Delilah
Present Day
V walks me to the Hub—as she called it—a tent that’s been converted into a store of sorts. There’s clothing, blankets, food, and some other random items available for trade if I understand the system correctly. I reach for a pair of jeans that look to be my size before I return my hand to my side.
V notices my hesitation. “You can try them on in there.” She points to a makeshift changing room in the corner.
“I don’t have anything to trade,” I say, adjusting my too-loose pants once again.
V waves a hand in front of her face. “You’re Maverick’s guest. Just pick whatever you’d like.”
I scowl at the idea of being that horrible man’s anything.
V leaves me there, probably heading back to her own tent.
I browse the wares, picking up the jeans I was eyeing before along with a warm-looking button-up sweater.
I find an unopened toothbrush and a travel-size toothpaste, refusing to think about how bad my breath must smell.
I hang the clothes over my arm and slowly walk around the tent, noticing two women in the corner speaking in low tones.
Maybe they’re shop attendants, ensuring no one steals anything.
My stomach growls, a blatant reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.
I shuffle over to the food section and pick out a protein bar that looks like it’s several years old, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.
I rip it open and bite into the chewy morsel, working my jaw to the point of exhaustion.
I swallow the gluey concoction, needing something to wash it down.
I grab a plastic water bottle from the table and twist the cap off, gulping down several mouthfuls when one of the women in the corner scoffs loudly.
“The entitlement of some people…” she says to her friend, who promptly agrees while shaking her head.
I finish drinking and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?”
The one who spoke earlier, a woman with dirty blonde hair and a nose piercing, rolls her eyes at me. “I’m sure the list of things you’ve done wrong is a mile long, sister.”
My face flushes. Never in my life has my title as a wife been used against me in a negative manner. “Excuse me?”
“You heard her,” the other woman—a curvy brunette—says, crossing her arms.
The blonde prowls toward me, eyes narrowed. “You don’t belong here, wife. Do us all a favor and take your pretentious ass back where you came from.”
My instinct is to shrink under her scrutiny, but I’ll be damned if I let her intimidate me. I raise my chin, making sure to look her over from head to toe. “At least I’m not some uncultured skank who parades my body around for attention.”
The brunette’s mouth pops open in shock while the blonde clenches her fists.
She steps forward, bringing her face just inches from mine.
“Listen here, you little bitch. You think you’re special because some man with an overinflated sense of ego chose you to be his little fuck toy?
” Her breath fans over my face, hot and angry.
“Your status means nothing here, so shut your cock-sucking mouth.”
I cross my arms, standing tall. “Your foul mouth is unbecoming, miss. Not that you’d understand; it’s clear your formal education is quite lacking. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two on how to comport yourself from us wives.”
“I would rather die than be some asshole’s wife.” Spit from her mouth lands on my cheek.
I shrug, wiping my face. Headmistress would be proud of how I’ve kept my cool in this tense situation. “No matter. No self-respecting lord would choose you, anyway. You’d probably be better suited as a whore.”
Before I can even blink, she slaps me across the face. My head whips to the side and I taste blood. I prod my bottom lip to find it split, the spot on my cheek heating as the pain finally registers. I right my head and look up to find her smirking, though her eyes still look furious.
“You know, they taught us that violence is an unladylike solution to problems. But I can make an exception.”
I’ve never hit anyone before, but I ball my fist all the same and send it flying toward her face.
My knuckles land right on her cheek and she cries out in surprise.
My hand throbs, but I have no time to recover as she grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks harshly.
I pry at her hands in my hair, but her grip is unrelenting.
Instead, I try to shove her away, until we’re both scratching and screaming at each other like wild animals.
In the middle of the scuffle, a pair of arms grabs me around the waist and hoists me off the ground. I’m pulled into a broad chest as the woman releases her grip on my hair.
A voice booms, coming from the person holding me if the rumbling in their chest is any indication. “Enough, both of you.”
Maverick. I recognize his voice and my training kicks in, automatically submitting to the authority in his tone. I stop thrashing, though my chest still heaves, his massive arms rising and falling with my ribs.
