Page 5 of Take Me to Church
“How doyouknow what they do?” The thought of any of the men from our shared past touching her makes my skin burn. “Which one of them hurt you?”
Her chin barely lifts, giving me a peek at the defiant nature responsible for carrying her to freedom. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” I remember hiding her away when things got out of control at her house. Sneaking her food when her dick of a father tried to punish her. I protected her then and I will sure as shit protect her now. “I want to know whose face I need to put my fist through.”
Her eyes hold mine, hope springing back into their depths. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”
“I never said I wouldn’t help you, Lydia.” She’s killing me right now, but I know the kind of men we’re dealing with here, and they are nothing like the ones I normally face. “But I need to hear it from Myra.”
Normally, the woman who goes back to an abusive relationship is the one in danger, but this situation is different. If Myra leaves and then goes back, she won’t be the only one at risk. Lydia will be as well. She’ll be labeled as something even worse than she is now. Not just a sinner who turned away from God’s word, but something evil trying to take others down the path to hell with her. She will never see her sister again. She won’t be able to set foot in town, not without risking her own safety.
Most people don’t understand how groups like this work. They don’t see the darkness they hide behind their soft voices and carefully crafted images.
“Fine.” Lydia lets go of my shirt, yanking her hand out from under mine and lifting it to wipe at her eyes as she steps back. “Thanks for nothing.”
Even though she’s angry, her voice is still sweet and soft, a testament to just how deep the teachings of Will Gardner and the cult he calls a church run.
“You know I want to get her out of there just as badly as you do, but I’ve seen what happens when women aren’t really sure. When they go back.” I don’t try to temper the harshness that creeps into my words. I need her to understand why I can’t give her what she wants, no matter how much I might want to. “You think she’s getting hurt now, just imagine what it will be like if she leaves and then changes her mind.”
“She won’t change her mind.” A little of the softness leaves Lydia’s voice, replaced with a sharp certainty I wish I felt.
“I know you want to believe that, but most women who leave go back.” It’s a devastating statistic, one that turns my stomach. I wish it wasn’t true and do everything in my power to bring that percentage down, but I can only accomplish so much.
“Whatever.” Lydia turns from me, shoulders a little more slumped as she moves toward the door, pausing to glance back my way when she reaches it. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t move to Georgia to become a preacher. I hated thinking you were one of them.”
The second the words are out of her mouth, she’s gone. Footsteps moving quickly through the entry before the front door quietly closes behind her.
I groan, raking one hand through my hair as the bell signifying the gate latch opening chimes. “Fuck.”
I hate when shit like this happens, but I especially hate that it’s happening with Lydia. I should be able to help her. She should be able to rely on me. To trust me because I know exactly what she’s dealing with. But I won’t risk Myra getting hurt worse, and I sure as hell won’t risk Lydia’s safety. Especially since she’s finally free of those fuckers who thought she belonged to them.
The security system chimes again as I slump into the chair behind my desk, grabbing the bottle of bourbon from the corner to add a few more fingers to the glass I’ve been nursing all night.
I’ve swallowed down half of it by the time Tate reaches the doorway. He leans against the frame, eyeing me as he crosses his arms. “Meeting went that good?”
“Worse.” I swallow down another mouthful before staring into the glass. “It was someone I know.” I pause before correcting. “Used to know.”
The Lydia that came to see me tonight was nothing like the little girl I remember, and it has little to do with her being a fully grown woman.
A fact which also didn’t escape me.
“Oh shit.” Tate’s arms drop as he straightens. “Who was it?”
I work my jaw from side to side, fighting my way through the bitterness and frustration that continue to linger. “Her older brother and I were best friends when I was a kid. I used to spend as much time at their house as I could because it was better than being at my own.” I lift my eyes to meet his. “Which isn’t saying much.”
Families like Lydia’s and mine live behind a mask. One they create to hide an ugly truth. A truth they will do anything to keep from coming out. That’s why I can’t help Myra until she calls me herself. No matter how much I want to.
Tate crosses the room and drops down onto the leather sofa along the wall. “Can we help her?”
I reach in my drawer and pull out another glass, sliding it his way because I know he’s about to be as pissed off as I am. “No.” I nudge the bottle of bourbon closer. “Lydia wants us to get her sister out, but she’s been cut off.”
The IGL has a method for dealing with women who step out of line. First they’re threatened with eternal damnation. Next they’re shunned. If she continues to act out, violence comes next, at the hand of the man tasked with running her life, be it father, brother, or husband. Sometimes all three.
If that’s not enough to stop a woman from daring to think on her own, she’s moved someplace off the grid under the guise of healing and holiness. They make it clear no one can help them. That if they don’t fall back they will never have freedom again.
Most women crack easily. No one wants to be separated from their friends and family, so the technique is frequently effective. Hopefully it is this time too, because the only way we can do anything for Myra is if we can talk to her.
“Will you be okay handling it if we can go ahead?” Tate watches me as he pours himself a drink. “Simon and I can take the lead on this and you can step back if—”
