Page 10 of Wreck and Ruin

What if hewasin the tower earlier, watching me in secret as I rescued the man from certain death, waiting until now to deliver my punishment?

Oh God.

My stranger.

He’s already so hurt. If Father finds him and hurts him even more, he will die, I’m sure of it.

“I see you’ve been holding out on us with this one, Father Grimsby,” the man before me says, his voice menacing.

Grimsby?

I didn’t know his name was Father Grimsby.

The man runs a finger along my shoulder, then traces it across my upper back to the other, walking around me, circling me like I’m his prey, before settling to stand on my left side.

Why do I feel like Iamhis prey?

It takes all that I have not to flinch, but I keep any reaction to myself.

I don’t like this.

“Yes, well. She is but a broken vessel, leaving me no choice but to seek other…measures. I’ve done all I could, but it seems that it isn’t within God’s plan,” Father replies, his voice weary and defeated.

What does he mean by‘other measures.’

I’m not broken, am I?

I’ve been good.

Haven’t I?

Well, aside from today, but I refuse to believe he saw me out there because the reality of that being true is too tragic for me to think about. I’m always careful when I leave the cave. I came back, I do every time. I don’t run away from Father or this place. Where would I go?

“How old is she?” Another male voice sounds from across the hollow. His voice is more profound and rougher than the man who spoke before. He steps forward, laden with curiosity and judgment, then positions himself on my right.

“Eighteen years. She’s one of the original vessels born here at Atlantara, and until recently, she’s been something of a favorite of mine. Her obedient disposition has made for an irresistible source of satisfaction if I do say so,” Father says, still standing back in the shadows watching as the others wait at my side.

They’re close.

Too close.

Their bodies brush against mine, but their full attention is on Father. When he doesn't continue, one of the men asks, “If she hasn’t yet bred a child, why is she still breathing?”

Still breathing?

A child?

What is he talking about?

My heart grows even more frantic as the man to my left kneels down beside me, fisting the back of my hair, turning my head roughly so that I face him. He is much younger than Father and not much older than I am. He wears the same clean black clothing as Father but without the white collar. He moves in closer, running his nose along the nape of my neck, then to my jaw, breathing me in.

“Mmm. She smells like heaven and sin,” he says, his hot breath fanning my neck and cheek as he continues to smell me.

The walls close in around me, and a cold sweat crawls down my back. I force myself to breathe, pushing down the panic rising in my chest. I want to tell him to stop. I want to push him away. I don’t know these people, yet Father is letting them touch me.

“This one isn’t like the others, Deacon Falon. Let’s just say that this particular vessel is part of a far more personal agenda,” Father replies. His casual, detached voice is like a stab through the heart, and I’m not even sure what he is saying.

He’s letting them touch me.

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