Delilah
Present Day
I’ve barely seen Maverick since our time in the tent.
The last two days have been full of preparations for the meetup, which, to my dismay, is tomorrow.
When I’m not training with Cam or working with Benji to familiarize myself with the technology, I’m spending time with Bec or Liv, both of whom seem to be completely ignoring the fact that I leave tomorrow.
And even though my body is completely exhausted, sleep evades me.
Either because my anxious thoughts keep me up at night, or vivid nightmares disrupt any rest I could be getting.
Visions and memories of Gabriel—of my time in New Athens—are constantly playing in my mind, igniting this fiery anger within me.
I’m so angry, so hungry for justice, I’m afraid I won’t be able to act appropriately.
The woman I was before, the submissive wife who was more an obedient pet than an actual person, is gone.
In her stead is a woman reborn, awake and alive with the primal need for revenge.
But if I let this new woman out to play, it could be the death of me. The death of the Resistance. My very life—and the lives of countless women—are dependent on my ability to pretend, to be who I was before as if my entire perspective hasn’t changed.
As if I’m unchanged.
As much as I want to believe that I’ll succeed, that everything will go right and the Brotherhood will fall, I know there are endless ways our plan could go south.
So, before I leave tomorrow, I’m working with Benji to record a video.
Ironically, Gabriel gave me the idea, and if worse comes to worst, it’s our failsafe.
If I’m killed or if the Brotherhood goes back on their word and anything happens to Arcadia, Benji will release the video, broadcasting it worldwide.
I sit outside with the lush greenery of the forest as my backdrop, Benji’s small camcorder set up on a tripod a few feet in front of me. “Whenever you’re ready,” he tells me, as the little red light blinks in a rhythm that seems to match my frantic heartbeat.
I take a deep breath, looking straight into the camera.
“My name is Delilah Clark. At ten years old, I was taken away from my family, kidnapped in the middle of the night by the radical extremists known as the Brotherhood. For several years, I stayed at an institute with other young girls, where they trained us like animals to be submissive and obedient. They shaped us, molded our young, impressionable minds into their perfect versions of women. They prepared us to become wives for the men of New Athens, and at the age of fifteen, that’s exactly what I became.
I was married to Gabriel Sinclair—a man eight years my senior—thus beginning my time as a wife. ”
I push the nausea away at the memories flooding my mind, forcing my shoulders back and my chin high.
“I was raped by my husband daily, with the goal of conceiving a child. I was mentally, physically, emotionally, and sexually abused, though I believed all of this to be normal at the time. It wasn’t until I was rescued by the Resistance that I realized the horrors that had been committed against me.
Maverick Stetson—the man who the Brotherhood painted as a dangerous terrorist—is no such threat.
He and the Resistance saved me, and countless other women, from the oppression and abuse of the Brotherhood.
New Athens is the true enemy. They are a threat to women, to democracy, and to the very future of the Western world.
“World leaders, hear my plea. Think of your wives, your daughters, your granddaughters, your nieces and friends, and ask yourself, ‘what would you do if they were in my situation?’ I urge you to impose sanctions upon New Athens for their heinous crimes.
Nullify your trade agreements, publicly condemn their actions, and refuse to bend to their will.
“My testimony is just one of thousands. Every woman in New Athens has a similar story. For the sake of women everywhere, please heed my warning. Thank you.”
I feel myself soften, my whole demeanor shifting as I prepare to deliver a different speech, a speech that Benji has no idea I’ve been planning.
“Maverick. If you’re seeing this, something has probably gone wrong.
So, just in case I don’t get a chance to tell you…
” Tears flood my eyes as I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the man who changed my life for the better.
“Thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you for everything you’ve done for me, but I’m gonna try like hell to finish what you started.
I love you, Rebel Man.” I offer a final, teary smile to the camera before my eyes shift to Benji, whose mouth is hanging open like a fish.
