Deep Redemption (Hades Hangmen Book 4) (16 page)

“We are planning to somehow get us all out, then we will go to whoever we need to and give them the evidence we have. It is not as much as we would like, but we only need the outside authorities to come and investigate. There will be enough evidence on the property to arrest all in charge for child sexual abuse and child pornography,” Brother Stephen said. “I used to live on the outside world before I came here in my twenties. It was a long time ago, but I remember how some things work.”

I shook my head. “No. It
won’t
work.” All eyes were suddenly on me. I inhaled deeply. “We are in alliance with the KKK. I helped make the deal directly. We have—
Judah
has—connections in government and in the police. The commune is protected. Heavily protected by powerful allies. You would be killed before anyone who could help got wind of this place. Too many people have too much to lose. I’d bet all the fucking money I have that those people are profiting from all the porn videos you’ve been telling me about. They won’t let that get out.”

“Shit!” Solomon said and rubbed his hand across his face. “Then we need a new plan, and quickly. The thought of that bastard taking her the way I have seen him with other women . . . ”

My mind raced with possibilities. But all the routes led me to just one place. One outcome. It would be death for me, but it could help the other people chained to this life . . . it could save Harmony. I lifted my head. “I have an idea. It’s risky, it might not work . . . but it could be our only choice.”

The group listened with wide, hopeful eyes as I told them of my plan. With each word, I grew more and more confident that it could work, and if I knew my brother as well as I believed I did, he would fall right into my trap. Judah’s pride would always be his biggest downfall.

“Hell,” Brother Stephen said when I had finished speaking. He locked eyes with Samson and Solomon in turn, and finally Sister Ruth. She had been silent as I had spoken, her head bowed.

“It is our only option,” Samson said reluctantly.

Brother Stephen held out his hand. I slid my hand into his as he said, “Then it is agreed.”

“But don’t tell Harmony,” I said. “I don’t want her to know, in case it doesn’t come off.”

Stephen released my hand. “I was about to ask you the very same thing. If she thought we had lost faith in her, if she thought we were removing her from this task, she would refuse. She has a strong sense of duty. She is fearless, like no one else.”

Despite all that could go wrong, and despite everything I had just discovered, I smiled. Because that was Harmony. Fearless and strong.

I sat back in my seat and took three deep breaths. As I did, I felt the tiredness I should have embraced hours ago weaken my limbs. I pushed myself to my feet. “I am going to sleep.” Sadness washed over me when I thought of Harmony in my cell. Every second I was with her, I wanted more and more time with her. I had only known her a short time, but in that time, I had been more my true self than I had ever been in my life. When I was living with the Hangmen, I had once read that the important thing wasn’t the number of minutes you spent with someone, but the quality of realness those minutes held. Every moment I had spent with Harmony saw a dead part of me being reborn. As I held her hand through the gap, as I stared into her dark eyes, she was placing herself into my soul.

It pained me that our time was finite. My heart ached at the thought of not having her by my side. So I decided that I would cherish what time I had left. I began to move my feet, my heavy limbs leading me toward where Harmony slept. Brother Stephen moved to block my path. I jerked my head up to see what he wanted. “Cain,” he said, his voice barely audible. He gripped my upper arm. His face was ashen, and I could see that something was troubling him. “Before you leave, there is something else you should know.”

I tipped my head, indicating for him to speak.

And I listened.

I listened to what he had to say, not missing once single piece of information . . . and all the while I stood there, unmoving . . .

 . . . in complete and utter fucking shock.

Harmony

Five days later . . .

The scents of vanilla and lavender oils being poured onto my skin brought a nauseous feeling to my stomach. I kept my eyes to the ground as Sarai roughly applied the perfume, her fingers digging into my skin. I could feel her intense blue gaze boring into my bowed head, but I kept calm. I would not let a girl of her age intimidate me.

Another sister, whose name I did not know, braided two front sections of my hair, then pulled them back from my face. My face and body were still and stoic, but my heart was racing like a duck’s legs swimming frantically under water.

It was fear, pure and undiluted fear.

Today was the day of my wedding to Prophet Cain. Despite the many days counting down to this moment, I could not believe that I was really here. I could not believe that after everything I had already been through at the hands of this faith, I was in this commune, willingly placing myself in this position.

But it had to be done. For the sake of us all.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, exhaling slowly through my mouth to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. My eyes closed of their own accord and I could not help but picture what this wedding would be like.

People. So many people who knew nothing of my existence would today see me wed the prophet. A man I had only met once . . . a man I was told would not see me again until our wedding because I tempted him too much. They would see him take me on the ceremonial bed. They would watch me through the gauze curtain, being taken against my will by the prophet.

And they would do nothing about it. They would praise the Lord for its occurrence.

