Delilah
Present Day
This man is not like other men. He’s like the men from before, like my dad cracking jokes, saying anything just to get my mom to smile after a rough day with baby Liam.
It feels innately wrong. Whoever he is, he’s not a lord, or even a brother.
And the woman with him? I can’t even remember the last time I saw a woman who looks or acts like her.
There’s a standard for how women should present themselves physically, and none of it includes short hair, eyebrow piercings, or a masculine, domineering posture.
The other women in the truck don’t seem to be nearly as distressed as I am, which only puts me even further on edge. “Where are they taking us?” I ask, unable to mask the wobble in my voice.
The woman next to me—a housekeeper by the looks of it—gently places her hand on my knee, something akin to hope sparkling in her eyes. “We’re getting out.”
My eyes widen. “Out? Out of where?”
“Out of the Brotherhood’s evil fucking clutches, that’s where.” The woman across from me smiles, but it’s not a smile of joy. In truth, she looks more like a caged animal baring her teeth, and I can’t say it brings me any comfort.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“God, she’s thick. They really keep wives in the dark, don’t they?” one woman says quietly to her friend, but I hear it anyway.
I cross my arms, as if that will curb the sting of her words. “I’m not stupid. I’m just confused.”
The woman across from me who’s dressed like a sex worker leans forward with her elbows on her knees, legs spread wide. “Let me spell it out for you, Cupcake. The Resistance is alive and well, and they’re rescuing us from the hellhole that is New Athens.”
“The Rebels are a myth,” I state matter-of-factly, even though my current predicament suggests the exact opposite.
“If they’re a myth, why are you in the back of a van with women who are willingly trying to escape?” The woman next to me is much kinder in her delivery than the others.
“I can’t leave,” I say. “I have a husband who needs me.”
“All women are replaceable to the Brotherhood,” the prostitute says. “Even you, Cupcake.”
I curse myself for drinking that wretched champagne earlier. Maybe this is all just a horrible dream or a terrible, alcohol-induced nightmare. “I need to go back.”
Someone scoffs. “Why is she even here? They should’ve given her spot to someone who would actually appreciate it.”
“You can start a new life—a life where you’ll be free,” the woman next to me says. I can tell she’s trying to be encouraging, but her words only distress me further.
“I don’t want a new life.” I grit my teeth to keep my chin from quivering. “I want my husband.”
No one has anything to say to that. A few women sigh in defeat, some whisper to each other—probably about me—and we spend the rest of the ride in silence. Little do they know, I don’t plan on being captured by the so-called rebels, if that’s even who they are.
When that door opens, I won’t go down without a fight.
???
He doesn’t even flinch, catching my fist like he’s catching a ball thrown by a toddler on a sugar high.
He smirks at me, and I’m overwhelmed by the violent need to punch that sly smile right off his now-unmasked face.
I use my other hand to try to punch him again, ignoring his handsome, straight nose and boyishly freckled cheeks.
He catches that one with his other palm before bringing my wrists together and restraining them with one hand while he uses his other to help the women down from the back of the van one at a time.
“Let go of me, you traitor!” I scream, everything I’ve learned about how to conduct myself going right out the window. But, if he’s not a part of the Brotherhood, he shouldn’t be afforded the same respect… I think.
His smile only grows. “Traitor, eh? I like the sound of that.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself! Only a coward would turn against his fellow man.”
I try to pull my wrists out of his grasp, but it’s pointless. His grip is an iron vise—strong and unyielding. And yet, it noticeably doesn’t hurt.
Something in his playful expression hardens, and I fear I’ve gone too far.
He steps into my space, and while I try to lean away from him, it does nothing to keep him from leaning down and speaking into my ear, his voice a low growl.
“Careful, darlin’. Treason, I can handle.
Questioning my integrity, on the other hand, would be unwise. ”
I bite my tongue, though it takes considerable effort. For whatever reason, this man seems to bring out the worst in me.
He pulls away from me, that smirk now back firmly on his arrogant face.
The surface beneath my feet sways, and only now do I realize we’re on a boat, surrounded by darkness.
The reality of my situation comes crashing down on me all at once.
Panic rises in my throat at the same time as the champagne bubbling in my belly.
