Chapter Two
Phebe
My arms and legs ached as I tried to turn over on the bed. I was sweating, so hot that when I forced my mouth to open, I gasped for air. I moved my tongue, but it barely shifted in my dry mouth.
I was thirsty.
So thirsty.
I breathed through my nose, waiting for the pain in my aching muscles to ebb. When it did, I forced my eyes to open. I flinched at the light coming in from between the faded curtains covering the tiny high window, trying vainly to blink away the brightness. My head thumped and my stomach growled. But I forced myself to sit up. I wanted to cry out as my muscles protested the movement. I glanced down at my naked limbs, fighting back nausea when I saw the blood gathered on the dirty sheets between my legs.
Flashes of last night pushed through the thick fog that always seemed to be there in my mind. Meister pinning me down to the bed. Covering me with his huge muscled body, hurting me. Injecting me with the sweet potion that took away all my fears and hurt.
I liked Meister’s potion.
I needed it.
Then I saw him gripping my arms as he smashed his mouth against mine, biting my lips and drawing blood from the flesh. He lapped at the hot liquid. I remembered his hands forcing my legs apart. And I remembered his fingers finding my core and thrusting roughly inside. One finger, two, and then more. More until I could no longer hold back my scream.
And then I heard his laugh, his deep appreciation for my pain. Before his hand wrapped around my neck as his entire fist slipped from within me. The reprieve of being empty lasted only seconds, until he thrust his manhood inside me. And he was even rougher than before. Slamming into me while robbing me of my breath, squeezing at my throat. I scratched him. I clawed, but he only growled louder, hardened more. Until at last he spilled himself within me, collapsing on top of me with a long thunderous groan.
In the aftermath, I had stared at the ceiling, silent tears swimming in my eyes as I let the potion flood me and whisk me away from this hell.
I liked being taken away.
I rarely left this room, this bed. I didn’t know how long I had been here. I saw no one but Meister, mostly. Sometimes he would take me outside to walk around this . . . this . . . whatever this place was. Sometimes he would allow me to feel the sun on my face, to smell the fresh air, when he deemed I had earned it. But that was rare. I always disappointed him; he always hurt me. On those precious days spent in the sun, I would occasionally see some men, but they would never speak to me.
I saw no other females.
I was alone.
Just me and Meister.
At the sound of the lock turning in my door, I tensed, eyes wide, waiting for him to come through. My arm itched, and my legs shifted restlessly on the wet mattress. The chain attached to my wrist pulled tight as my arms twitched with excitement. My blood raced in my veins and my pulse hammered in anticipation of what Meister would be bringing me.
He would have the potion that made me forget.
I smiled.
Then he was inside the room, as big and domineering as ever with his thick-set neck and shaved head. He wore jeans and a white tank. His heavily tattooed arms bulged with muscles. His blue eyes locked on me, and as it did every time I saw him, fear infused me and glued me to the spot.
“Phebe,” Meister said softly. My eyes never left him as he moved around my bed before stopping at the foot. He reached out, and his finger circled softly on my ankle. The insatiable heat that was burning up my body suddenly morphed into ice at his touch. And then his fingers traced up my calf and upward along my inner thigh until they stopped at the entrance of my core.
I never once took my attention off his eyes. They flared at the sight of the blood that had pooled between my legs. My breath caught in my chest when his fingers slipped along my folds. I wanted to cry out at the rawness of the pain I felt—the after-effects of last night. But I kept it locked inside, only to lose control and retch when Meister brought his bloodied fingers to his mouth and licked his tongue along the wet tips.
I rolled to the side, to the bucket he kept beside me, and heaved dry retches as my body vainly attempted to vomit. Nothing came up. Instead, my body yearned for the potion. It yearned for the liquid that would take away the bad and usher in only the good. I felt the bed dip beside me. Meister pulled my long, sticky hair from my overheated face.
“Shh . . .” he crooned lovingly. He ran his hand down my spine and traced his finger between the crack of my behind. I moaned, feeling sick, lost, the searing heat of the craving rushing through my veins.
But he didn’t stop. Meister never stopped, no matter how much I tried to protest. He took. He took and took and took.
He pulled me up and laid me down flat on the bed. My head swam as I tried to focus. It took several seconds for my eyesight to clear and for the room to swim back into view.
Meister was holding my chained arm out toward him. My wrist rested on his lap, and he ghosted his fingers up and down my upturned limb. My skin was paler than I remembered it ever being; it was peppered with red marks, some bruised and scabbing over, some fresh and weeping.