Disgust swirled within me when I pictured the prophet’s face, but that disgust switched to warmth when I immediately thought of Rider. I never thought of Rider as Prophet Cain. Prophet Cain was a cruel man lording his power over innocent people, convincing them to bend to his will. Rider was a kind, gentle, but tortured, soul. I fought back the smile from my lips as I let my mind drift back over the past five days. When I had awoken the morning after Rider had revealed his true identity to me, I was in his arms. I, Harmony, was cradled to his chest like a contented lover, his large, strong arms keeping me to his side as though he was terrified I would leave.

No man had ever treated me the way he had, staring down into my eyes as I lifted my head to stare up into his. His hand slowly stroked down the side of my face, only stopping to let his fingertips drift over my kiss-swollen lips. His every touch was an answered prayer, the childhood prayer I had refused to ever let wane—that I would be wanted by somebody . . .
loved
for me and me alone. The wish that every Cursed Sister begs God for, but one that is never answered.

I had held my breath, seeing the undisguised affection he held for me in his dark eyes . . . but seeing the internal struggle he was fighting too. My smile fell. If there was ever a man who physically represented a torn soul, it was Rider. He was two sides of the same coin, a man straddling a barrier only known in his heart. Any mention of his brother caused a visible pain to settle on his face. Any mention of the sins he said he’d committed as prophet struck him as hard as any physical blow. If his hand happened to be in mine, it would always squeeze a little more. I had no idea what he had done to make him hate himself so badly. I could not believe this man was capable of doing anything wrong or untoward. His heart was pure.

His heart was true.

I wanted to help him, but I had no idea how. Rider kept so much back that I knew my knowledge of him was barely scratching the surface. I wanted him to let me in, but he had not let me get that far, always keeping me in a perpetual place of warmth, of happiness. He never let any darkness into our small haven of solace.

He had made it our very own sanctuary.

He knew who we were now. And he knew the reason why we had come back. He never said much about it. But I could see that what I had committed to do pained him.

I had to. If everything worked out, perhaps I could save him too.

For five days we had kissed. Feather-light, innocent kisses, two inexperienced people trying to show how much the other was treasured. I was sure I was now addicted to those kisses. No man had ever simply wanted kisses from me and nothing more. Better still, Rider did not fear me. He did not see me as evil incarnate. I saw the truth of that every time he looked at me. Every time the corner of his lips would pull into a contented smile.

Rider saw
me
. The real me . . . at least as much as I would let him see. We both had secrets, pasts we had yet to reveal. There was no use burdening him with mine, with the terrors that plagued me each night. Because this short piece of heaven we had found in a stone cell was exactly that—short.

My heart had been irreparably broken many months ago, so much so that I had chosen to live an almost solitary life in Puerto Rico. But since speaking to Rider, that heart had paused in its crumbling. He had given me a short reprieve to breathe again, to chase the loneliness of loss from my spirit. But this week, the pieces had begun to break away again, only in greater chunks. Because as well as the loved ones I had lost so completely, now I would lose Rider. As the countdown to the wedding approached, the pain in my chest had grown worse.

Right now, I could scarcely breathe.

After today I would not share a cell with that man anymore . . . the man I was hopelessly enamored with. I would not know his touch, his lips’ sweet taste, his kindness. From today, I would live with a man that shared Rider’s face, but none of his gentleness.

In mere minutes I would walk down the aisle to celestially merge myself to a man that represented everything I despised. A savage amongst cruel men. An instigator of pain.

Somebody jerked aggressively on my hand, sending a slice of red-hot pain up my arm. I blinked and focused on the culprit—Sister Sarai. I could see the frustration in her expression as she glared at me, lips pursed. “Did you hear anything that I said?” she snapped. I shook my head. “The prophet has given me orders to pass on to you. You must keep your eyes cast down through the ceremony, and you must not speak, except in the moments you take your vows. Never raise your eyes to meet his or anyone else’s. Is that clear? It is imperative that you do this joining by our book. The people need to understand the significance of the Cursed marrying their prophet.”

A wave of ire washed through me at Sarai’s cutting tone, but I tamped it down and simply nodded. Sarai released my arm. A flower garland was placed upon my head, then Sarai waved her hand, motioning for me to stand.

I did, my jeweled sandals tapping lightly on the stone floor. From outside came the tinny sound of speakers playing melodic, lyric-less music. But my attention was captured by what was in front of me. A large mirror was fixed to the wall . . . a large mirror that now showed me in all of my bridal attire.

I stared at the sleeveless white garment that clung to my body. My long blond hair hung in loose ringlets down my back, the two braided front sections secured at the crown of my head, allowing every inch of my veil-free face to be seen. I lifted my hand and hovered my fingers over my cheeks and eyes.

Sarai moved beside me and knocked my hand away. “Do not touch your face,” she ordered. “It will ruin how we have made you look.”

Dark-coated lashes curled like long wings over my brown eyes. My cheeks were pink as though flushed, and my lips were painted a deep rose. I rubbed them together, the colored cream tasting like fruit on my tongue.

