Deep Redemption (Hades Hangmen Book 4) (13 page)

“Harmony?” Rider’s voice was croaked and weak, but I caught the hint of panic in it. I took a deep breath and slowly turned to face him. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks when I saw his face. There was no mistaking what I was seeing.

Rider’s eyes filled with such guilt that it almost made me cry. But I held strong. “How . . . I do not understand?”

Sister Ruth crouched behind me, laying her hand on my shoulder for support. I glanced at her and saw the confusion on her face. She had no idea what was wrong. I faced Rider again, watching as he struggled to shift into a sitting position, his torso black and blue. The pain in his taut face made me want to go and help him, but I was paralyzed.

I could not move.

Rider fought to breathe as he moved his bruised limbs, only finding relief when his back hit the stone wall. Right then, I saw Rider in his true form. He was beautiful. But then again, I had thought that when I saw this exact face many days ago.

“How?” I repeated, forcing myself to hold Rider’s dark gaze.

“He . . . he is my . . . brother,” he confessed, pain racking his face. This time I knew it was not physical pain. It was emotional. I remembered what the sister had said earlier.
The prophet ordered them to truly make him pay . . .
“He is . . . my twin. The . . . prophet is my twin brother . . . and he has renounced me . . . He has thrown . . . me to the dogs.”

Sister Ruth froze behind me. I heard her breath catch in her throat. I glanced up and saw her eyes grow huge at Rider’s revelation. Before I could ask if she was alright, she dashed out of the room.

“Where are the guards?” he suddenly asked, a panicked edge to his raspy, low voice. I could not look his way. It hurt too much to look him in the face.

“They are away right now. The prophet called a meeting.”

When I made myself face Rider again, his eyes were steadfastly on me. “Harmony,” he whispered brokenly. He lifted his hand and held it out for me to take.

This time the tears did fall. Because although I was looking into the exact eyes and face of the prophet I despised, Rider’s trembling hand helplessly reaching for mine was the single most devastating moment of my life. Fear was written on his face, fear that I may reject him . . . the man with the face of the man I hated most.

My fingers twitched as I stared at his hand. I wanted to take it, but as I looked back to his face, I asked, “I . . . I do not understand. Why are you in here?”

Rider’s face fell into an expression of utter rejection and despair. I watched his hand fall to land on his leg. His shoulders sagged in defeat. His eyes drifted downward and his skin paled. If there was ever an image of a man destroyed it was this. My heart tore into tiny fragments as I watched the hope leave his broken form.

The cells quieted, but I could hear Sister Ruth and Brother Stephen near the door. I knew they would be listening in. They would want to hear whatever Rider would say. “Rider?” I pressed, my voice a soft whisper. I waited for him to speak, my head pounding. I had to force myself to stay back near the door of the cell. But it was hard. Rider looked so lonely, slumped on the hard floor, that I wanted nothing more than to take him in my arms. Even more when he looked up, and with tears tumbling down his cheeks, rasped, “You are so beautiful, Harmony. I know it isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s true.” I swallowed back the momentary happiness those words made me feel. Because those words, from Rider’s lips, did not pain my heart the way they usually did.

Rider sighed and looked down at our gap in the wall. “I thought it when we would talk through that gap.” He lifted his hand and looked at his palm, rolling his fingers closed as if he was imagining my hand was still in his.

“Rider,” I said again, inching just that little bit closer. His hurt was like a magnet to me, and only I held the power to comfort him.

But I needed answers first.

Rider’s head dropped, but after a long breath, he said, “I am Cain. I am the destined prophet of The Order. Prophet David’s true heir.”

The air froze around me. “What?” My hand went to my mouth in shock.

In the same monotone, lifeless drawl, Rider continued. “I ascended a while ago, and came to New Zion with my twin to take the mantle of leader of our people.” His face contorted into an anguished expression. “I was never very good at it,” he said more softly, gently. He shook his head and a small huff escaped from his lips. “But Judah, my brother, was. He guided me. He was the puppet master, pulling my strings.” Rider paused, lost in his thoughts. “I did not realize that until today.”

