The drive to the Cathedral is shrouded in night, and I cower in the back seat of the sedan as we roll through the compound. Noah sits next to me but doesn’t look at me as one of the other Protectors drives.

We turn off onto a narrow road through the trees and check with a guard before continuing down the lane. I don’t know what awaits me, and all I can think about is Adam.

“Where is he?” I whisper.

Noah stares straight ahead, his body tight. I hate him and despise him even more for his silence.

We pull up outside a stark white building almost as large as the sanctuary. Two guards stand at the wide front doors. My car door opens and a Protector yanks me up, then pushes me forward. I stumble and catch myself, but manage to make it to the doors. The nearest guard looks down his nose at me, but enters a code to let me in. I hesitate and glance at the woods.

“Don’t even think about it.” The Protector at my back shoves me forward into a new hell that gleams in shades of white and baby blue.

A large living room sprawls to my left, several couches strewn around along with children’s toys in different areas on the light blue carpet. On my right, a huge dining area sparkles in the bright lights from overhead. Plenty of high chairs and round tables, as well as smaller tables for children, fill the space.

“Walk.” The Protector stays on my heels as we follow the tile floor that separates the living and dining areas. Another set of doors is open just ahead, both of them pinned back against the wall.

I’m herded down a long corridor decorated with children’s handprints and whimsical animals along the walls. Doors line the way, all of them closed, but windows show me sleeping children inside. I can’t tell, but I know they must be the same ones from Sunday service—the same ones at the solstice ceremony.

Where is Adam? Here? I doubt it, but I hold onto that vain hope anyway.

We pass through more doors, and this time, the scent of baby lotion tinges the air. A Spinner holds a crying infant and dances back and forth in a nursery area to my right. There have to be at least a dozen babies in there.

“All the Prophet’s?”

“Shut up.” He shoves me again until we pass the nursery, then enter a wide open room.

Above, glass separates the inside from the night sky, square panes framing the inky blackness. The floor is carpeted in the same baby blue, and there are cushy couches and sitting areas here and there. A few women look up as we enter, whatever conversation they were having halting abruptly. They are barely dressed, as if negligees are standard issue, and regard me with open suspicion.

“New girl?” One stands, her dark hair in a long braid down her back.

“Temporary.” The Protector pushes me down onto the nearest couch, then turns and leaves. When the doors shut behind him, some sort of pneumatic lock shoots into place.

“Name?” The one with the braid walks over and sits next to me, her green eyes perusing my face.

“Delilah.”

“I’m Ruth.” She doesn’t shake, but gives me a small smile. “Looks like you’ve been thrown into the pit with the rest of us.”

A pregnant woman waddles over and rests on a chair across from us. “Temporary? What does that even mean?”

Something catches my eye behind her. A side wall is arranged with several of the same implements from the training room, along with many others I can’t name. A bench sits to one side, the same sort of “horse” I’ve been on at the Cloister. A chill shoots through me, and my mouth goes dry.

I turn back to the one with the long braid. “I need to get out of here.”

She laughs, but it’s not mean—not like what I’m used to from Grace. “If you find a way, be sure to tell the rest of us.”

More women creep out from the alcoves along the walls, their eyes bleary with sleep as they inspect the new arrival.

“That’s blasphemy, Ruth.” The pregnant one stands and waddles away. “We are safe here with the Prophet.”

Ruth ignores her and leans closer. “So, what are you in for?”

“I have to get out. He’s going to hurt Adam. Maybe kill him. I don’t know. He’s at the Rectory, I think. But—”

“Adam?” She cocks her head to the side. “His son Adam?”

“Yes.” Can’t she hear the urgency in my voice? “But I need to get to him. Now.”

“And do what?” She lets her gaze stray down my body. “What’s your plan? You’re a white waif. What can you do to a dozen armed men, maybe more?”

“I don’t know.” I grab my hair and pull it, as if the pain will grant me some clarity. All it gives me is a headache. “I just have to get to him.”

“There are guards here constantly. On all the doors. Watching at all times. There’s no way out unless the Prophet wants you out.”

“No!” I stand and sprint to the door, banging on it even though I know it’s useless. “Let me out!”

“Shh!” a woman nearby hisses. “You’ll wake the babies.”

I bang some more until my arms tire and I slide to the floor, my tears coming in a torrent of frustration. “Let me out,” I whisper over and over until my voice is gone.

Ruth walks over to me and offers her hand. “Come on, Maiden. That won’t do any good.”

“I have to—” My breath catches, and I take several small inhales. The room spins.

“You’re hyperventilating.” She kneels next to me. “Just breathe slowly. Big breaths. Try to hold them a little.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You have to calm down.” She moves closer, her eyes holding mine. “Chastity told me about you,” she whispers.

I finally catch my breath and take in huge gulps of air. “You’re one of—”

“Shh.” She presses a finger to her lips, her eyes wide with warning. “Not now. Come with me and get cleaned up. There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

“Wait?” I can’t bear the seconds since he’s been ripped away from me. Adding more to them is a death sentence.

