Chapter Seven
Grace
Curled into a ball under the thin blanket, I sob until my eyes are so swollen, the small room blurs into nothing but shapes and shadows. The sound of my ragged breathing is the only break in the silence, yet it’s too loud. Too fragile.
After Zeke left, I examined every single inch of the room.
The walls, the corners, the baseboards…even under the small sink and behind the toilet.
No cameras—unless they’re really well hidden.
Nothing I can use as a weapon except the heavy desk chair.
But my arms tremble so much I doubt I could even lift it, let alone swing it.
The eggs and hash browns are gone, stretched into tiny bites over what felt like hours, maybe an entire day. I don’t think they were drugged. Though I’m still so hungry that my stomach is gnawing at itself. Hunger is the worst kind of enemy, I think—it eats your strength, your fight, every second.
Zeke’s Doctrine lies open at the foot of the bed, his arrogant scrawl mocking me. If I close my eyes, I might sleep. But what if I don’t hear the door when it opens, or the footsteps when they come for me? What if I lose my only chance at escape because I let myself rest?
So I read page after page, until, hours later, I’m crying again.
If I weren’t locked in this tiny room waiting for him to murder me in some ritual sacrifice, I’d laugh at the damn thing.
The Glorious One is some twisted cocktail of God, Zeus, and Q from Star Trek—a cosmic tyrant who supposedly speaks only to the Prophet.
And Zeke is a delusional megalomaniac with daddy issues, so drunk on his own power, he thinks the sun rises and sets by him.
From the list of the cult members I found in the very back of the book, over four hundred men, women, and children have bound themselves to him.
Some by choice, but most—I’d bet—by fear.
While a lot of them live on this compound, more than a hundred are spread out all over Austin, Dallas, and El Paso.
With that many members across the state, even if I can escape, will I ever be safe again?
My entire body jerks. Shit. I fell asleep. But for how long? What I wouldn’t give for a window. Any way to tell time.
I force myself out of bed and lug the book back to the desk. Maybe it’ll be easier to stay awake in that uncomfortable chair.
The beginnings of the book are too fantastical to take seriously, so I flip through it until I find a list of more than a dozen rules the Blessed Flock has to live by.
All men over eighteen carry the title of Brother. Women earn no titles of their own until they marry, and then they become Sister.
In the presence of the Prophet, or any Brother, women are forbidden to speak unless spoken to. Their voices belong to the Flock, not themselves.
Members of the Blessed Flock must keep themselves pure. There will be no swearing, no carnal acts outside of marriage, no lying, cheating, or stealing.
“No stealing? But kidnapping is totally okay,” I mutter with a little snort.
At eighteen, men are sent beyond the Flock’s lands for one to three years to find a wife.
Once married, women are forbidden from ever leaving the Flock again.
A fresh tear rolls down my cheek. The women are trapped. Every one of them. Do they care? They must. Some of them must. If I can find even one…maybe we can get out of here together.
Bang.
The door flies open, and I scramble up. Or try to. I fell asleep at the desk, and everything hurts. Tripping over my own numb feet, I land on my ass against the wall.
“Blessed Day, Nova,” Zeke says with one of his bland smiles.
Malone follows with a plate of eggs and country potatoes. My mouth waters before I can stop it. He sets the plate on the desk, then backs out into the hall without a word.
“He’ll stand guard until I leave and lock you in again,” Zeke says smoothly. “Run, and you’ll be caught before you make it ten steps.”
“Screw you.”
His lips curl like I just spit in the holy water. “We do not swear here, Nova.”
Using the wall for support, I wobble to my feet. “I’m not a member of your flock.”
“You are now.” He gestures to the open book on the desk. “Did you find my Doctrine enlightening?”
“I found it delusional as fuck.”
He backhands me—what is this, the third time?—and the taste of blood in my mouth is becoming a regular thing. But I’m not done.
“You treat your women like property. Trap them here? No formal schooling beyond what you teach them? Silenced unless you grant them permission? Do you make them wear muzzles and chastity belts too?”
His smile vanishes, voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “I will forgive your outburst this one time, Nova. You are still new here. Still learning. But consider this your final warning. If you continue to disobey, the consequences will be severe.”
He snatches the plate from the desk, spins on his heel, and strides from the room. The lock thunks so loudly, I flinch, and two sets of footsteps retreat down the hall.
Solitary confinement is a torture technique, isn’t it? The walls are nothing but plain wood, the bathroom almost pure white. There’s nothing to look at. No way to distract myself other than his damn Doctrine.
