Delilah
Present Day
I barely sleep. Partly because I know this is Maverick’s space and it feels indisputably wrong for me to be lying in another man’s bed—especially a man who seems to loathe my existence.
And partly because I haven’t allowed myself to think this much about my mother or brother in years, and now, they’re all I can think about.
Are they alive? Where are they? Did my mother remarry and have any other kids? My brother would be a teenager now… Would I even recognize him if I saw him on the street?
It’s all a bit overwhelming, and by the time I venture out in search of Maverick, my stomach is tight with anxiety.
The sun is barely up, but if I wait any longer, my nails—which are already bitten down to ugly nubs—will start to bleed.
Even though it’s hard to ponder, I’d rather be thinking about my lost family members than the awful truth that was revealed to me last night.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get those images out of my head. The truth I’ve been taught is warring with the truth in my body, and it’s enough to make me dizzy.
For so long, Gabriel and the lords of the Brotherhood have been the standard for men, but it’s almost like seeing those videos allowed me to see things through someone else’s eyes.
Even though I was watching myself, it felt like I was watching someone else, and all I could think was how much I pitied that girl.
A girl who was more child than woman. A girl who was never given a choice.
I love Gabriel, I know I do. I’d be a monster if I spent eight years married to a man and didn’t love him, right?
Not that I’ve ever heard him say that he loves me, but his job isn’t to love me, it’s to provide for me.
To protect me. That’s what marriage is: the man provides and protects, and the woman submits, serves, and obeys.
My ankle is still sore but definitely feels better after resting it all night, so I hobble out of the tent, though I have no idea where I’m going.
I make it all of ten steps before a voice calls out. “Morning, wifey.”
I turn toward the voice to find the woman from the other night—Bec, I think her name is—sitting on a tree stump and sharpening a stick with a knife. I do my best to smile at her. “Good morning.”
The smile she flashes my way is wolfish. Her hair is shaved on one side, with short, tousled waves on the top. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine, thank you.” It’s not her fault I was up all night thinking in circles.
She raises her pierced eyebrow at me, the silver ring glinting in the morning light. “Really, city girl? You don’t miss your towel warmer and your indoor plumbing?”
How does she know I own a towel warmer? “My accommodations were satisfactory.”
She chuckles. “God, don’t you wives ever say what you really think?”
I don’t really know what to say to that, so she just laughs and waves me over, jerking her head toward the stump next to hers. “Come sit. Mav will be here in a bit.”
I limp over and sit clumsily on the damp tree stump, grateful for the warmth radiating from the fire. Awkward silence ensues, so I try my best to make conversation. “How long have you known Maverick?”
Bec throws her stick into the fire and grabs a new one. “Eight years now.”
“And you’ve been living like this since then?” I ask, staring into the flames.
“Believe me, living out of a tent is far better than where I was before.” Her knife scrapes against the wood, shaving the rough bark off to reveal the lighter, softer interior.
“Where did you live before?” I get the sense she doesn’t exactly want to talk about it, but she’s been an open book so far.
She looks over at me with hard eyes. “Same place as you.”
My eyes widen. “You were a wife?”
She barks a harsh laugh. “Fuck no.”
“Oh.” Disappointment settles in my gut and I cross my arms. It would’ve been nice to have something in common.
“Whores don’t get the royal treatment, unfortunately.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” Bec’s tone has never been gentle, but it’s even sharper now. When I don’t respond, she shakes her head in disbelief. “You really have no idea what it’s like for other women in New Athens, do you?”
A sense of shame creeps up my neck. She’s right. I don’t know.
“You wives are the lucky ones. The rest of us are raped and beaten and forced to bare children we never asked for.” She presses the knife against the stick so forcefully it snaps. She discards the wood and stabs the blade into the stump in between her spread legs.
“They raped you?” My voice is a whisper.
“Every fucking day for four years,” she looks down at the ground. “Carried some asshole’s baby for nine months just to have her ripped away from me before I was even stitched up.” She sniffles, wiping her nose. “Gave her to some lord and his wife who couldn’t get pregnant.”
Oh, god. I feel physically ill. I’ve wanted a baby for so long, but I had no idea the circumstances surrounding adoption in New Athens. “How did you get here?”