“Wait.” She gives me a stark nod and pulls me to my feet.

* * *

“Everyone!” the guard yells as the women scramble to throw on their long dresses.

Ruth wouldn’t give me any information last night, just told me over and over to wait and see. She eventually disappeared—perhaps to her bed in one of the alcoves. I tossed and turned on the couch, playing out one horrible scenario of Adam’s punishment after the other until the sun began to peek through the glass panes above.

An alarm sounded about five minutes ago, and the entire room woke up, women hurrying to ready themselves.

“What’s going on?” I dart over to Ruth when she appeared in the main area.

“Looks like we’ve been summoned. We’re going out.”

“Out? Is that normal?”

She glances at the glass ceiling. “At daybreak on a Sunday morning? No.”

I don’t like the sinking feeling that settles in my stomach. Something bad is coming. Will I survive it? “Do you know why?”

“Not sure.” She fixes her hair into a messy braid and lines up at the main door. “Stick with me.”

I stand next to her, and after a few minutes all the women are ready. The doors open, and we’re greeted by the armed guards who walk us through the nursery and children’s area. Some of the women wave and coo at their sleepy kids, but the young ones appear to be staying behind.

The outer doors open, and we’re hustled into a waiting bus, the interior painted the same baby blue as inside the Cathedral. Ruth sits next to me, but offers no comfort. She’s too busy watching everything, her gaze incisive and sweeping.

I press my shaking hands to my face and try to block out the world, to sink into nothing. It doesn’t work. I can hear the sounds of Adam being beaten, see the look in his eyes when they dragged him away from me.

“Oh, God.” I sob into my palms. Everything is spinning out of control. What little hope I had is gone, nothing but ashes in its place.

We roll onto a rougher road, the gravel compacting beneath the tires. I look out from behind my hands to see the white bus from the Cloister and another red bus that I’ve noticed parked outside the Chapel.

“Gang’s all here,” Ruth deadpans as we pull to a stop.

“Out.” The Protector at the front walks down the steps.

“I can’t.” I shake my head. “What’s out there?”

“You have to.” Ruth takes my hand and pulls me with her out into the cold morning. “And we’ll find out.”

My steps are stiff, my body aching from lack of sleep and too much tension. The Maidens are already standing in a semi-circle on one side of the clearing, the women from the Chapel on the other. I find Chastity in the Spinners, but her face gives nothing away. Two Protectors hold Noah off to the side, and his expression is a mix of hatred and fear. I wonder if I look the same, strained to the point of breaking. His mother is with him, but she only has the Prophet’s bodyguard to keep her in place.

The women from the Cathedral form another semi-circle slightly apart from the other women. Two four-wheelers sit to the opposite side of the clearing near two crosses, and Protectors move around like ants in the area. I peer in that direction, but I can’t see anything for the men and machines in my way.

The Prophet stands in the very center, his hands in a furry muffler, a knit hat covering his head. A white butterfly plaster is spread across the bridge of his nose.

“My faithful.” He smiles. “So beautiful this morning, all of you.”

I can barely stand, and I lean on Ruth for support. She holds me up, her spine straight as I begin to fall apart.

“But we are here for some ugly business. One amongst us has committed a grievous sin against me. One that cannot be easily forgiven. Atonement is the order of the day.” He adopts a more sober expression. “As the Lord said to Moses, ‘Whoever has sinned against me I will blot out of my book.’” He pulls one hand from the muffler and holds it over his head, then closes his fingers into a fist.

A hard sound rockets through the air, followed by a deep cry of agony. Adam.

I know that sound—a hammer hitting a nail. My knees go, and I drop to the ground. The harsh sound comes again and again—each blow causing more wails. My tears overflow, and I don’t know how I’m breathing. The noise stops for a moment, then starts again. I cover my ears, but I can still hear him, can still feel his torment twisting deep inside me.

“Please, stop! It was me!” I try to crawl to the Prophet, but rough hands pull me up and force me to stand witness.

“Shut up.” A Protector wraps an arm around my middle and grips my throat with his cold palm.

When the hammer strokes are done, the Prophet lowers his hand. “‘The Lord is slow to anger, abounding in love and forgiving sin and rebellion. Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished.’” He scans the crowd, his gaze landing on me at the very last moment. “And nor do I.” He walks forward as two men mount the four-wheelers.

The four-wheelers start up, then slowly move forward. A chain tightens behind them, and then I see it. Not two crosses, but three. Everything inside me freezes and cracks, and I don’t blink, or breathe, or move.

Adam is nailed to the center one, his hands pierced with spikes, his arms bound to the wood with leather straps. The sun rises behind him, the light blinding as he’s hoisted upright.

His roars of pain shatter the beauty of the new day, leaving nothing but horror in their wake.

* * *

Need a read to hold you over until June 5? Try The Elder, my romantic suspense. Murder, mystery, and southern heat!