I vomit onto the floor, and unfortunately, onto Rebel Man’s boots, feeling ashamed and embarrassed despite my extreme dislike for him.
He mumbles something along the lines of tell me how you really feel before it all becomes too much, and the world goes dark.
???
I wake in a warm bed, snuggling into the blankets and refusing to believe that anything that happened in the last several hours was real. Sadly, refusing to believe something doesn’t make it so.
The unmistakable smell of campfire drifts past my nose, and I’m hit with such an intense wave of nostalgia I almost cry.
It smells like when we went camping when I was a child; like smoke and pine and that fresh, outdoor smell.
I keep my eyes closed tight, as if that will keep my new reality at bay.
Voices draw closer, one of whom I recognize as the man from last night. “I’ll take full responsibility for her.”
“That’s great, Maverick. Doesn’t change the fact that her being here massively jeopardizes everything we’ve built over the last decade,” says a male voice I don’t recognize.
“I disagree,” Rebel Man—Maverick, apparently—responds.
“Of course you do,” the same man as before says with an air of frustration.
“Maybe we can use this to our advantage,” a woman says, the same woman from last night, I think.
“How would having the wife of a powerful lord as our prisoner work to our advantage?”
“Because it forces their hand,” she answers.
“The Brotherhood, as far as we know, has completely denied our existence to their followers up until this point. Having her, plus what we were able to download from their servers last night, may force them to acknowledge us as a threat, therefore breaking the facade that they’re unchallenged in their fucked-up views. ”
“Why would they do that?” a new voice questions.
“Because we have something they want,” the woman says.
“Blackmail? You really think that would work?”
“It might.” She sounds doubtful.
“Or we could offer her as an exchange,” someone suggests.
“An exchange for what?”
“Other women? Women who actually want to be here?”
“No.” Maverick’s voice offers no room for argument, and it shocks me. I would’ve thought, of all people, he would be most eager to be rid of me.
“Mav, be serious. It’s obvious she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s a victim of the Brotherhood, just like the rest of them.” Again, his tone is severe.
“She’s a wife. All she wants is to have her husband’s babies and remain blissfully oblivious to the suffering of others.”
Rude, I think. I suppose the proper thing to do would be to let them know I’m awake and can hear them, but I can’t seem to make myself speak up.
“Read her fucking file, Bec,” Maverick growls.
My file? What file?
Someone sighs. “There’s obviously a lot to discuss. Maybe we should meet with the other council members before we decide anything.”
“Fine,” Maverick agrees, though he sounds like a grizzly bear agreeing to share a freshly caught fish.
Footsteps recede, and I decide it’s probably safe to open my eyes and see where I am.
By the looks of the tan canvas stretched overhead, I’m in some kind of tent.
I crane my neck to look around, noting the cozy flannel blanket on top of me and the folding table used as a makeshift desk that’s littered with papers.
The bed I’m in smells distinctly masculine, like some kind of woodsy citrus soap, and though it smells nothing like Gabriel’s signature spicy cologne, it’s not entirely unpleasant.
“You’re awake.”
I jump so much I practically leave the bed, noticing the man—Maverick—in the corner for the first time.
Hand pressed against my pounding heart, I scowl at him. “You frightened me.”
“And you threw up all over my favorite pair of boots.” He leans back in the chair he’s sitting in, crossing one ankle over the other. “So we’ll call it even.”
My cheeks flame, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of an apology. “Perhaps if you hadn’t kidnapped me, I wouldn’t have fallen ill.”
The smirk that seems to be an integral part of his personality makes its way onto his lips.
“Do you always talk like you’re from the eighteen hundreds?”
“Do you always hold other men’s wives captive against their will to use as leverage?” I counter, crossing my arms.
“Only when the wives are insufferable little shrews.” He sounds bored, like he’s got a million other things to do.
I give him a sarcastic smile. “Your wife’s a lucky woman, having a man who’s so kind and chivalrous for a husband.”
He chuckles, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Sure thing, darlin’.”
I huff. “Please just take me back. Trade me or use me as blackmail, I couldn’t care less. Just let me go home.”
His demeanor shifts. “I can’t do that. Not yet.”
I feel like whining. “Why not?”
“Because, darlin’, as annoying as you are, you deserve to make an informed decision about your own future, just like everyone else.” He stands, jerking his head for me to follow.