Three days. She’s been in there for three whole days, and no one will tell me a goddamn thing.

“Are you listening to me, son?” My father snaps his lighter closed and takes a hard drag from his cigarette.

“Yes.” I try to relax my shoulders and appear nonchalant. “The Maidens are getting back in line.”

“They are.” He lets the last word hang in the air. “But.” It sounds like a shot. “We need to discuss Craig. As Sarah’s Protector, he’s the one to blame for this entire episode. The Maidens are being punished, but it’s time for him to face the consequences.”

Finally, my father and I agree on something. Craig is a fucking animal and deserves to be put down like one.

“What did you have in mind?” I have plenty of ideas.

“The whip isn’t enough, but the cross is too severe.” He raps his knuckles on the desk.

“The river?” Noah asks, his voice tentative as he suggests torture.

My father smiles. “I think that’ll do just fine.” He turns to me. “We also need to discuss your punishment, Adam.”

I don’t react. I assumed I’d be up for some more lashings. If a Maiden disobeys, and especially if she goes to the length of trying to escape, her Protector is punished. In my father’s eyes, we aren’t doing our jobs. The girls should be broken by now, with no spirit except one of service to the Prophet.

“Will I get the drowning treatment, too?” I hold his icy glare.

“At first, I thought the lashes would be the best thing for you.” He takes another draw. “But then I realized you need a bit more.”

“Bamboo under the nails? Maybe let rats gnaw at my fingers and toes?” I hope one of these is correct. Whatever he intends to do, I want it done to me. But the glint in his eye tells me that’s not how this is going to go.

“Bring her!” His voice slices the air.

Castro pushes through the office doors, shoving my mother inside. Noah and I jump to our feet.

Noah starts, “Dad, you can’t—”

“Sit the fuck down, Noah!” His bellow cows my brother, but not me.

I stare him down. “This doesn’t concern her.”

“Everything to do with you concerns her.” My father snaps his fingers and my mother limps over to him, but gives me a pleading look as she goes. She doesn’t want me to interfere. Just as always, she’s trying to shield me. One broken leg and multiple bruises and scars have never stopped her from trying to keep Noah and me safe.

“Don’t.” I curl my fingers into fists and step toward the desk.

Steel presses into the base of my skull.

My father smirks. “If he moves, pull the trigger.”

“Yes, sir.” Castro pushes the muzzle harder against me and grabs my shoulder with his free hand, shoving me into the chair.

My fingernails dig into the skin of my palm. “Castro, I promise you. One day, I’m going to have your warm blood on my hands. And I can’t fucking wait.”

“We’ll see.” He’s still cocky. But soon, I’ll make sure he never takes another breath.

“Rachel, my love.” My father grabs her hands and pulls her to him.

Noah squirms in his seat, and Castro kicks the leg of his chair. “Move and I’ll pop you.”

“Prophet.” She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Have you missed me?”

“I miss my husband, yes.” Her words are strong, even though he’s tried so many times to break her spirit.

“Would you like to prove it?” He takes another drag and blows the smoke in her face.

“How?”

“If you are telling the truth then you won’t be harmed. But if you aren’t in perfect obedience, I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” He grabs her arm and slides up the sleeve of her white shirt.

She doesn’t move. When he presses the burning cigarette to the flesh on the underside of her arm, she makes a small sound, but swallows it.

Castro’s grip tightens on my shoulder. Of all the things my father has done in his presence, this is what bothers him?

“Oh, Rachel.” He pulls the cigarette away and tsks. “You were lying after all. You didn’t miss me. You aren’t in perfect obedience. That’s why this hurts. But my darling—” he tries for a frown but can’t quite get there, his glee at the thought of human carnage too great “—you know it hurts me far more than you.”

Can I grab Castro’s gun before he pulls the trigger? Would I be able to kill him, then my father without drawing any other Protectors? My mind works and works, desperate to solve the equation as my mother flinches. The smell of her scorching skin taints the air as my father marks her again and again. Noah white-knuckles the arms of his chair, and I can do nothing but watch.

I’ve known for years that I’d kill my father. But I didn’t know how close that time was. The last time he tortured my mother, I was too young, too shocked to do anything about it. She still bears the limp from an untreated break. And when he destroyed Faith, I was too lost in grief to turn my rage outward. But this time is different. Now I know what I have to do—for my mother, for Noah, for Faith, and for Delilah.

And I will do it soon.

* * *

The Rectory is dark, and there’s a guard stationed outside with an assault rifle. I prowl around in the nearby trees, all my senses attuned to that one dark building where Delilah suffers. Three days and nights of torment. Fuck.

