Maverick
Present Day
"The supreme quality for leadership is unquestionably integrity." —DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER
Jesus Fucking Christ.
This woman doesn’t even realize how much mistreatment she’s endured.
I stalk away from the tent, having listened to her and V’s conversation.
Not because I’m an asshole—okay, maybe I’m a little bit of an asshole—but because we’ve never had a wife here before.
The women who we’ve saved up until now have been aware of the abuse they’ve suffered, have been completely relieved to escape New Athens.
Delilah, according to her file—or Mrs. Sinclair, as she prefers to be called—on the other hand, has been brainwashed so deeply from such a young age that she genuinely believes in the tenets she was taught to embody from the time she was a child.
Ripped away from her family, sent to an all girls boarding school where she was taught the tenets she cherishes so much, and married off at fifteen to a man eight years her senior.
Getting her to see the truth—to accept that she’s a victim of the Brotherhood’s fucked up ideology—seems like an impossible feat at the moment.
She’s clearly not an idiot, but her understanding of the world—of what’s really going on—is so rudimentary, she might as well be living on a different planet.
I push down the feeling of disgust that always accompanies hearing about the horrors that women endure at the hands of the Brotherhood, making my way across the camp to Benji’s tent.
Hopefully he got some useful information out of that data pull last night.
We need something concrete we can use against them, something that proves they’re committing atrocities.
Our resources are extremely limited, and without definitive evidence of their crimes, we can’t ask other countries to intervene or sanction New Athens.
The generator outside Benji’s tent hums loudly, letting me know he’s working on his computer, per usual. I push my way inside, finding him nose deep in his screen, clicking the keys on his laptop at lightning speed. “Find anything good?”
His eyes flick toward me for a millisecond. “If by good you mean unfathomably horrendous, yes.”
“Show me,” I demand, grabbing a folding chair and sitting backwards with my forearms on the back.
The mouse clicks around the screen. “In addition to the personnel files I already showed you, there are also countless videos.”
I breathe deep, bracing myself. “Videos of what?”
Benji swallows. “Sex tapes.”
“Like homemade pornos?” I ask, already feeling sick.
Benji nods. “Except, it’s clear the women have no idea they’re being filmed. Each lord seems to have his own collection, and not just with their wives.”
We knew these guys were scumbags, so hearing they’ve been cheating on their wives isn’t exactly shocking. “And what do they do with these videos?”
“Looks like they have their own website of sorts. My guess is that all the lords have access to it and can upload their own content and search the site for specific videos.” Benji scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. I don’t blame him, my own skin is crawling.
I reach for the mouse, and Benji lets me take it.
I scroll through the videos, seeing thumbnails with disturbing titles and images, many of them centered around “taking their wife’s virginity”.
Knowing the women in these videos are underage—literal children that New Athens pretends are old enough to be wives, for fuck’s sake—is enough to make me want to punch the computer. “Is it enough?”
Ben swallows thickly. “I don’t know. While some of the girls are clearly underage, other countries would probably argue that they’re legally married which would make conviction difficult, probably impossible.”
My fists clench. “Can you take down the website?”
“Of course I can,” he scoffs. “But it won’t do anything to the videos if they’re downloaded onto a computer, and it won’t stop them from making a new site.”
“It’s better than nothing.” I sigh, hating that I can do so little to actually effect change.
“I’m on it.” The click-clack of Benji’s keyboard resumes.
“Ben,” I say, an idea taking root in my brain. “Are there any videos of the wife I brought back?”
“You mean Mrs. Sinclair?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“Yes.”
“Yeah, boss. There’s videos of her.” Ben finally looks at me, the lenses of his round, wireframe glasses slightly smudged.
“Don’t delete them, not yet anyway.” I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m a pervert for keeping the files. If showing Delilah these videos—proof that her husband is a complete dirtbag—isn’t enough to at least sway her opinion of the Brotherhood, then I don’t know what is.
I meant what I said. She deserves to make an informed decision, and right now, she only has half the facts, maybe even less.
But we have to be careful with the amount and pacing of information—too much too fast, and she’ll undoubtedly just dig her heels in and refuse to believe anything we say.
She’s already more than skeptical, which I can’t blame her for given her upbringing.
Benji plugs in a flash drive, clicks around for a few minutes, then unplugs the rectangular device and hands it to me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I pocket the USB, feeling like a sicko just for carrying it. “Find anything else we can use?”
Benji shakes his head. “It will take me a while to get through everything.”
I stand and clap him on the shoulder, jostling him by accident. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
I head back to my tent, needing a second to think.
Miraculously, no one stops me on my way there, and I lie down on the mattress, desperately trying to ignore how my pillow smells like the woman who slept here last night.
Fresh citrus and vanilla invade my nostrils, and I imagine that’s what her fancy shampoo must smell like.
Any of the women we’ve rescued could testify to how terrible their time in New Athens was, but few would have the patience or knowhow to actually get through to someone like Delilah.
Bec’s too coarse. V got out before she could suffer any major trauma.
And Sam… our history might complicate her willingness to help someone like Delilah.
Maybe Bec was right and I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here… After not sleeping all night, my eyelids grow heavy and I start to drift off. That is, until someone calls for me from outside the tent.
Her voice is muffled, but I can tell it’s Bec. “Hey, Mav?”
I hold back a growl of annoyance. “What?”
“You’re needed at the Hub. Your”—she clears her throat—“I mean, the wife is causing problems.”
I sigh. Of course she is. “Be right there.”