“Is this what you want, meine Liebchen?” Meister said, his voice as soft as a whisper. I had no idea what he called me, but he was always gentle when he spoke these words to me.
Almost loving.
Every time he did, he nearly tricked me into thinking he actually cared.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I nodded. My veins almost burst with need. They felt as though they were reaching from my skin, searching for the rush they craved, the liquid that was a balm on my tortured soul.
On my sinful soul.
When I opened my eyes, Meister held up a needle for me to see. I resisted the urge to lash out and push it into my flesh. Meister was in control. I had learned that with him, free will did not exist.
As my mind drifted off into a kaleidoscope of dark memories and pain, I felt the familiar sting of a needle entering a vein. Then a surge of light and bliss flowed through my body, lifting me into an ethereal state, a blanket of warmth and pain-free liberty.
As if being wrapped in the safety of God’s arms, I drew in a deep breath and let my mind fill with tranquility, and dance with light and life. No stress, no pain . . . just a river of peace.
I felt the needle slip from my flesh, followed by the stubble of Meister’s jaw as he leaned over to kiss me and tell me he’d be back soon. I didn’t hear the door close when he left. I closed my eyes and fell into the sun.
I was in a forest, deep in a magical heaven. I danced among the trees, feeling the leaves flutter through my fingers, the grass soft beneath my feet. Light music floated on the air, urging my body to sway to the beat.
I loved to dance. It was my most favorite thing in the world.
I swirled, and I smiled when I saw my Rebekah enter the clearing, as beautiful as I had ever seen her. Her long blond hair was flowing down her back, and her blue eyes were bright and filled with joy.
“Rebekah,” I breathed. I threw my arms around her and held her closely to me. Rebekah laughed her sweet laugh against my ear.
“I am well, Phebe.” Her soft, delicate voice drifted over me like a prayer.
“Truly?” I asked through a tight throat. “The last time I saw you . . . what Judah had done . . . what those men had done . . .”
“Shh . . .” Rebekah soothed, stroking her hand through my hair. “I am happy, and . . .” Rebekah pulled back and turned toward the forest edge. “Come,” she instructed someone. A high-pitched giggle split through the warm night, and my heart clenched, so tightly it did not seem possible.
“Grace.” I covered my mouth to stop the sob escaping my throat. Grace ran into Rebekah’s waiting arms and held her close . . . like a child would cling to her mother.
“She found you,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face.
“She did,” Rebekah said as Grace reached out for my embrace. I wrapped the little blond girl in my arms and cried into her soft hair.
“You are safe now,” I murmured and felt Grace nod. I opened my eyes to see Rebekah watching on, such sweet love in her eyes. “Forgive me, Rebekah,” I pleaded. “For not saving you when I should have. For not protecting you when you were young. For what Judah did to you on that hill . . .”
Rebekah came closer, shaking her head. “There is nothing to forgive, Phebe. You saved Grace. We are happy now. You saved me by saving her.”
“Happy,” I cried. Happy . . . safe . . .
“Sister Phebe?”
I slowly turned around. There she stood, in a white dress, with that long blond hair and those deep dark eyes I knew so well. Our eyes met, and she smiled at me. I got to my feet, feeling the same overwhelming love build within me that I felt every time my eye lay upon her. “Sapphira,” I whispered. She had grown some since I had last seen her, reading scriptures together in the commune, lying amongst the bluebonnets in spring, hands held and smiling under the warmth of the sun. No men, no duties . . . just happiness in one another’s company. And she had grown even more beautiful, if that was possible. She ducked her head as I gazed at her. She was so shy, always had been. So quiet, but so beautiful in nature. I ran my hand through her soft hair and felt my heart flutter, then shatter apart. “I have not seen you in so long,” I said, my voice catching.
“I know.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and I caught it with my finger. It was warm, just like her. “I . . . I have missed you.” Her quiet confession tore my soul in two. In a heartbeat, I had her wrapped in my arms. She still smelled the same, still felt the same in my arms.
“I miss you too, Sapphira. So much. So much that at times I cannot breathe.”
“I wish to come back to you,” she pleaded, and held on to me tighter.
“It is not safe,” I said, crying. “Where I am is not safe for you.”
“I know,” she relented, but she did not move from my embrace. She wanted to stay with me, I could feel it in my soul. My heart soared. I wanted her to stay too.
