Page 23 of Cast Stones
I turn to face her with a sigh. She’s becoming belligerent. They’ll try to break her of that. “No, your name is Mary. You’re all named after Mary Magdalene, the ultimate female temptress and whore sinner, when you come here. At least until…” I shake my head. It’s better that she doesn’t know. Being aware won’t change the outcome. It’ll only fill her days with more tears.
I like her smile. It’s pretty too.
“You’re just like them. Stay away from me, Luca! I mean it!” Before I can stop her, she’s on her feet and sprinting across the room toward the door. I didn’t lock it. We never lock any door on commune grounds. There’s no need. Our church is on a hundred and sixty-nine acres of land in Ocala. There’s nowhere they can run that we can’t find them.
But that’s not the reason I chase after her. It’s because I don’t like what she said.
You’re just like them.
The words stir the black mist again. “Wait!” I growl, chasing after her. “Mad—I mean Mary…come back here right fucking now!”
“No!” she yells over her shoulder while sprinting through the woods. “I’m going home!”
She’s not. She knows it as well as I do. She’s throwing out false hope like it’s a penny in a wishing well. I’ve never believed in superstitions, and after a few months, she won’t either.
I know this because while chasing her through the woods, I realize she’s subconsciously running toward the one place that has become her new reality. Slowing my pace, I allow her to devour this final morsel of control. To taste freedom on her tongue and savor it like a fine delicacy.
Rich and decadent, attached to a price tag people like us can never afford.
“Youarehome,” I say, catching my breath as I brace a hand against either side of the doorframe. I take a commanding step into the small, damp cabin she just ran into. The same one she was sleeping in earlier when Cyrus came for her.
Home.
I might as well have slapped her. Madi backs up, her bare feet scraping along the worn wooden floor. Silent tears run down her face as she stares at me, neither accepting nor denying her fate.
It’s like she’s just…there.
“Why me?” she asks, letting out a small wheeze as her back collides with the wall, stopping her movement.
“Because I liked your smile.” I should give her space. After what I just watched Cyrus to do to her, I’m sure she doesn’t want me near her…but I can’t stop myself. I advance forward, holding her eye as I approach. She doesn’t scream. She simply watches me, fiery damnation in her deep green eyes.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Many things of this world don’t make sense, Mary,” I whisper, frowning at the dark bruise blooming across her cheek. That tightness in my chest returns, along with the dark rage. I raise my hand, and Madi flinches. Her reaction causes me to grit my teeth but doesn’t stop me from gently brushing the back of my knuckles across her injured skin. “It’s in the afterlife where we’re rewarded with knowledge and freedom.”
Madi scrunches her face and digs her nails into the old wooden walls. “Please stop calling me that.”
If only... “I can’t. You need to get used to it, cara mia.”
Her eyes pop open. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“Cara mia.”
“It’s Italian.” My smile is genuine, soft with affection. “My mother taught me. It means my dear.” I don’t allow myself to think of her often, but somehow, with Madi, the memory doesn’t slice a new gash over old scars.
“If you won’t call me by my name, then call me that.”
“Cara mia?” I raise an eyebrow. A private nickname. Something of her that belongs only to me. Mine and mine alone. I like that. “Okay.”
Her shoulders sag. “Thank you.”
“But you have to do something for me.” She looks up at me with those tear-stained eyes once more, and my heart stutters. They’re even greener now, like the grassy field behind the church in summer. “No more running. You’re mine, cara mia. You’ll always be mine. Put away those wishes of returning to the life you had before. It’s gone. You have a new one. Accept it, and this”—I brush her cheek lightly—“won’t happen again.”
“You want me to trust you?” When I nod, she traps a strangled noise in her throat and swallows it down. “That’s not possible. You’re keeping me here against my will. I’m not your friend, Luca! I’m your prisoner!”
My hand drifts from her face to her hair, the long blonde locks that first caught my eye, now tangled and wild. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