I edged closer still, my body gravitating toward his as he shared what had led him to this hell. “I kept disappointing him, my people. I couldn’t get anything right. I . . . ” He trailed off, muscles tensing. “I didn’t like some of the practices that Prophet David had taught us. I didn’t share all of the beliefs that the prophet was meant to endorse. Ones vital to many in our faith.” His eyebrows dragged downward. “I . . . I couldn’t let them keep hurting people.
I
couldn’t keep hurting people. I had to stop them.”

“The Lord’s Sharing?” I asked, hoping that that was one of the beliefs he found so repulsive.

Rider nodded and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as if ridding an unwanted image from his mind. “I didn’t know,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know, I refused to believe this of our people . . . until I saw it with my own two eyes and had no choice but to see its ugly truth.” He sucked in a sharp exhale, and a guttural sound slipped from his chest. “I saw them hurting children, Harmony. Young girls being forced upon by grown men, their arms tied behind their backs with contraptions prizing their legs open.” Nausea clawed up my throat as I recalled what that trap felt like, pushing my thighs apart, the sting from the sharp teeth sinking into my tender flesh. I closed my eyes, just trying to rid myself of the memory of feeling a guard pushing inside me . . . of trying to hold in my screams because it would only give my chosen guard the satisfaction of hearing me cry.

“I couldn’t take it,” Rider said, pulling me from the past I tried hard to keep from my heart. I opened my eyes to see his fingers digging into the flesh on his legs. “I managed to stop one. I stopped a Lord’s Sharing . . . the first and only one I ever witnessed.”

“You did?” I asked, a sense of hope building within me.

“Then my brother, my only family, my only friend in this entire fucking world, cast me out. Put me in this cell and ordered daily beatings to make me see the error of my ways.” Rider’s eyes lifted until his gaze met mine, and his face broke down in tears. “He took it all away, Harmony . . . left me alone, and I . . . ” His voice got caught in his throat, and my heart burst apart, no longer able to see or hear this man breaking apart so completely.

I rushed forward, crawling to sit by his side. My eyes drank him in again, the sight of his face, hair and beard tricking my mind to run. My eyes tried to tell me this was the wicked Prophet Cain that had touched me and hit me so violently. But my heart . . . my heart told me this was a confused and battered soul that needed comfort.

Needed something and someone to be real . . . to be there for him.

I lifted a shaking hand and found Rider’s. He flinched as I touched him. By the way he blinked his tears away and looked at me in shock, I knew he had not seen or heard me approach. Without breaking his gaze, I turned his hand over and threaded my fingers through his. I watched as Rider’s scared and timid face was masked in confusion. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed in trepidation. His gaze fell from my face to land on our joined hands. I felt him squeeze them, as though testing I was truly there.

He closed his eyes, savoring the touch. The closeness. I let him have this moment. I studied him, feeling butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He had called me beautiful, but I could only think the same about him. His brown eyes and long dark hair were mesmerizing. His body was built to protect—hard and strong. But what I loved most when I looked into his gaze was the kindness it held.

He is
good
, you must remember that. No matter what. He is not a bad man. He is like us, beaten down and confused by how we were raised . . . but he is good . . .

The sister’s words played in my head. She had known who he was. She had known that he was the prophet.

Rider let out an agonized moan. I held his hand tighter, as he opened his mouth and said, “I tried to kill him, Harmony . . . ” Sympathetic tears ran down my cheeks. I had never heard someone so in pain, so broken and lost. “I tried to kill my brother to save you . . . to save us all . . . ” He took a deep breath. “To save you . . . from the wedding . . . ”

I stilled, the air fleeing my lungs. “What?” I said in disbelief.

“I could see what the thought of marrying him was doing to you.” Rider shook his head. “I know him, Harmony. I know what your life with him will look like—hell. Every day by his side will be pure hell. And the ceremony . . . what you will have to do in front of the people to seal your vow . . . ”

“So . . . so you tried to kill him? For me?”

