I’d never told anyone, not even my mother, and here I was spilling my guts to a cult leader who intended to rape me, at the very least.

“How old were you?” He leans back on the bed, but still seems to loom over me.

“Twelve.” I don’t let the memory creep into my mind, not his smell, not the way he told me I was his ‘good girl.’ My eyes water. “I-it happened only once.” I trip over the words as I fling them out. As if it happening just once means that I’m not dirty. I know it wasn’t my fault, but deep down, I’ll always carry the stain of what happened to me. “When my mother was away. And then they broke up not long after, but it was over something else.”

“Twelve.” His face pinches, but then smooths out, his dark eyes trying to pry me apart and see inside. He lies back and stays silent for several minutes.

Fear seeps through my pores and wets my underarms. But I don’t know if I’m more afraid of the memories or of Adam’s judgment.

I begin to think he’s fallen asleep, but then he sits up. “Get on the bed. Spread your legs.”

Fighting back my tears, I obey. Part of playing this game is doing what he says. Trying to get close to him to learn what I can. I have to repeat this litany just to get on the bed. He stands as I lie down.

“Legs open.” He stares as I ease my heels apart.

Dropping to his knees, he prowls over me, his eyes burning through me with an intensity that verges on terrifying. His shirt brushes against my taut nipples, and I suck in a breath.

“This is how you show obedience to me. To your Prophet.” He practically spits the last word. “You do what I say when I say it. You don’t ask questions. I expect your complete trust.”

I want to ask what I get in return, but I don’t dare. Not when he’s on top of me like this. Not when the only thing separating us is inconsequential fabric.

His eyes, pools of darkness that I can’t begin to fathom, focus on me with unmistakable predatory intent. “Trust.” He lets the word slide along his tongue until it ends with a flick. “Can you do that? Trust me?”

Trust isn’t something I can give anyone. Not in this place. Not after what happened to Georgia. “I can try,” I answer honestly.

He dips his head, his lips at my ear. “Trying isn’t good enough. I need your word, little lamb.”

Goosebumps race down my flesh, and I grip the blanket. A weight settles in my mind, as if my choice will sway the balance of my life irrevocably. Why is he asking me for anything? He could take it, just like he said a few days ago. Why would he care if I trusted him? I chew my lip and think back to when he killed Newell. Though I’d tried to block out the blood, I couldn’t forget the look in Adam’s eyes, the pure rage. He wasn’t a man I wanted to anger. Not ever.

With a deep breath, I gave him my answer: “I will trust you. Yes.”

The world stills, his breath catching. Does he sense the lie or fear I’m telling the truth?

“Good.” He finds my eyes again. “If you trust me, I will never force you. But if you cross me—” his gaze slides to my hard nipples “—you are mine. I will use this body however and whenever I see fit. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll think Newell was a gentle angel by comparison.”

My voice sticks in my throat, and all I can do is nod.

“Then we have an agreement.” He pushes off me and stands.

I sit up, my mind grasping at the frayed strands of this ‘agreement.’ “So, as long as I trust you … you won’t touch me unless I say it’s okay?”

He arches a brow. “Oh, silly little lamb. Didn’t you listen? I won’t force you. Touching is an entirely different matter, don’t you think?” He sits on the bed next to me and runs his fingers down my cheek, past my collar bone and between my breasts.

My breath snags as he circles one nipple, but he never touches it. The peak hardens, tingling and hyper-sensitive. He does the same to my other breast, his eyes on mine as his warm caress begins to cross the wires inside me. Fear melds with heat, which both twirl around a central circuit of desire. Mortification washes over me as wetness builds between my thighs, and I close my eyes.

“Eyes on me, lamb.”

I force my gaze back to his. Dark eyes consume me as he keeps up his sensual tease. My breathing speeds up, and I press my thighs together to try and stem the pressure.

He smirks and pulls his hand away as he stands. “You’ll be begging me to touch you in no time. And to do plenty more than that.”

“Never.” I shake my head. Whatever game he’s playing isn’t what I’m here for. I hug my knees.

“We’ll see.” He strides to the door. “Until tomorrow night, then.”

“Your back. There’s blood.” A stripe of red has seeped through his light blue shirt.

“Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t turn around, just leaves my room and pulls the door closed behind him.

I roll over and snatch my dress from my nightstand and yank it over my head. What was that? I stare at the door long after he’s gone, replaying his voice in my head. His warm breath at my ear, the way his hard body barely brushed against mine, the length of him on my cheek. I press my thighs together, because something wrong is happening inside me. I can feel myself getting wet, can feel the heat flowing through me as I think about his eyes, his lips, his body.

It’s wrong. So wrong that I bound off the bed, hurry into my bathroom, and flip on the shower. I get in and turn the hot water down until it’s chilly, my body aching from the cold.

“Better.” My teeth chatter as I step out and towel off, my unexpected heat extinguished by the shock of the cold water. This is better. I can handle cold and pain, but desire for my captor? No. Unacceptable.

I slip into bed and turn out my light. His face appears when I close my eyes, but I push that thought away and, instead, get lost in a memory of a fun weekend with Georgia when we were both fourteen. Her golden hair flowing in the wind as she runs soothes me to sleep, though the phantom feeling of Adam’s breath at my neck crashes through the memory right as I drift off.

* * *

A soft knock at my door has me sitting straight up. In the faint bathroom light, I see the handle turning back and forth, squeaking lightly. Flashbacks of Newell have my heart beating so loud I can feel it vibrating through my chest. I yank my blanket to my chin, as if that can ward off whatever devil is at my door.

“Delilah!” A whisper hiss cuts through the silence. Sarah’s voice.

I tamp the dread down and creep over to the door.

“Hurry! The Spinner will get us.” Another voice.