I opened my eyes, smiling, happier than I ever dreamed I could be, but then the forest began to fade. The trees began to disappear into blackness, the sun dipping behind a too-near horizon. I tried to grip on to Sapphira tighter, but I began to lose the feel of her in my arms. Her body shimmered before me, turning into vapor. I blinked, to try and see her just once more, to kiss her cheek and tell her I loved her. But then I was falling, falling until I hit something hard, so hard it robbed me of my breath. I cried out, arms outstretched, trying to climb back into the forest, but the darkness began to lighten, then cleared to show me the inside of a small room.
I was back in my bed, chained, with my arms stretched high in the air. “No,” I whispered, devastation ripping through me. “No!” I cried again, curling on my side to try and bring back the light.
I wanted to go back into the light.
I needed more potion to help me return.
Then I heard him breathe.
Tears fell like waves down my cheeks as my euphoric high came crashing down into utter despair. Meister’s hand reached out and smoothed away the wetness from my cheeks. “Liebchen . . .” he murmured. When I looked to him—because I knew that I must—he had removed his shirt to reveal the huge black tattoo emblazoned in the center of his chest. The symbol that he had replicated on many other parts of his pale skin, the symbol that hung on large red, white and black flags around the room.
“You dreamed of her again?” he said softly, bringing his face closer to mine. The potion was fading, and I felt a deep hollowness in my stomach, in my heart. I opened my mouth to beg him for more. I wanted more of the potion. But before I could, Meister’s eyes clouded with darkness. “Answer me!” he ordered.
The hand that only a few seconds ago had been so gentle on my cheeks suddenly became cruel as he gripped my jaw and glared at me with menace in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said, pushing the words through my constricted throat. “I dreamed of her.”
He relaxed his grip. “Funny how the heroin makes you talk in your dreams, as if you are seeing everything in real life.” His head tilted to the side. “The way you cry for her. Want her in your arms.” Then he dealt his final insult. “But you didn’t fight for her, did you? You lost her, and now she’s gone forever.” He tapped my head. “Only in here does she need you. Because you failed her.” He tutted his disapproval. “You were a terrible, terrible protector. A horrible sister.”
His grip tightened again on my jaw, so tight that I cried out, terrified my bones would shatter under his great strength. He bared his teeth and hissed, “And Grace was there again too? The pretty little one you hid from me.” His nose slid against mine, seductively, affectionately, until his mouth touched my ear. “She would have made me a fuck-ton of money, but you let her go. You took her from me.” He released me and I gasped in relief.
His hand threaded through my hair. “But I got to keep you.” He smiled, a cruel and wicked smile. “And I won’t be letting you go. I love you. You know that, don’t you? My little red-haired whore.”
He reached for my wrist when I did not answer, so I quickly said, “Yes. I . . . I love you too, Meister.”
Meister pulled back his arm and nodded approvingly. “And because of that, you’ve earned yourself a shower.” Meister unchained me and helped me from my bed. I glanced down at my naked body as I unsteadily got to my feet. I could see my hipbones. I could see my ribs.
When I had gained my balance, Meister led me to the shower room. I wanted to cry with every step, it hurt so much. I had not been showered in days. My limbs were unused to movement. But more than that, with every step I took, I saw my dream of Sapphira drifting farther and farther away from me. And I heard the echo of Meister’s voice . . . you failed . . . you were a terrible, terrible protector . . . a horrible sister . . .
Because it was true.
I had failed her.
Everything had been for nothing.
My life had been for nothing.
Nothing . . .
. . . all I had left in the world.
*****
I let the water fall over my head. My palms were flat to the wall as the steady stream washed away the blood and grime of the last few days. My wrist ached from the harshness of the metallic handcuff, and my new needle marks throbbed as the hot water pounded the holes in my flesh.
I inhaled the billowing steam, praying it would clear my head. But it was no use. My ever-busy mind never rested. It was never at peace. The only times I had any kind of reprieve were when Meister’s potion would puncture my vein and enter my blood.
“Get out,” Meister ordered from beside me. He never left me alone unless I was chained to the bed. Whenever I was freed from my shackles, I was with him. And he watched me. Studied me . . . craved me.
I saw it in his eyes.
It had been that way since Judah gave me to him at New Zion, a sacred gift. The female Judah knew would please Meister beyond measure. And it had worked. I had seduced him, made him crave my touch.
Only now, it was worse. He could not give me up.
I was the air to his lungs and the very beat to his heart.
I was his ultimate obsession.
Meister walked to a nearby set of drawers as I tried to dry myself. When I heard the drawer open, the first morsel of hope I had felt in days blossomed in my chest.