Bec looks over at me. “I decided I’d rather die than keep living in hell. I gathered supplies for a few weeks then escaped through the sewers one night. Made it to the coast and snuck onto a ferry. I had no idea where it was going but anywhere was better than there.”
“What happened?”
“The boat docked in Canada and I claimed asylum. They hooked me up with a social worker and a therapist, got me housing and the support I needed.”
“Canada?” Gabriel says Canada is a country full of traitors and degenerates.
She nods. “I met Old Man Stetson at a support group for people who have survived the Brotherhood. He told me about Arcadia and about what his son was trying to do with the Resistance. I insisted on being a part of it.”
“Maverick’s father?”
Bec smiles to herself. “Nicest man I’ve ever known.”
“So, nothing like his son, then?”
Bec whips her head toward me before erupting in a fit of laughter. “Damn, city girl. That was cold.”
I bite my lip to hide my smile, feeling rather proud of my quip.
That is, until the man I’ve just insulted speaks from right behind me. “What’s so funny?”
My spine immediately straightens, but Bec just keeps laughing. “The wife has a sense of humor.”
The wolf that seems to be Maverick’s shadow comes up to Bec, licking her cheek as she pets him with familiarity.
I look behind me to find Maverick staring down at me with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest, his heather gray hoodie dotted with raindrops. “Is that so?”
I jump to my feet, eager to get started on the search for my family. “Ready?”
Maverick’s mouth tugs up at one end in something that could be mistaken for a smile. “How’s your ankle?”
“Good as new,” I lie, hoping he didn’t notice my wince when I stood.
He looks unconvinced but turns on his heel and starts walking away anyway, his trusty companion right on his heels. He weaves around our legs, sniffing the ground for the countless smells I’m sure the island has to offer.
“Bye, city girl!” Bec calls after me, and I wave at her as I follow after Maverick.
Bec’s is the second story I’ve heard now that paints the Brotherhood in a horrifying light.
Their histories contradict everything I thought I knew, which only adds to my confliction.
But both her and Liv seem to be happy here, despite the awful things they’ve lived through.
I think back to what Maverick told me yesterday.
You represent everything they’ve fought to escape.
While the things I’ve seen and heard here over the last couple days have altered my perspective of reality, I still feel a tug deep in my gut pulling me back to Gabriel.
I’m so lost in thought I don’t realize Maverick has stopped, and I run straight into his back with an oomph. He turns around and quirks an eyebrow, but I wave him off. “Sorry.”
He mumbles something about Bec being onto something in calling me city girl before pushing through the canvas of the tent and holding the flap open for me.
I duck under his arm and step inside, noting how his smell is becoming familiar to me.
Citrus and pine and soap, and while I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, I find myself leaning in to inhale his scent more.
I force my focus to turn toward the interior of the tent, noticing it’s rather dark in here. None of the window flaps are open, and the hum of machines is evident in the small, warm space.
“Morning, Benji.”
A man with messy blonde hair and circular glasses looks up from his laptop to greet us. “Morning, boss. Mrs. Sinclair.”
I give him a small wave. “Hello.”
The man pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger before turning back to his computer. “Boss says we’re trying to find your family.”
I nod. “If you can. Please,” I add, the knot in my stomach worsening.
“What’s your mother’s name?” Benji asks.
“Elizabeth Clark.”
Benji types away on his computer for a moment. “I’m not finding anyone by that name. Is Clark her married name or her maiden name?”
My heart sinks. “Clark was my dad’s last name.”
“Do you remember her maiden name?” he asks, still clicking around.
I bring my thumb to my mouth, biting the nail there. I close my eyes, wracking my brain. I know I heard it at some point growing up.
I feel Maverick step closer to me. He leans down, his smell infiltrating my senses and making it difficult to think. “Take your time. Anything you can remember about her could be helpful.” He speaks low, his deep voice rumbling close to my ear.
I take a deep breath, searching my early memories. After a few minutes, I sigh. “I can’t remember.”
“That’s alright,” Benji says. “Let’s try your brother. They may be connected in the system.”
“His name’s Liam. He was only a baby when I last saw him.” The skin around my nail tears too far, and I wince as it starts to bleed. I suck the blood off then apply pressure to the open sore, hoping no one notices my bad habit.
More typing ensues. “Is this him?” A photo of a young teenage boy pops up on the screen, and I immediately know it’s my brother.