracle.
“Wait until the service starts,” Salem says, shutting the door behind her. “There’ll be nobody out there.”
She opens her purse. A black bundle appears in her hands.
“What is that?”
She shrugs. “I tried to get your phone, but it’s in your father’s safe. Here are clean clothes and your wallet. Take it.”
“Salem—”
Her eyes shine. “Don’t second-guess it. Run. Don’t look back.”
“What about you?”
“My time will come.”
I nod, throat thick.
When the bell tolls, she presses the bundle into my arms. “Wait for the service to start.”
She slips out, leaving me alone with the clothes and the pounding in my ears.
Leggings. A hoodie. My Portland U t-shirt. Running shoes.
“Oh, Jesus…” The whisper claws through my teeth as I pull the leggings over my shredded skin. It burns. Itches. I bite down hard to stop from sobbing out loud.
When the organ swells, I push open the door and slip into the bright daylight.
Straight into a wall of muscle.
“Going somewhere?” Presley sneers, gripping my hoodie.
Fresh air slices through my lungs as he slams me into the stone wall. His face is battered—stitches, bruises, split lip. Courtesy of Elijah.
“You told him,” I choke.
“He didn’t take it well,” Presley laughs.
“Gave you a new face,” I snap before his palm cracks across my cheek.
White-hot pain bursts from my ear to my teeth.
“That’s better.” He grinds me into the wall. “A woman should be seen, not heard. Remember that, Finney. It’ll please your husband.”
Our stares lock. His sneer curdles any fleeting hope that he might stop.
“You’re going to go back in there. Put on your purity dress. Cast your gaze down. Promise yourself to Montgomery like the good lamb you are. He’ll decide if your worth, a hot cunt or a maid. I don’t care. Nobody cares. You’re nothing but obedience. A lamb. Clear?”
Tears streak hot down my cheeks.
His hand tightens around my throat.
I can’t scream. Can’t breathe.
Fear spreads ice through my veins, rooting me to the ground even as my lungs claw for air.
Please, God. Please—
A hard jolt knocks me forward. I gasp, dirt scraping my palms.
“Fin?” A deep voice cuts through the ringing in my ears. Strong hands lift me upright. “Fin… it’s me.”
“Elijah…?” My voice splinters.
“I’m here.” His arms lock around me. “Let’s go.”
Presley yanks Elijah’s hood. “Put her down and run, pussy boy.”
Elijah turns; face carved from stone. “Take your hands off me.”
Presley smirks. “She’s nothing. A stupid girl. You don’t even want her, do you, Eli?”
Elijah sets me aside carefully. Steps into Presley’s space. “I warned you,” he grits. “Touch her again—”
His fist drives Presley’s head back.
Elijah grabs me, guiding me away as Presley sputters curses behind us.
“You’re not his type,” Presley calls. “Remember the Bobcats, pretty boy? Every fucking hole—”
Elijah freezes.
I feel his heart slam against my shoulder before he moves again, faster now, grip like iron.
“Elijah,” I plead. “He’s not worth it. Take me away.”
His jaw ticks. His voice rough. “You are.”
We reach the SUV. He buckles me in, hands shaking, then leans into the wheel, forehead pressed to his arms.
Breath in. Out. Again.
Finally, he sits back, forcing a smile that never reaches his eyes.
“Finley,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back.
My trembling hand catches his before he can pull away.
Tears choke my throat. “You came back.”
“Too late.” His stare falls to my neck where Presley’s grip left its ghost.
“No. You came like you promised.”
He nods once. Starts the car. Drives us away.
Without looking back.
Without another word.