Chapter 16 #2
Derrick reaches out and plucks a piece of dirt-covered pasta from the ground.
His nose wrinkles in distaste, but he tosses it into his mouth and chews.
I feel sick watching him eat, but also, despite knowing he’s acting crazy, there’s a warm glow at someone sticking up for me the way Cain has.
It might be wrong, but part of me likes it far too much.
“Keep going,” Cain commands.
One by one, each piece of spilled pasta is picked up and eaten.
No one steps in. Cain is in charge, and Derrick was stupid enough to put my food down in front of everyone.
I don’t want the punishment to continue, but I also don’t want to get on the bad side of Cain.
I haven’t seen this side of him often—if at all.
When Derrick has finished, Cain lets him up.
“Walk it off, dude,” Felix says, pulling his man to his feet and clapping him on the back.
Derrick isn’t stupid enough to do something dumb, so he just stuffs his hands in his pockets, ducks his head, and walks away.
Everyone else finishes their food without further comment, and quickly enough, the usual chatter replaces the awkward silence.
After we’ve all eaten and the men have cleaned up, we get ready for bed.
“Who is in the RV and who is in the tents?” I ask.
“The RV is safer,” Cain says. “Let the guards take the tents. They can watch for any signs of trouble.”
Daisy folds her arms across her chest. “I’m not sleeping in that tin can with the three of you.”
Cain narrows his eyes. “Yes, you are. It’s safer.”
“I grew up here,” she argues. “I’m perfectly safe.”
“Then what the fuck are we doing here?” he growls.
I have to step in and calm things down. “She saw the altar room before we left. She’s just a little freaked out by it, that’s all. Cut her some slack.”
He turns to me. “You want her sleeping out here with the guards?”
Is it my imagination, or did Daisy just shoot Deacon a look?
No, she wouldn’t, would she? I’d like to tell myself that she’s too sweet and innocent to take off with a twenty-five-year-old hunk of muscle, but she’s seventeen and never even been kissed.
As much as she preaches against sin, she’s still full of the same hormones that any other seventeen-year-old girl has roiling around her.
“Cain is right,” I tell her. “You’re sleeping in the RV with us. No arguments.”
She pouts but doesn’t fight back.
We pile into the RV. It’s completely dark now, so I’m grateful for the emergency lights dotted along the baseboards.
It’s strange that we’ll be sleeping in the men’s beds, but they don’t seem to mind.
I use the tiny bathroom space and change in there too, into a strappy top and matching sleep shorts.
I’ll be warm all snuggled up with Roman.
The men don’t bother to change, but just throw themselves down onto the beds, fully clothed. Daisy is wearing a long, white nightgown she’d borrowed from me
Roman pats the bunk beside him. I’m with him again, in the double bed above the cabin, and Daisy is just below us on the foldout bed that also serves as a couch. Malachi and Cain have the bunks at the very rear of the RV.
I doubt any of us will get much sleep, and I most certainly won’t.
While it’s going to be a few hours until they make their way to the commune to surround the church and take down the Prophet once and for all, I’m too scared to sleep.
I’m terrified about what’s going to happen.
In a few hours’ time, the man who made my life hell is going to confront the men who have saved me, and I am not sure which side will win.
I hope and pray it’s my Preachers, but the Prophet is a sick and twisted man, and I think he’ll do almost anything to cling to his power.
I scoot down in my sleeping bag, and Roman reaches over to me, brushing hair from my face and softly kissing my mouth.
“Try to sleep,” he says. “It won’t be long until all this is behind you.”
He’s right; it won’t be. I should sleep so I’m not exhausted, but I can’t.
Next to me, Roman’s breathing slows and grows deeper and even.
How the hell did he fall asleep so fast?
Then I remember he’s injured and on meds, so he’s probably sleepy due to both of those things.
From the other end of the RV, a light snoring starts up.
So at least one of the others is asleep, too, if not both.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to let my thoughts wander, but my heart feels like it’s beating too fast and I can hear the pulse in my ears like I’m underwater. Still, it’s been a long day, and my body is tired, and I can sense myself drifting…
The minute I drop off, my heart kicks up speed, and I jerk awake. It’s as if I’m having rolling nighttime panic attacks.
Maybe I am, because this is all too much. I’m terrified and so scared for myself, my men, and the innocent members of the commune.
The idea of even being near the Prophet scares me to death.
I hear a noise and listen carefully, my heart hammering.
Is it him? Coming for me? Has he sensed me the way I prayed he wouldn’t?
I haven’t heard his voice in my head since being on the road, which is a miracle, and which I put down to Roman’s presence.
He’s connected to me. I’ve known it since I felt him so strongly in the institute, and maybe he acts like a living, breathing tourmaline crystal charm for me.
The sound isn’t that of men creeping about the place, so I relax a little. It’s rustling—the distinct, deliberate movement of someone trying not to be heard—and it sounds like it’s coming from Daisy’s bed.
Sitting, torn by indecision, my mind is made up when the door of the RV opens and I hear her step out.
What is she doing? It’s not safe for her to be walking around alone. Not even because of the danger from the commune. I wouldn’t trust someone like Deacon with a na?ve young girl like Daisy. Is that where she’s going? Is she sneaking out to meet him?
Sighing, I scramble off the bunk and, slipping on my shoes at the doorway, follow her.
She weaves through the tents, being so quiet in her long white nightgown she reminds me of a ghost, and I do the same, trying not to wake the men. I want to know what she’s doing before I alert the others. If she’s planning on leaving, maybe I can talk her down.
When she reaches the edge of the clearing and steps forward so the dark of the trees looms over her, I slow.
This is getting weird, and I ought to go and wake the men, but then she sinks to her knees and folds her palms in front of her, head bowed.
I realize, with a pang of sympathy, that she’s praying.
She’s probably terrified, maybe even more so than me.
This girl was my friend, like a sister, really, so I head over to her to offer comfort. As I step behind her, there’s a crunch to my right. I whip my head around and see a dark shape. I open my mouth to scream, but a huge, gloved hand slams over it, silencing me.
As I’m dragged backward into the trees, the ground scraping beneath the heels of my shoes, the last thing I see is Daisy being hauled to her feet by two large, dark figures.
Beyond them is the safety of the RV where my men sleep unaware.