When Meister turned around, holding a white dress in his hands, I had to stop myself from sobbing in happiness. He only ever dressed me when he took me outside. I almost dropped to my knees in yearning at just the thought of feeling the warm sun kiss my face and the fresh air inflate my heavy lungs.
Meister approached me, his nostrils flaring as he drank in my naked body. He took the towel from me, knocking it to the floor. I bowed my head as he stopped before me. I managed to keep completely still, perfectly obedient, as his finger landed on my breast and circled the skin around my nipple.
I let him. I would always let him. I knew the consequences of any act of defiance. It had taken me a full week to recover from my punishment when the devil’s men had invaded New Zion. Meister had found me hiding, but without Grace. I had let him down.
And I was paying the price.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Liebchen,” Meister said as his tongue landed at the bottom of my throat and lapped up the residual droplets of water, all the way up my neck, until he sucked my earlobe in his mouth. I closed my eyes.
I just breathed.
I knew men. It had been my role, my sole duty within New Zion, to know men. I was the female responsible for the Sacred Sisters of New Zion. We left the commune to recruit men, to draw more members to our cause. And I’d believed God would reward me for my service. I would pleasure the men like nothing they had ever known. I was skilled in seduction, a master at making my every touch a taste of the divine.
Judah could not resist me, even going as far as to make me his sole consort. That is, until he found a younger model more suited to his . . . particular needs.
But Meister . . . I had never handled a male such as him before. His strength, his possessiveness and his punishments . . . I was unsure of what to do in his presence. He paralyzed me with fear.
“Get dressed.” Meister handed me the thin white material. With shaking hands, I did as requested, brushing my long, wet hair from my face with my fingers.
Meister kicked a pair of sandals in my direction, and I slipped them on, stopping myself from sprinting toward the door. Then Meister was beside me, holding my arm with an iron-tight grip. He led the way forward, pulling me toward the door. The turning of the lock seemed to take forever. But when the door finally opened and daylight flooded in, I breathed in my first lungful of clean air and instantly felt calm.
I flinched as we stepped outside and sunlight blazed around me. I stilled, trying to gain my bearings as I blinked in the morning sun. Or maybe afternoon, or evening. I did not know.
I leaned into Meister to stop myself from falling, his huge body propping me up when I became lost to a sudden wave of weakness. When the world eventually came back into focus, I took in what was before me. The town, one unlike anything I had ever seen before, with its shacks of all shapes and sizes scattered around the dusty ground. Signs sat above the buildings: “Saloon,” “Jail,” “Dentist,” “Barber” and many more. I had no idea what many of these titles meant, or if these buildings operated as they were named.
A light breeze blew the dirt up into the air, swishing the sand around my feet. It blew the strange flags that hung from the buildings, the material flapping gently.
It was quiet, only a few men walking around the barren town. Many of them looked similar to Meister—they wore the same harsh black tattoos on their skin, had similar shorn haircuts. The coloring was the same; they wore similar clothes.
And they all stared at me.
Meister stiffened when one male passed and cast me a leering smile. He stepped forward, using his massive frame as a weapon of intimidation. “Get the fuck on before I break your motherfucking neck, cunt!” he snarled, sending the other male running into the large building whose sign read “Saloon”.
Meister wrenched me forward. I could tell by his aggressive hold that he was greatly displeased.
I stifled a moan as his hand bruised the skin on my arm. I did not know where we were going. I was simply grateful to be outside. We had barely taken a few steps when a loud shout and the sound of a gun shattered the silence.
My head snapped to the right, to the building where the noise had come from. Meister ground on his heel, his grip tightening.
“Fuck,” he spat when a man came barreling through the building’s door.
“Meister!” the man called. “Problem!”
Meister’s lip curled, and he gave a low growl of annoyance. He hauled me back toward the door of the shack he kept me in. My heart plummeted; I was to be locked away once again.
I gulped in as much air as I could, pathetically trying to savor its freshness and the velvet touch of the breeze as it lapped over my face. Another shot fired, and the call for Meister came again, even louder this time.
Meister groaned in frustration and slammed me back against the wall of the shack. The air was ripped from my lungs by the impact. Before I even had a chance to recover, Meister’s firm grip was caging my face, and his blue eyes bored into mine. “Stay here. Don’t even dare move until I get back.”
“Yes . . . sir,” I managed to reply.
Meister crushed his cruel mouth against my lips. He did not want to kiss; he simply wanted to ravage my mouth. He pulled back and darted across the dirt to the building which housed the trouble. The sign above the door read “Dentist”.