My heart clenched. I had to marry the prophet . . . but he had tried to save me from that fate.
My God . . .
My guilt ran thick and strong.

Rider nodded, and the last ounce of strength he had in his beaten body faded away. He slumped farther back against the wall and his grip on my hand slackened.

“Rest,” I said, bringing my free hand to his face. Before I realized what I had done, I had run a finger down his cheek, the tip stopping at his full pink lips. Rider’s eyes locked on mine. I tried to breathe, but the air suddenly felt too thick and hot to try.

Rider took his free hand and brought it to my finger on his lips. Ducking his gaze, I gasped when I felt him kiss my finger, gently . . . a light, butterfly kiss.

Heat flooded my cheeks, my inexperience infusing my veins with nerves. But I could not take my eyes from Rider’s mouth on my finger. I was mesmerized. Warmth filled my every muscle. Rider pulled back his mouth, only to use his grip on my hand to pull me closer, my chest moving to hover over his.

My heart beat a loud drumming rhythm. I felt Rider’s heart beating just as loudly and quickly below mine. Rider licked along his lips, tracing the outline of my own with his finger.

“Have . . . ” he began, his voice low and raspy. He cleared his throat. “Have you ever been kissed before, Harmony?”

Finding my lost voice, I answered, “No. Curseds are never kissed. Our taste and touch is thought to taint a pure soul. To corrupt a saint into a sinner. To capture a heavenly soul for the devil to collect.”

Rider’s eyebrows drew together. “I am a sinner, Harmony. If your kiss damns pure hearts, then it is too late to affect mine.”

Rider’s mouth moved toward me and I let him take the lead. I had no idea what I was doing, but I wanted to try. In that moment I wanted it more than anything else. Rider was the first man to ever make me want anything remotely close to affection . . .

Then Rider’s lips were pressing against mine, soft and gentle, flesh against flesh. I waited for him to show me what to do. When his lips began moving ever so slightly against mine, I followed his lead, Rider’s taste bursting on my tongue. I moaned breathlessly as his hand slipped through my hair and grasped the back of my head. Our lips pressed harder against one another’s. Rider’s touch consumed me.
He
consumed me. The fallen destined prophet, touching me with a gentleness that made me weak.

Rider’s mouth broke from mine, and we both fought for breath. Rider tipped his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. I brushed his freshly washed hair from his face, and a smile pulled on his lips. “You cleansed me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, a new, foreign lightness engulfing my heavy heart.

“You . . . cared for me?” His voice held an echo of disbelief.

“Yes,” I replied and felt him relax. “Lie down,” I said and, drawing back, guided his large body toward the stone floor.

“The guards,” he said, trying to resist. “They will return. You can’t be here. You’ll be punished.”

“It is okay,” I said. His face molded into a confused frown. A confession was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back from expressing it when I saw his eyes drop with tiredness. Instead, I said, “Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth will warn us before they come back.”

My answer seemed to appease him. Rider didn’t release my hand as he lay down. I joined him on the floor. Rider wrapped me in his strong arm, my head falling onto his hard chest. It felt so strange to lie in such a way. But I allowed it. I felt myself wanting it more than anything.

In this cell, with the true prophet of our faith, I was home. I knew there was no other place I would rather be. The strangest of circumstances.

I glanced down at Rider’s arm, at the inked markings on his skin. My finger traced the demonic pictures. “Rider? Why do you wear such haunting images on your skin? Who put them there?”

Rider’s body stiffened. “There are things you don’t know about me, Harmony. Bad things . . . sinful things that I have done. Places I’ve been.”

A shiver of fear and unease crept down my spine. Raising my head, I stared at Rider’s conflicted face. I too had a past that I could not, and did not want to, divulge. But there was one question I had that would change my feelings for Rider, or not. “Have you . . . did you ever awaken a child, Rider?”