The blonde woman looks worse for wear. Her hair a tousled mess and a bruise is already blooming under her eye. She spits on the ground at my feet, seething. “Stay away from me, Brotherhood bitch.”
“Sam,” Maverick warns, his voice a deep growl.
The blonde—Sam, I guess—gives Maverick a look I can’t decipher, somewhere between disbelief and outrage, before she walks away, her friend close behind.
It’s only once she’s gone that I realize Maverick is still holding onto me tightly, and I become aware of every point of contact between our bodies. His muscular arms around my waist, his broad chest flush against my back, his thick thighs pressed to my backside.
I try to move away, pushing on his arms. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t move, completely unaffected by my efforts to get away. “Clearly, I can’t trust you to be left on your own.”
This time when I push away, he lets me go. I wrap my arms around myself, shaking now that his warmth isn’t at my back. “I don’t need you to trust me. I need you to take me home.”
He ignores my plea, noticing my split lip.
He raises his hand toward my face, and I flinch instinctively.
His brows pull down and his hand freezes in midair before he drops it, turning his attention instead to the mess on the ground.
He retrieves the jeans, sweater, water, and the bar I dropped in the scuffle, holding them out to me.
“What happened?”
I take the items, still shaking. “Your friend is lovely. She should be on the welcoming committee for all your hostages.”
He’s undeterred by my sarcasm, seemingly searching the tables for something. “Maybe you deserved it.”
I just stare at him, momentarily stunned, before I recover from his snide remark. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
He finds what he’s looking for—an instant ice pack that he pops in his powerful fist. He stalks back through the tent, towering over me as he goes to put the icepack on my cheek before thinking better of it. He tosses it to me instead, and I barely manage to catch it in time.
“Actually, you do.”
I scoff, putting the ice on my face and sighing at the relief it offers.
“I’m far away from home. I’m despised by strangers for reasons I can’t fathom.
I’m tired and hungry and alone, and I’m pretty sure my hand is broken.
So, forgive me if I’m not the best version of myself right now.
” By the end of my embarrassing confession, tears have flooded my eyes, blurring my vision.
Instead of answering, he reaches for my hand—the one I used to punch Sam—and quirks a brow, silently asking permission to touch me.
I hold it out to him and he examines it, manipulating my fingers and testing for mobility.
“Not broken.” He jerks his chin at the ice pack still on my cheek. “Put that on your hand.”
I do as he says. It helps, but it feels trivial when compared to everything else. “Great. Can you take me home now?”
He huffs a frustrated breath. “You wanna know why people here despise you, darlin’?
” He takes my silence as a yes. “You represent everything they’ve fought to escape.
The Brotherhood has taken their freedom, their loved ones, hell, their very identities.
So when you come here, demanding to be returned to a place that has destroyed so many lives, it’s no wonder they want to knock some sense into you. ”
I’m shocked into silence for a moment before I recover my ability to speak. “I don’t believe you.” Maverick looks up at the ceiling, as if praying for guidance. “And that woman didn’t want to ‘knock some sense into me.’ She’s just envious of me.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “Sure she is, darlin’.” He turns and walks out of the tent without a word, forcing me to scramble after him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, arms still full of the items I procured at the Hub.
He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking through the forest until we reach another large tent with rudimentary picnic tables made out of roughly cut wood occupying most of the space.
There’s two people at the front of the tent, cooking food over a portable camping grill.
Scrambled eggs, potatoes, and some kind of meat sizzle away on the griddle, filling the air with delectable smells and reminding me I still haven’t eaten much.
The man stirs the food on the stove while the woman cuts fruit, and I can’t help but wonder where all this food came from.
Before I can ask, the woman—a young lady about my age with long braids and kind eyes—speaks. “Hey Mav. What’s up?”
Maverick sends a pointed look my way. “Mrs. Sinclair here found herself in a bit of trouble. She’ll be assisting you with dinner.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, so I keep my mouth shut and offer a sorry excuse for a smile to the woman, who winks at me, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Oh, trust me. We’ve all been there.”
“Thanks, Liv. Let me know if she gives you any grief.” There’s no humor in Maverick’s voice, but the woman laughs anyway.
“Will do.” He turns and walks away, and Liv offers me a warm smile. “Welcome to Arcadia.”
