Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE HEATHEN
The hot guy from the woods hovers over me, while his carbon copy stands on the other side of the bed, and a much angrier version of them leans against the doorway, glaring at me. Identical triplets? Holy shit.
“Let me go,” I say, while trying to stop the tears in my eyes from falling. I blow my sweaty hair out of my face, as he stares at me with a wild glow in his eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Little Heathen. Now, stop wailing like a banshee.”
I can’t stop, and I won’t. I keep trying to move, and break the cuffs free from the bed, knowing I’ll probably never succeed. Still, I have to try… for them. The children.
“Trouble. I told you she was nothing but trouble,” the one by the door says, with a glare I don’t quite understand.
The one I saw in the woods says, “What’s your name?”
Glaring at him, I say, “You first. I’d like to know my kidnappers' names.”
His lips lift into a smirk before turning into an actual smile. I’m pretty pissed off, so I won’t admit how attractive it is.
“I’m Carter. This is Knox,” he says, gesturing beside him. “And behind us is our brother, Killian. Now, it’s your turn.”
“Heather,” I say, before blowing my hair out of my face. Not having the use of my hands is really beginning to piss me off.
“Fuck, Little Heathen. You’re so beautiful. Even when you’re coated with blood,” he groans, as he stuffs his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.
Carter leans over me, and I feel him harden against my stomach, and I can’t help the whimper that slips out.
“Fuck,” the other two groan in unison, causing the panic to rise further. I don’t know who these men are, or what they want from me.
My mind races as I wonder if they are part of my father's cult. Maybe they are hitmen sent to kill me. They want me dead, and my father would pay to make it happen.
“You have to let me go,” I scream as Carter gets off me but keeps staring at me with a predatory gaze.
He shakes his head in refusal.
“I can’t do that. You are going to get yourself killed, and I won’t allow it. We will help you.”
The bearded one growls loudly.
“No, Carter, we are not fucking getting involved in whatever Killer is up to.”
I glare at the man with the beard, feeling annoyed at his little nickname for me.
“Killer?” I ask.
He steps closer to the bed where I’m restrained and tilts his head to the side with a smirk on his face.
“Am I wrong about you? Oh, please defend yourself,” he says, his tone mocking.
Pulling on the handcuffs, I scream in frustration when, again, they don’t budge.
“I don’t know any of you. I don’t owe you an explanation or anything else. Fucking dickheads.”
Killian barks out, “You’ve been leaving dead bodies on our property like it’s a goddamn cemetery.
You are causing problems for us that I, frankly, have no fucking interest in dealing with.
But Carter, for some reason, thinks you're worth the hassle. So how about you tell us the truth, Killer, before I handle trouble the way I would prefer to.”
I glance between the three of them, weighing my options, which I know are few.
“Can you undo the cuffs, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Carter arches his eyebrow and stares at me with apprehension.
“Are you going to run, Little Heathen?”
I shake my head, and swallow hard as I speak honestly.
“If I thought I could get away from you I probably would, but I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to run.”
Knox comes over, undoes the handcuffs as I requested, and smirks at me.
“Good girl. You’re right. You’d only get away if we let you, and I promise, Carter, also known as the hunter, won't allow that to happen. Now behave while I cut the ropes. I don’t want you to get cut.”
He continues to stare at me as he issues a stern warning, his expression now serious instead of playful.
“Place your hands underneath you. This is important; you cannot and will not touch Carter. If you do, it’ll be very dangerous for you, so just don’t fucking do it.”
Once he cuts me free, I immediately sit up on the bed and scoot back to the headboard, to put distance between myself and these crazy three men I’ve found myself trapped with.
I rub at my red wrists before putting them underneath my thighs.
Knox sits on one side of the bed, and Carter sits on the other.
I’m relieved when Killian, who has already insinuated he’d like to kill me, takes a seat on the chair in the corner of the room.
When I don’t start speaking immediately, Killian growls with irritation.
“Start fucking talking.”
My shirt shifted when I moved, so I quickly pull it back down to make sure I’m not showing any skin and sigh audibly.
“It’s a long story, okay? The church on the other side of the road in the woods, those people are my family. It’s not a real house of worship like you might think.”
I chew on my nails nervously, before I get to the next part, because while I grew up with this, I know it’s not normal. I’m aware enough to know most of society won’t find it acceptable.
“My father runs a cult. Everybody works and gives all their money to him. He has multiple wives, including me. Most of the men have multiple wives, and many of them are children. The man I killed tonight is my cousin, and he married my ten-year-old sister.”
All three men stare at me in disbelief, like my words can’t possibly be true. I don’t blame them for thinking that, because to any normal human, it would be unbelievable.
“You're married,” Carter asks, appearing physically ill, before he adds, “to your father?”
I shake my head, feeling repulsed by myself, as if I had any say in it.
“Not legally. But yes. When I was twelve, I was forced to marry my father. They call him the Prophet.”
Killian drags his hand down his face, as his dark eyes narrow in on me.
“The Prophet? As in one who delivers messages from God?”
I nod in agreement. “The one and the same, but it’s all a means to hurt and control people. Women and children specifically.”
Carter reaches for my hand, but quickly retracts it like you might if you touched a hot stove.
“That’s why you’ve killed people? Because they hurt you?”
I shake my head because he’s got it all wrong.
“Do I want to make my father pay for the things he has done to me? Yes, if I can ever find where they are hiding him, but it’s not really about me. It’s about the others—the children—and the ones yet to be born. If I don’t stop this, who will?”
“What about your mother?” Knox asks, and it makes me sick to admit she’s part of this. My mother was very willing to hand me over to my father. Not only willing, but fucking joyful about it.
“She thinks he’s the Prophet and believes every lie that comes out of his mouth. My mother considers me lucky that God wanted me to be his wife. As far as she is concerned, it’s a gift. An honor.”