I lean against an old pine as something skitters through the underbrush about ten yards away. The moon peeks from behind fast-moving clouds, then disappears again, taking its light with it.

Saving her isn’t an option. Not with armed guards and everyone on high alert. The escape attempt—though not the first—was the only one that came so close to being successful. More men patrol the compound, and the Cloister is monitored even more heavily. There will be no more late night dashes for freedom. My father’s fist is closing around this place, choking everyone inside under the love and guidance of the Prophet.

Headlights cut through the night, and I shift around the tree to remain hidden. A white Range Rover passes, then stops next to the Rectory. My father gets out and strides toward the entrance, the guard hurrying to open the door for him.

I can’t be sure what my father does while he’s here, but I can guess. More mind fucks, more drugs, more promises rolling off his tongue. I told Delilah not to break, but as I stare at the windowless cinderblock building, I wonder if she has any chance of staying whole. She’s strong, but torture can crush anyone.

“Hey.”

I turn and reach for my pistol.

“It’s me.” Noah creeps among the trees until he leans against a twisted oak to my right. “I figured you’d be out here somewhere.”

Sliding my hand off my pistol grip, I return my gaze to the Rectory. “What are you doing here?” A memory of the last time we talked glides through my mind—how I was cruel to him because he still believed in our father.

“I just figured—” He sighs quietly. “I don’t know. You seem sort of drawn to this Maiden. So I thought maybe you needed—”

“Thanks.” I can’t tell him that what I need most is to kill our father. But Noah’s presence is welcome, if unexpected. “About what I said the other day—”

“Don’t worry about it. And maybe you’re right. After what he did to Mom, I don’t know.” His voice drops even lower. “I can still smell her skin burning.”

“Me too.” I bury the memory of her pain, but I remember the spot like a dog with a treasured bone. I’ll dig it up later and use it to inflict damage on those who deserve it.

He peeks around his tree. “Is Dad in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

The wind is still, the crystalline air stagnant and silent. Long minutes pass as we wait—for what, I don’t know. She isn’t coming out. Not until she’s “ready,” according to my father. I grind my teeth.

“Maybe they just do the regular sort of stuff in there?” Noah sounds far from certain.

“You mean light torture with a side of brainwashing?”

“Yeah, that.” He shrugs.

“I don’t think so.”

He knows as well as I do that what happens in the Rectory makes the Cloister look like a Disney vacation.

“You think he’s going to…” He swallows audibly.

“Claim her?” I want to say no, that he wouldn’t do that because maybe he can still use her. Maybe she won’t be sent to the Chapel or the Cathedral. She still has value as long as her body isn’t too broken. I snort a dark laugh. Her body can’t be broken—that would kill her value. But her mind must be utterly shattered, then put back together with the glue of my father’s lies.

Noah shrugs. “He’s only claimed one. Maybe he’s going to be a little more careful this time.”

“And not fuck them before sending them off to their assignments?” I pat my jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes that hasn’t been there for about five years. “He can’t help himself. No way he’ll let one go without sampling her.”

“But maybe not yet. She could still be—”

“Shh.” I grab his arm.

My father struts out of the Rectory and hops into the waiting SUV. When it takes off, Delilah’s scream pierces the night.

It does something to me. Inside. As if I can feel her agony deep in my gut. I don’t realize I’m running until Noah tackles me from behind, ramming me into the pine needles and undergrowth and hiding us from the headlights of the passing SUV.

“The fuck are you doing?” He rolls off me and sits up. “You want to get caught?”

She screams again, and my blood scrapes against my veins, urging me toward her.

“I want her out of there!” I climb to my feet as her cry dies off.

“No.” He rises and grabs my arm. “You can’t. If you even try it and Dad finds out—”

“Mom.” I already know that she’ll pay for whatever mistakes I make. Again. Running toward her still makes complete sense in the hollowed-out casket of my heart, but my head reminds me that Noah is right. If I step out of line again, our mother may pay an even dearer price than some charred flesh.

“Come on.” He lets go, perhaps assured that I won’t make a move. “Is this Maiden worth it?”

Yes. The word streaks through my mind like a bolt of lightning, but I don’t dare say it aloud. Giving it breath would be acknowledging the weakness. “She’s mine.”

“She belongs to the Prophet.” His voice gentles, but the barb still hits its mark.

He’s right. Whatever connection I feel to Delilah will ultimately be severed—either by my actions or by my father’s. That knowledge doesn’t change a goddamn thing.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He punches me lightly in the shoulder and jerks his chin toward home.

I reluctantly turn and follow him, though I leave far too many broken pieces of myself with Delilah, both of us suffering in our own dark abyss.