I slumped against the fragile wooden wall and cleared the water from my eyes. As if my body could do nothing but obey his command, I remained rigid and unmoving.
In the quiet, I allowed my eyes to scan the area. My head ached, and my mouth was dry. But worse, my arm itched, and my veins had already begun to swell with the need for Meister’s potion.
And I was tired. I was so, so tired . . .
Movement from across the dirt path grabbed my attention, and my head snapped up as I caught sight of a man hurrying from one of the buildings, dragging someone behind him.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to see more clearly. My eyes were getting so blurry, tiredness beginning to take hold . . . and then everything snapped into focus.
A blond-haired young woman. A white dress, the exact same design as the one I wore. Shocked at the very fact that I was not the only female in this place, I took a step forward. Just as I did, the woman pulled back from the man, fighting to get free.
She slipped from his grip, and as she did she turned, giving me a glimpse of her face. The recognition hit me like a blow to the head. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, my limbs growing weak as I fought to remain upright.
No . . . no, no, no, no . . .
I rubbed my eyes, trying to see her better. I prayed that I was mistaken. I prayed . . . I shook my head, convincing myself I was wrong.
But I knew that face.
I loved that face . . .
Horror, devastation and a gamut of every sorrowful feeling swept through me like a hurricane as the male grabbed the girl by her hair and slapped her across the face. The girl swayed on her feet, then, unable to do anything else, she was dragged in the male’s wake toward a large barn-type building.
A girl.
Because she was a young girl.
No more than . . . I racked my brain, trying to remember, trying to clear this ever-present fog from my brain and grab on to some facts, some truths that had existed before Meister had burned them all away with his potion and his pain.
Fourteen . . . I thought as my eyes widened and my heart beat an impossible rhythm. My hands shook as I recalled the girl’s face to my mind, connected the memories to the present. Her long blond hair, her slim body, her dark-brown eyes . . .
“Sapphira?” I whispered, a red-hot slice of pain cutting though my stomach. Was it her? No . . . it could not be. She was safe in a faraway place.
He had told me she was safe.
She had been sent from New Zion. She had not drunk the poison . . . she had been safe, survived the mass death . . .
Devastating pain slashed through my head as I thought of her face again. The fear and panic as she pulled from the man. Her bruised lips, her split skin. No, it cannot be.
My focus spun and my vision swam. I could not think. I needed the potion to think. I needed what only Meister could give me.
But then a piercing, feminine scream came from the building to my left. Without thought, my legs propelled me forward.
I ran. I ran as hard and as fast as I could, stones from the rough, loose ground slipping into my sandals and slicing my skin. My legs were weak as I pushed myself toward the building, but that did not matter when another scream followed—this one was softer, as though the screamer was being hurt. My Sapphira being hurt . . .
“Sapphira!” I choked out, almost inaudibly. Panic infused my every cell, rushing to erupt into the well of sadness building in the pit of my stomach. I reached the wooden door of the barn structure and pressed my hand against the dark-stained wood. The pulse in my neck beat so fiercely that it was the only sound I could hear . . .
. . . until I pushed through the door, and everything stopped—time, sense . . . life.
My body was motionless as I stared around the room. Bile and vomit crawled up my throat at the putrid smell clogging the air.
Girl after girl, mostly young and slim, lay still in row after row of narrow beds separated by flimsy curtains. I ran past a brunette, then a blonde, searching their gaunt faces. Their eyes were either closed or dazed—they were lost to the potion, their arms just as marked and bruised as my own.
And then I stilled. My lips trembled. I knew these females. Mary . . . Eve . . . Bilhah . . . Martha . . .
Martha!
They were from The Order. These girls, some as young as fourteen, were females from New Zion.
My people.
And . . .
A moan came from the far corner. “Sapphira,” I said, each syllable filling me with dread. I was not imagining things. I saw her face, her beautiful, angelic face.
This was not the potion playing tricks with my mind.
Not this time.
Sapphira was here when he had told me she was safe. I did not understand. My heavy mind would not let me process it. And the male from outside was pinning her down, one hand digging his fingernails into the flesh of her arm as he parted her legs with his legs. His other hand wrapped around her neck, choking her, cutting off air. Then suddenly, I saw her slim, fragile body go limp. A clear bag hung on a metal pole beside her . . . and the potion inside was dripping into the vein of her arm.
Sapphira . . . my Sapphira . . .
I lunged. I threw my body at the man pressing Sapphira down. I hit at his arms and used my long nails to scratch at his skin.