I can’t even pace. It’s only six steps from one side of the room to the other. And I haven’t eaten in so long. Much longer, and I won’t be able to think straight. But that’s what he wants, isn’t it?
Zeke is so concerned with purity and swearing? I’ll give him swearing.
“Hey, asshole!” I scream and pound my fists against the door. “I can’t be your fucking sacrifice if you starve me to death first!”
When I don’t hear any telltale footsteps approaching, I try again. And again. It’s all I can do. That…and pray my husband finds me.
It’s been hours. I’m so hungry and weak, I can barely stay awake.
I tried some sit-ups and pushups a few minutes ago, but gave up after I got so dizzy, my head hit the floor.
Now, I sit on the bed with my knees drawn up and my arms wrapped around my shins like I can somehow keep myself from falling apart.
I’m so tired, I don’t even fully register the soft thud of footsteps.
Three knocks. A pause. Then the lock thunks. This…is new. If Zeke thinks knocking is going to change my attitude, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Shit!” I leap up as Joshua’s bulk fills the entire doorframe.
“Blessed Day, Nova.”
“Enough with this ‘blessed day’ crap. And don’t call me Nova. You know that’s not my name,” I snap. “I’m Grace Sto—”
His hand clamps around my arm, his grip unbreakable as he drags me into the hall. “Prophet says you’re going to the box.”
“The b-box? What’s the box?” I try to resist, digging my heels into the rough wood, but it earns me nothing but splinters. “Please, Joshua. Don’t do this.”
“It’s Brother Joshua,” he grits out. “And Prophet knows what’s best for you.”
Where is the sweet, awkward kid from my painting class? The one who blushed when I praised his technique? Who laughed nervously when I asked about Ruth, the fiancée he said he couldn’t live without?
Now, all I see is a zealot.
I sweep the hall with my gaze, searching for anything—an open door, a shadow I can dart toward—but Joshua locks my wrists together in one of his big hands. He drags me down the stairs like I weigh nothing at all.
“Did you get married, Joshua? Her name was Ruth, right?” My voice shakes, but I keep pushing. I have to find the boy I knew in my class—the one buried under all this fanaticism.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink.
Women are forbidden to speak unless spoken to.
“Brother Joshua,” I try again, softer this time. “I know I’m not supposed to talk, but…please. Just one question? I know the rules. I’m just…scared.”
He halts in the living room—so sparsely furnished, it feels like it belongs in a prison. Just two sagging couches, a fireplace, and a pile of board games stacked in the corner like an afterthought.
“What is it, Nova?”
“Did you get married?”
His eyes brighten, his whole face softening for a heartbeat. “Yes. Ruth is helping the other wives cook supper now. She loves it here.”
I swallow against the bile rising in my throat. “Brother Joshua, I have a husband. We’ve been married for fifteen years. He’s probably out of his mind looking for me. You love Ruth, don’t you?”
“She’s perfect,” he says, almost dreamily.
“If she went missing, what would you do to get her back?”
“Anything. I’d die for her.”
The flicker of humanity breaks me open. “Then please. Call the Austin field office for the Texas Rangers. Ask for AJ Stone. Tell him where I am. He’ll protect you and Ruth. He’ll keep you safe from your father.”
Joshua’s entire body goes rigid, and the brief spark of humanity fades into pure evil. He jerks me forward so violently I stumble and nearly crash into him. “You’ll address him as Prophet. And when I tell him you tried to turn me against him, he’ll double your time in the box.”
“Brother Joshua—”
“You will not speak to me again!” His shout hurts every bit as much as his father’s blows.
He wrenches me through another door and into the sunlight. It sears my eyes after two—or is it three?—days locked in that dimly lit room. The ground is rough, sharp pebbles slicing my bare feet with every step.
The pain is nothing compared to the terror of what could be coming next. Zeke was already willing to hit me for the smallest infraction and starve me without a second thought.
Why didn’t I read more of that fucking book? Maybe then I’d know what this box is.
It’s so hot, sweat slicks my skin. Whispers from all around us raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Nova’s going into the box?”
“Good. She broke Prophet’s nose. He should keep her in there for a week.”
“My wife hasn’t raised her voice to me once since she came out. I hated doin’ that to her, but she knows her place now.”
Pure panic takes over. My body goes rigid, but Joshua just tosses me over his shoulder, an arm banded around my legs.
“You don’t have to do this! Take me back to my room. Please!”