What is going on?

I flip the lock and open the door. Three girls rush inside and plaster themselves against the wall under the camera.

“Delilah?” A Spinner enters the dormitory from a powder room near the main door. She can’t see the terrified Maidens to my right.

“Sorry… I, um, thought I heard something.”

Her expression sours. “You shouldn’t be up. Go back to bed immediately. Do this again and I’ll notify the Head Spinner.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Very sorry.” I lower my chin in deference and close the door. 

The Maidens have disappeared into my bathroom.

I don’t look at the camera, even though it takes every ounce of self-control I have, and shuffle to the bathroom.

“Close the door!” Sarah points.

I push it shut and lean against it. The small bathroom is crowded with four bodies in it.

“What are you doing?” I try to keep my voice low, but an edge of hysteria creeps into my whisper. The punishment if we get caught—I can’t even think about it without my stomach flipping.

“We need to talk.” Sarah perches on the side of my tub, and the others sit. Hannah and another Maiden I think is named Susannah.

I shake my head. “Talk? The Spinner is going to catch us!”

“That one goes to take a piss every half hour. Like Old Faithful. That’s why we picked tonight.”

“Picked it for what?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “To come see you.”

I freeze when I hear the floor creak. We all hold our breaths, but the sound doesn’t come again.

“Okay, we don’t have much time, so here it is.” Sarah leans forward, her gaze intent. “We’re getting out of this dystopian nightmare.”

I shake my head. “There is no ‘out’.”

“There is.” 

I pull the sleeve up on my night dress. “Did you forget about these?” I point to where the tracker is embedded under my skin. “Or the cameras? Or the locked doors? Or the barb wire fence? Or the fact that every policeman within miles of this place works for the Prophet? No one will help you. Everyone you meet will turn you in to the Prophet.”

“We just have to get to Birmingham.”

“You think he doesn’t have people there, too?”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but not everyone is on his payroll. Birmingham’s a big place, not like here. If we could just make it to the city, we could disappear.”

“How do you expect to get fifty miles from here before they realize you’re gone?” I clutch my elbows. “And when they catch you…” I shudder.

“We won’t get caught.” Sarah puts a bite into her tone. “We can sneak out when that Spinner—” she cocks her head toward the hallway “—is on duty. We’ll get out of the dorms. Susannah knows how to pick locks and—”

“It’s Piper.” She speaks up. “Not Susannah. That’s not my name.”

“Piper, yes.” Sarah continues, “So she can get us onto the grounds. Maybe we can roll up our blankets and carry them with us so that when we get to the fence, we can lay them over the top to get past the barbed wire.”

“How do you expect to get past the guards? You do realize they patrol the place?” My drone had shown me a few men keeping watch over the main areas of campus during the days and nights. There was no way to know when or where they’d be.

“I know, but we’ll have to take our chances. Maybe that night will be cloudy or raining or something.” Sarah shrugs. “I don’t know, but we have to try. I can’t do this anymore! I thought it would be different. I thought—”

“That the Prophet was a man of God?” Cynicism, ugly and prickling, creeps into my voice. “That you’d be safe here? That joining a cult was a great life choice?”

Sarah brushes her dark hair back from her face and glares at me. “You’re here, too. You know that, right? You’re trapped right along with the rest of us. You fell for it, too.”

I can’t tell her I’m different, that I have my reasons. So I simply say nothing.

“Are you in or out?” She stands.

“Who else is involved?”

“Just us. We can’t trust anyone else. Some of them are—I don’t know—it’s like they still believe. Even after everything that’s happened since that first night. They still think the Prophet is preparing them for something special.” She steps in front of me, her gaze hard. “And you can’t say a word. I told the girls we could trust you.”

“You can.”

“If you rat us out and we’re stuck here…” Hannah moves to stand behind Sarah.

The bathroom feels even smaller. I clutch the door handle. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Are you in then?” Sarah asks.

Do I want to escape this hell? Yes. Can I? No. I shake my head.

Sarah’s face falls. “Why?”

“I have to see this through.” For Georgia.

“What?” Susannah hisses.

“Shh.” Sarah holds up a hand. “Are you scared of getting caught? Is that why?”

“No.”

“Then what? Don’t tell me you believe this shit? That you’re chosen? That the Prophet wants to use you for anything other than a whore or a pawn?”

“No.” I can’t give her what she wants. An explanation. My truth. “I just can’t.”

“She’s going to rat us out.” Hannah glowers.

“I won’t.” I meet Sarah’s gaze, putting every bit of conviction I still have into my words.

A tense few seconds pass, all three of them peering at me.

“She won’t.” Sarah’s shoulders relax. “I trust her. But we should go.”

“Come on.” I turn the handle, then walk to the hallway door.

I press my ear to it and hear a faint shuffle. Holding up my hand, I bid the Maidens to wait. After what feels like an eternity, a faint, rusty squeak breaks the monotony.

“She’s in the bathroom.” I ease my door open and they hurry into the hallway.

Sarah hesitates and grabs my hand. “Tell me if you change your mind.”

“I will.” I glance at the bathroom door. “Hurry.”

She darts away, and I close my door, then lean against it. My heart is pounding, and I stand there for a while, listening for trouble. None comes, and before long, I hear the Spinner walking along the dormitory corridor, the wooden boards groaning quietly at intervals.

I return to my bed and pull the covers over my face. Like a burial shroud, it gives me a measure of peace, the sense of finally being alone, of blissful isolation.

The three of them will try to escape. I couldn’t miss the determination in Sarah’s eyes. The feeling of being an animal with its leg caught in a trap, but still thinking it can get free if it only pulls hard enough. It’s not until it bleeds out that it realizes the trap is forever.