“Bitch!” he snarled and threw back his arm. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. My arm smacked against the floor, sending a lightning rod of pain splintering through my bones. But when I looked up and was met with the hazy dark stare of Sapphira, her fragile body succumbing to the unrelenting will of the potion, I forced myself to my feet.
I staggered back toward the male, who was hovering yet again over Sapphira. Mustering strength I did not know I possessed, I hurled myself at him, pulling on his arm to stop his hand from resting upon Sapphira’s exposed thigh. “Stop!” I shouted, my voice grazed and raw. I had to stop him. I had to save her.
This time, when the male tried to throw me off, I held on with all of my might. My arms wrapped around him, and acting on pure instinct, I sank my teeth into the side of his neck. And I bit down hard. I bit so hard that the male staggered to the side and slammed my back against the wall. Breath whooshed from my lungs, and my arms fell from around his neck. I dropped to the floor, exhausted and depleted, drained from all the fighting. But I had to try. I had to get back up. I had to save her.
The door slammed open. My heart sank with pure fear before I even looked up. Because I did not need to look up to sense his presence.
“What the fuck?” he snarled, his deep voice sounding like daggers drawn, threatening to slice into my cold and broken skin.
“Stupid bitch fucking attacked me like some rabid dog.”
Meister’s feet pounded across the floor so fast that I curled in on myself, desperately trying to escape his wrath. But his wrath was not focused on me. I heard a shuffle, a pained shout and a struggle for breath. Meister had the other man up against the wall, his bulging arm braced at the base of the male’s throat. The male reddened as Meister placed his face close, teeth bared, lips pulled back like a hound escaped from hell itself.
“You touched her?” Meister hissed, spittle landing on the male’s face.
He shook his head in protest. Blood trickled down his chest from the bite I had taken from his flesh. I took advantage of the distraction to crawl across the floor. Sapphira’s arm was hanging from the bed. I reached out and took her hand in mine. She was so cold. Her fingers were so weak.
Sapphira . . .
I turned my head to see the male struggling to breathe, the tips of his feet kicking at the floor. His eyes stared straight into Meister’s, yet the contact did not cause Meister to flinch. His strong arms held firm as he bled the male of his life’s breath . . . as he watched the light fade from his eyes. When the male’s eyes had begun to frost with the imminent call of death, Meister leaned in close, his mouth to the male’s ears, and he said softly, delicately, “You touched her. No one touches her.” Meister’s head drew back, and he watched with interest as the male’s skin blotched with red. “I can’t let it happen, Dale. Even the best of soldiers must obey my commands. No exceptions. No weaknesses. Remember? We are at war, and I am the commander.”
In one last-ditch attempt to fight for his life, the male thrashed with the remaining stores of his energy. But his effort was futile. Meister’s unyielding grip held tight, and within seconds the male’s body slumped in Meister’s hold. His arms sagged, his feet dragged the floor, and his eyes never blinked again, forever frozen on his murderer.
As if discarding nothing more than a sack of dirt, Meister released the body to the floor. And then he turned to me. His blue eyes blazed with adrenaline, with the thrill of the kill. I begged my traitorous limbs to cease in their trembling. But it was no use; fear held me tightly in her embrace as Meister stepped toward me.
He was displeased. He was more displeased than I had ever seen before. I squeezed Sapphira’s hand tighter. Crying, I kissed the back of her hand, the skin broken under my lips. Then I let her go. I could not let Meister near her. I could not let him hurt her like he had done the man on the floor.
I forced my body to stand and edged my way toward the door. My eyes searched the room as I wondered idly what I should do, where I would go. How I would get Sapphira out.
Salt from my tears ran over my cracked, dry lips. Meister was unmoving in the center of the room as he watched me. I swallowed, trying to lubricate my swollen mouth enough to speak. I ran my gaze over the females I knew, whom I had once laughed with and shared food and drink. Their bodies, so hurt, poisoned with the strange liquid, glared back at me as if I were part of the devil’s worst ever joke.
“What is this place?” I managed to croak.
Meister’s nostrils flared, and the veins in his thick neck pulsed. He tipped his head to one side and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
“These . . . these are my New Zion sisters.” My eyes drifted back to Sapphira lying on her small cot, and I felt my heart crack down the center. Her dress was still baring her modesty from where the now-dead male had been touching her young skin. Vomit crept up my throat as I thought of her being taken, as I thought of the man taking her. Her fourteen-year-old body.
Her dignity.