The computer genius regains his composure, snapping his mouth closed and clearing his throat. “Great. Thanks, Della.”
A small laugh slips past my lips as I wipe my tears away with my sleeve. “I hope I can count on your discretion until the time comes to share the latter part of my message.”
“Of course.” He nods. “Though I hope that time won’t ever come.”
“Me too,” I agree. “But just in case, I want him to know how I feel.”
“Believe me, Della. He already knows.”
Benji’s comment has me grinning like an idiot for a split second, until reality comes crashing back down. We pack up the camera and tripod in silence and walk the short distance back to camp.
It’s eerily quiet. Normally, the camp would be alive with activity, filled with people milling about. Instead, there’s no one to be seen. I’m instantly on guard, my mind jumping to the worst-case scenario as I walk through the trees. “Where is everyone?”
Benji pointedly ignores my gaze, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe you should check the dining tent.”
His grimace and quiet curse under his breath tells me all I need to know, and I relax as we head toward his suggested destination.
When we reach the tent, we’re greeted by the whole camp shouting “Surprise!” followed by claps and cheers.
I scan the crowd of faces, confused but smiling, grateful for the people who have helped make this place feel like home. I see Bec, Liv, Cam, V, and of course, the man who has altered my very brain chemistry.
“What are we celebrating?”
In response, Liv walks toward me holding a cast-iron skillet that has some kind of chocolate dessert inside.
The flame flickers on the singular candle stuck in the middle of the cake as everyone joins in to sing Happy Birthday to me for the first time since I was ten.
Women don’t celebrate their birthdays in New Athens, of course.
The only thing they’re even remotely praised for is having children, and even that seems to be more of an event for the father.
My eyes flood with tears hearing everyone sing. Growing up, my mother always made birthdays such a special occasion, and I had convinced myself I was being irrational for missing them after the Reckoning. But now, I let myself feel like a kid again, laughing and smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.
“Make a wish!” Liv says, her own smile as big as my own.
I close my eyes, already knowing what I’ll wish for.
Freedom and justice for the women of New Athens.
My eyes flutter open, automatically connecting with Maverick’s across the room.
Selfishly, I add a second wish, figuring I can have more than one since I didn’t get any birthday wishes for more than a decade.
And a life of peace and happiness for Maverick, even if that life doesn’t include me.
I blow out the candle to the soundtrack of celebratory cheers, and the party starts.
The cake is cut and served, and holy shit it’s the best damn chocolate cake I’ve ever had.
Drinks flow freely and I happily indulge, knowing that tomorrow, everything will change.
My head buzzes pleasantly as I sit cross-legged in a circle with Bec, Liv, Benji, and a few other camp members that I’m not as familiar with.
We’re playing Spin the Bottle—Bec’s idea, of course.
You should experience stupid party games at least once in your life, she’d said.
It’s my first turn, so I reach toward the middle of the circle and grab hold of the glass bottle, finding it surprisingly warm against my palm.
I give it a good spin, watching as it twirls around before it finally stops, pointing at Bec.
My nerves settle, knowing I get to kiss her instead of a stranger.
She leans over and places her hand on my cheek before her lips connect with mine.
Just like before, they’re warm and soft.
She tastes like whiskey and chocolate, and that familiar, fuzzy feeling in my stomach makes everything feel so good.
More cheers echo in my ears as the kiss deepens, and I let myself enjoy the moment.
We finally pull apart, both of us giggling like maniacs. She was right, this is fun.
It’s Benji’s turn to spin the bottle, and it’s an absolute joy to see the normally awkward man loosen up. The bottle slows and comes to a stop, pointing right at me. His eyes widen, panicked. “Um…”
“What?” I ask with a giggle. He’s already kissed a few other people in the circle, so I’m confused by his hesitation.
He cranes his neck around nervously before he looks back at me. “I don’t really want to die today, that’s what.”
“What do you mean?” My stomach knots as genuine nerves settle in my gut.