A delicate garland of fresh pastel-colored flowers lay upon my head. Sarai thrust something into my hands, and when I looked down I saw it was a small bouquet matching the flowers on my head.

As I clutched the spray, I could not stop trembling.
It is truly happening
, I thought as I stared at the painted stranger in front of me. I recognized nothing of this woman. I felt nothing like my true self.

My body suddenly felt weak. Drained of any remaining hope. Drained of the calm I had found in Puerto Rico during my short reprieve from this stifling “Cursed” title . . . drained of the temporary happiness I had found in Rider’s arms. Rider, the mysterious, broken man who had stolen what was left of my shattered heart.

I allowed my mind to drift to the man who had become the focus of my every waking thought. I wondered what he was doing at this very moment. I felt like crying when I wondered who would treat him and care for him after his daily punishments from now on. My heart lurched with sadness as I recalled how his weary eyes would watch me as I washed away the blood and dirt collected on his skin. As if I was his savior, as if no one had ever shown him such care and compassion in his life . . . as if afraid I would leave him, as everyone in his life always had. From today he would be alone again. I could barely breathe as I thought of him sitting day after day in that cell, lonely and defeated.

It broke my heart.

I glanced up at my foreign reflection, and I felt the life seeping from me with every breath. In a better world I would belong to a man such as Rider. We would
choose
to be in each other’s arms. I had heard the stories of the outside world from Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth, how people were free to live as they wished, with whomever they wished. But in my life, I had only ever experienced hurt and pain. And loss. Such loss that I could not let myself remember those I had loved so fully, yet lost so tragically.

Just the memory burned me alive from within.

These past five days, Rider and I had barely spoken a word. I knew it was the wedding that had occupied his mind. It had clearly occupied my guardians’ minds, and Solomon and Samson’s too.

When I had left Rider this morning to begin my wedding preparations, there had been no great goodbye. Instead, there had been unshed tears of frustration in his eyes. I had held him close, willing myself to commit his touch to memory. When his twin took me, I wanted to picture Rider’s version of their shared face above me. It would make the situation easier to bear.

As I left, Rider had silently pressed a gentle kiss to my lips and run his finger down my cheek. With that, he had turned around to face the wall, fists at his sides, and I had walked out of the cell.

I had left him all alone.

Suddenly, my bridal garment was wrenched up my legs from behind, baring my naked lower half. My arms moved instinctively to try to stop whoever had touched me. But they were then pinned to my sides by the sister whose name I did not know. Sarai moved in front of me, blocking my view of the mirror. Her eyes never left mine as her hand reached out and cupped between my legs.

“No!” I protested. I felt Sarai’s deft fingers spread a cool liquid along my core. “Please,” I begged, trying to get free from the other sister’s grip. I could not move. I wanted to close my eyes. But when I saw the victory in Sarai’s eyes I forced myself to keep them open. She met my challenge by curling her fingers and inserting the liquid further inside me. My nose flared at the unwanted intrusion, but I breathed through the discomfort.

I would not show my weakness.

Sarai put her mouth to my ear. “It is to make you wet and able to take him in the ceremonial bed. He is big, and this joining needs to go to plan. Nothing can go wrong.” I fought back the bile that was racing up my throat. Sarai withdrew her hands, leaving my inner thighs damp.

The door opened, flooding the room in daylight. A guard stood in the doorway.

“Move,” he ordered sternly.

I did as I was told. I passed where he stood, to where another guard was waiting outside. Even from back here, in the small quarters near the prophet’s mansion, I could hear the excitement of our people in the air. They would be in their ceremonial whites. They were only asked to wear their ceremonial whites when something truly special or important was happening. However, I was sure that they would never expect what was coming this day.

The guards sandwiched me between them as they led me along a path to the patch of land in front of the prophet’s residence. With every step my heart beat faster and faster. The supposedly joyous music coming through the speakers only sounded ominous to my ears. My steps faltered when suddenly the music was cut and a familiar voice came through the speakers.

The guard in the front suddenly stopped and held up his hand to someone I could not see. I realized that we must be at the end of the aisle. My hands tightened on the stems of my bouquet.

The prophet began to speak. “People of The Order. You have been gathered here today to witness a miracle. A hope we thought had been lost.” In the long pauses between his words, the commune was deathly silent, the people hanging on to every word the prophet spilled. His voice sent shards of ice down my back. I breathed in slow breaths to compose myself.

“Today, you will all bear witness to an answered prayer. Just when we thought a prophecy would not be fulfilled, God showed us he would never desert his people and delivered us a gift . . . the gift of salvation. Today, we celebrate that gift!”

The guard ordered me forward with a wave of his hand, but my legs began to shake so much I was unsure that I could walk. Sarai appeared in my peripheral vision and motioned with her finger for me to look down. I bowed my head.