A whimper left my mouth as I tried to get to her, to cover her up. I wanted her to open her eyes and look at me, but the potion had pulled her from consciousness. I needed her to wake up and see me. To know I was here for her. That I loved her.
A firm hand seized my wrist, bringing me to a stop. Meister’s grip tightened, and I cried out; I could no longer bear the pain. He was silent as he twisted my arm. I dropped to my knees, tears falling from my eyes.
“Please,” I begged when I feared he would break the bone.
Meister glared down at me. My entire body shook. Slowly, ever so slowly, Meister crouched down until he was at eye level. I had always thought Meister was handsome. Yet it amazed me how a person’s polluted soul could seep from their heart and corrupt even the most beautiful features.
“I told you to stay beside your shack.” He ran the index finger of his free hand over my cheek, a soothing, calming gesture, the tenderness a sharp contrast to the pain at my wrist.
My eyes squeezed shut. When I opened them again, I repeated, “What is . . . what is this place?” I drank in the devastating sight of good females reduced to this pitiful state, the smell of male release and joining . . . the sense of helplessness and capture.
But Meister did not answer me. Instead, he brought his face to mine and regarded me with his unique version of adoration. His cheek rubbed against my own; his lips brushed past my lips. “I have been good to you, Liebchen,” he murmured, lovingly. “I have cherished you, cared for you, kept you away from all of . . . this.”
It took mere seconds for Meister to snap, to change from benevolent to malicious. His hands dropped from my face and wrist, only to reach out and fist within my hair. He wrapped his fingers around the damp strands and hurled me to my feet. I screamed as loud a scream as my weak voice could muster. My scalp was on fire as Meister wordlessly wrenched me from the room housing my sisters, my Sapphira. I tried to resist, I tried to get back to her, but Meister did not tolerate disobedience of any kind.
He would not let me go.
Turning on his heel, he raised his free hand and sliced the back of it across my face. My legs buckled, yet I did not fall—Meister kept me upright by my hair. I struggled to find a fragile footing as he dragged me back into the sunlight
We came to an abrupt stop outside the building Meister had run to earlier, when he had ordered me to stay at the shack. The “Dentist” sign idly wandered into my mind as I stared at the ground.
A set of booted feet came into my peripheral vision. “Meister,” a low voice said, a question in his tone.
“I’m using this. No one comes in unless I say so. Anyone dares and I’ll fucking kill them.”
“Sir,” the male replied, stepping aside.
I dared to raise my head, but I immediately regretted it. A lifeless male body lay in the dirt beside the wooden building. But unlike the male Meister had strangled, this one wore a blade in the top of his skull, his blood pooling around him.
I tripped as I was forced up the step to the building. And then we were inside and all I saw was blood. Blood on the floor. Blood smeared on the walls . . . and blood covering the pale, lifeless body of a young girl, no more than seventeen, strapped to a large leather chair. Her wrists were bound, her ankles were pinned down with cuffs, and blood pooled between her legs. A clear bag like those beside Sapphira and my New Zion sisters hung at her side.
I could not hold back the tears for the girl who stared up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Her hair was long and brown, the thick strands matted and dull.
And then I studied her face. Her beautiful face . . .
Rachel.
My chest caved in when I recognized the beauty before me. A Sacred Sister. Only sixteen years old. Sweet, kind Rachel with the pinkest rosy cheeks. But her cheeks wore no rose tint anymore.
“Get her the fuck out and burn her,” Meister ordered.
The male lifted Rachel from the chair. Her naked, ashen body was skeletal in the male’s large arms. He tossed her lifeless corpse over his shoulder, as if she had never been a person, a spirit and a soul. But instead disposable and nothing. Not even worthy of respect after death.
Wordlessly, the male carried Rachel toward the door. As he passed, I found my hand drifting upwards and my fingers wrapping around her own.
They were cold.
They were so cold. Nothing more than skin and bones. Just like Sapphira . . .
Worse, they were stained with crimson, the spilled blood of her ordeal. Whatever that was. The blood dripped from her body, leaving a trail in her wake, a dark red path leading from the place of her earthly hell.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to run to Sapphira and free her. I wanted us to run away and start somewhere new. Go to some heavenly place where there was no pain, no blood. Where there was kindness, not cruelty.
But I knew of no such place.
The door closed; Meister and I were alone. I heard every breath we each took—his calm and smooth, mine fast and scared. I scanned the room, allowing my reddened eyes to drink in the scene. Strange tools hung on the walls; apparatus that I could not understand sat upon tables.