Benji clears his throat and jerks his head to the left.
My eyes find what he’s signaling, and a laugh bursts out of me.
Maverick’s staring at our group, his expression stern.
I give him a wink before shifting onto all fours and crawling toward Benji playfully.
I sit back on my heels and grab his face, leaning forward and planting a kiss right on his lips.
The group whistles and whoops as Ben leans into the kiss.
He’s actually a pretty good kisser, I think.
I break away and he pushes his glasses up his nose, cheeks pink. “Thanks, Della.”
I smile. “My pleasure.”
His eyes shift away momentarily. “Just don’t let your boyfriend kill me.”
I laugh again, wondering if Maverick would actually get jealous.
His clenched jaw suggests that maybe he is in fact envious of Benji at the moment.
I wink at him again, emboldened by the alcohol in my veins.
Before I can scoot back to my spot, he mutters something that looks suspiciously close to fuck this and heads my way.
Normally, the sight of a burly, six foot four bearded man stalking toward me would send me running.
But instead, I stand to meet him with a cheeky grin.
“Mine,” he growls, grabbing me by the back of my neck and crushing his mouth to mine. I receive the kiss eagerly, opening to him as he lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist as he uses his other hand to cradle my ass and hold me up.
I barely hear the cacophony happening in the background as our tongues dance together, learning what each other likes.
He smells like pine trees and campfire, and he tastes like home.
I grab his plump bottom lip with my teeth, scraping the tender flesh as he groans deep in his throat.
Heat pools between my thighs, but before I can insist we go back to his tent to finish this, he pulls away and sets me down.
His eyes are dark—hungry—and I wonder if he feels as ravenous as me.
Everything else that faded away while we kissed comes back into focus. “Get a room!” someone yells, causing laughter to erupt among the camp. My cheeks heat and whistles ring out, cheering us on.
Maverick pulls me into his side with a hand around my waist, and god it feels amazing to have him touch me like this.
In public. With everyone watching. His claim on me isn’t some Brotherhood misogynistic bullshit, but rather a proud declaration of our partnership as equals, even if he did sound like a caveman when he made his claim.
I look up at him with a smile. “Didn’t peg you for the jealous type, Rebel Man.”
He chuckles, leaning down to speak in my ear. “Not jealous, darlin’.” His hot breath tickles my neck, causing shivers to erupt across my entire body. “Protective.”
“Mmm,” I hum, still smiling. “Are you sure you don’t mean possessive?”
He shrugs. “That too. Respectfully, of course.”
I laugh. “Respectfully possessive? How does one accomplish such an oxymoronic feat?”
“Believe me, darlin’.” His voice deepens. “It’s more than possible.”
I swallow, somehow picturing exactly what he means. His hands on my hips, guiding my movements, focusing on my pleasure because he wants to, not because he has to. Claiming me, body and soul.
“Prove it,” I dare him.
“Delilah.” My name on his lips is a warning, like the snarl of a cornered animal.
“Maverick,” I parrot, turning to speak in his ear and nipping at the soft flesh of his earlobe.
He groans. “We’ve talked about this.”
I hum. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we should be doing less talking.”
“Baby,” he pleads. The desperation in his tone makes me think he’s seconds from caving in to my request.
I pull back, cradling his cheeks while searching his eyes. “Let me show you how I feel about you.”
He grabs my hands off his face and kisses them. “You have. You don’t need to use your body to convince me of something I already know.”
Tears sting my eyes as he rejects my advance for a third time.
But this time, it’s not from hurt. As much as I would love to climb him like a tree, I know there’s truth to what he’s saying.
Perhaps I still haven’t fully healed from my past, from being taught to use my body as a vessel for male pleasure.
I’m not crying because he keeps telling me no.
I’m crying because this man has continuously put me first. In fact, he’s the only man who has ever put me first. My heart, my safety, my body, all of it protected by this person who I thought was my enemy, and has instead turned out to be my greatest ally.