My brow furrows. “Arcadia?”
She nods. “That’s what we call camp. It’s not much, but it’s home.”
“Oh.” I’m unsure how to respond. “Thank you.”
She jerks her chin at me, still cutting fruit. “Let’s put you to work.”
I set my items down on the nearest table before walking over to her. “How can I help?”
She appears genuinely pleased at my willingness to pitch in. “How about you set the tables?” She nods toward a stack of stainless steel dishes, utensils, and linens, so I get to work.
The young man next to her hums a tuneless melody while he cooks, but hasn’t acknowledged my presence whatsoever. I find myself studying him in between place settings, and the woman notices.
“I’m Liv. This is my baby brother, Charlie.” Charlie doesn’t so much as lift his head at the mention of his name, but Liv continues on. “He was born deaf, and as I’m sure you know, the Brotherhood has no place for people with disabilities.”
Truthfully, I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I haven’t met a person with any kind of disability since I was a child. I had a cousin who was born with Cerebral Palsy, actually. I wonder what happened to him…
I return my attention to Liv, who gently bumps her shoulder into Charlie’s.
He finally looks up and notices me, and Liv signs something to him.
He smiles and waves at me. I return the gesture and sign nice to meet you, one of the things I remember from my childhood.
His face immediately lights up and he signs more things to me that I don’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t really know that much Sign Language. ”
“That’s okay,” Liv says, signing something else to Charlie, who looks at me again and signs more. “He says he can teach you, if you like.”
I smile at him—the first genuine smile to grace my face since I arrived here. “I would like that.”
He gives me a kind nod and continues cooking, back in his own world.
Liv looks at her brother with pure adoration before her face hardens. “During the Reckoning, the men who came for us decided it would be prudent to cut out Charlie’s tongue. You know, since he’s deaf and doesn’t really talk, they said he didn’t need it.”
I immediately feel squeamish, imagining such a gruesome act. “I-I’m sorry that happened to you,” I manage.
Liv nods once, her playfulness from before long gone. “He recovered, physically anyway. Hasn’t really been the same since then, though.” She looks at her brother again, and it’s obvious she loves him very much.
I’m bombarded with thoughts of my own baby brother, who I haven’t seen for over a decade. Would I even recognize him if I saw him? I push any thoughts of my family—of before—away. Gabriel is my only family now.
“How did you end up here?”
Liv smiles, but it’s not a happy one. It’s dark, slightly unhinged.
“I killed the two men who hurt him with a kitchen knife”—my eyes drop to the knife in her hand as it slices roughly through the apple on the wooden cutting board—“then took one of our horses and fled into the woods behind our house.”
Her story sounds like something straight out of a horror movie. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen,” she answers. “Charlie was nine.” When I can’t think of anything to say, she continues. “We were some of the lucky ones. We survived in the woods for a few weeks, avoiding capture, until Maverick saved us.”
“Saved you?”
“He found us, brought us back to his camp, took care of us. We’ve been a part of the Resistance ever since.” She looks up from her task, offering me a proud smile.
Wheels turn in my head as I recall every interaction I’ve had with Maverick. He infiltrated the masquerade and took me away. He’s clearly respected around the camp. He knows everyone. “So Maverick is, what? The leader of the Rebels?”
Liv shrugs. “I guess so. We’ve been together for so long he’s like a big brother to me at this point. But big decisions, like when and where we move the camp, are up to him and the rest of the council.”
He seems young to be the one in charge of everything, especially when there are older people here, like V. “How old is Maverick?”
“He just turned thirty-one. We had a big celebration.” She smiles at the memory. “He hated every second of it.”
He’s the same age as Gabriel, I think. For whatever reason, the broody rebel captain seems much older than my husband. “Sounds fun?”
Liv laughs. “Oh, we had a great time. He just hates being thanked for everything he’s done for all of us.”
“I see.”
I don’t. A man, humble? My brain short-circuits. Once again, everything about Maverick is the complete opposite of what I’ve come to expect from men. Gabriel would, and has, basked in the spotlight.
I finish setting the tables, all the while thinking about how Maverick came to be here.