And then there was the chair.
I felt his eyes watching me, burning a hole into me where I stood. He moved beside me, a needle in his hand. Like it did every time, my skin reacted to the call of its master—the nameless potion that soothed my fiery blood.
An involuntary moan slipped from my lips as my body swayed in the direction of the needle. But Meister pulled it back from my reach and gripped my cheeks with one hand. “You disobeyed me,” he said darkly, his blue eyes filled with ire.
He approached, and for every step he took toward me, I took a step back. He was the hunter and I was the prey as he backed me farther into the room, his large body looming over mine.
My legs hit something, and I lost my balance, tumbling downward. Something hard broke my fall, and I slipped on something wet. Before I could react, I was sitting on a chair, reclining back. I tried to move, but Meister pinned my wrists and strapped them tightly to the chair. My hands throbbed as the blood fought to push through from my bound wrists.
My ankles were next. I glanced down, and I realized where I was. And what was wet beneath me. I chased vomit from my mouth as I watched my white dress become sodden with red blood.
Rachel’s still-fresh blood.
“No! Please!” I begged. Meister finished tying my ankles, ensuring I could not move. I struggled against my restraints, but it was hopeless. I was trapped.
“Meister.” I felt a teardrop leave the corner of my left eye and crash to the soiled leather beneath my body. He moved beside me, stroking my hair from my face. My eyes closed under his touch, but not in comfort.
It was in trepidation.
I did not know what was to come, but I knew it would stop me from getting to Sapphira. She needed me, and I would not be able to help her. I would not be able to help any of them.
Meister bent down and smiled at me softly.
“This place, as you so called it, is for the cause, the race war that is about to come.” My eyebrows pulled down in confusion. I had no idea what a race war even was. “I have spared you the truth, because I was trying to protect you.” He smiled, as though he were feeling something sweetly in his heart. “Because I love you, I have kept you from what happens in this town.” Meister’s face fell, and anger marred his features. “But you just had to disobey me, didn’t you, Liebchen? Because you’re a whore, and that’s what whores do. You cannot be trusted. And now, I must teach you to behave.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I must eradicate what you have seen today from your weak mind. Take all of these new memories away.” He smiled. “I have a new serum I’ve been testing. Real potent shit. Makes all of these memories fade to nothing, never to be recalled again.” He stroked my face so gently. “I’m gonna give it to you, and it’ll work. Soon you’ll remember nothing of this night. It will be as if it never happened. A clean slate.”
“No!” I shouted. I did not want to forget. I needed to remember she was here. That she was not safe. That I needed to save her from this hell. I could not be thrust into darkness, my memories stolen, never to be recalled. She would perish. The pain, the fear she would endure . . .
He ignored me. Taking a knife from his pocket, he ran the sharp blade down the front of my dress, severing it in two. He pushed the material aside, exposing my body to his eyes.
Then in a flash, his hand was at my throat, his tight fingers starving me of breath. His face encroached on mine. “If you want to be treated like the rest of the sluts in this town, then you fucking will be. Only you’ll be my slut. And I will school you to our ways here. I will break you like I have broken them. Own your pussy like I own theirs.” He loosened his grip as he reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out the needle my veins so heavily craved.
Meister injected the vial of potion into my arm, then another, then another. I floated away. I watched, detached, as he crawled above me, released his manhood from his pants and slammed himself inside me. I watched from my perch on the ceiling as he gagged me and sliced his blade across the flesh of my stomach, letting my blood fall to the already-soiled ground.
And I closed my eyes as the potion took me to the forest I longed for most, the one where my Rebekah and Grace waited. The one where Sapphira walked out of some overgrowth, covered in blood. I cried out at her too-thin body and lifeless eyes.
“Sapphira.” I tried to get to her. But I was tied to a tree, my hands behind my back. Sapphira saw me, and tears fell down her face. “Save me,” she begged as she began to fade away.
As the potion engulfed my veins, I watched her fade from the forest, then begin to disappear from my head, shape by shape, image by image. I tried to remember her face. I tried to hold on to the fact that she was here. But the potion mixed with this new mystery serum grew stronger than ever before, robbing me of Sapphira’s cries, her tears, her face.
I rocked against the tree, back and forth, trying to recall what I had begged my mind to remember. But the forest was barren and dark, and my head was too full of fog. I was alone in this forest. Alone and afraid.
I wanted to remember.
I needed to remember.
But as my arm tingled and I became motionless against the tree, everything was just . . . gone.