Page 3 of Tower
“It ain’t a pretty life. My men are rough and not exactly progressive in their thoughts on women. Not any more’n the Nelsons’ compound.”
“I know that. But I also know that you don’t let your men rape women or children or other men. And I know, because my dad told me, that this rule causes you some trouble. You’re constantly getting challenged, your leadership questioned. Dad said that two months ago you killed one of your guys because he kept pushing the gang to raid our home to get to me and he wouldn’t listen when you kept telling him no.”
“Your daddy shouldn’t’ve fuckin’ told you that kinda thing.”
“Dad was trying to keep me alive. He wasn’t sheltering or babying me. He knew he wouldn’t be around forever and I’d have to somehow make it in this world without him. It happened a lot sooner than either of us expected, but the time is here. Right now. I know your men are rough. I know it’s not going to be a pretty life. And I know you’re not a nice man or a particularly good one.”
I’m growing urgent, so I take a breath so I can sustain a clear, even tone. “You don’t seem to understand that none of that matters to me. I don’t get to choose whether the world is hell or not. I don’t get to choose to be independent or self-sufficient. I can’t be. Not with my skills and strength and resources. But Idoget to choose which man takes care of me, and I’m choosing you.”
My words linger in the quiet morning air.
His expression hasn’t changed—not even a flicker—but there’s something almost stunned in his eyes.
Finally he asks, “And do I not get a choice?”
“Of course you get a choice. But why would you refuse? You don’t have a woman, and you haven’t had one since the first year after Impact. This would be the perfect means of solidifying your leadership and squashing all those questions about you not being tough enough to be in charge. After all, you’ll have captured the princess from her tower.”
I planned those words last night, and I can see their effect on his face.
I go on, for the first time experiencing a flicker of hope. “You can order me around, and I’ll act all cowed and submissive. You know it would help you. You wouldn’t always be having to deal with new challenges all the time.”
“So you’d just pretend to be my woman?”
“No, I’d pretend to be submissive. But I’d be your woman for real. I know perfectly well that I’m going to have to offer sex to survive. I’m just choosing who I offer it to.”
His lips part slightly. He’s staring at a spot in the air just past my right ear.
“I’m not a virgin,” I add. “I’ve had sex before. I don’t think I’m bad at it, and I’m happy to work on getting better in any way you want.”
His eyes shift, raking quickly up and down my body. The gaze isn’t lustful as I’ve always understood it. I’m not quite sure what it is.
“And I’d do other things.” This is working, so I’m pulling out all the convincing arguments I planned. “Cook or clean or whatever. Make your life easier. Whatever that looks like, it will be a hell of a lot less work for me than being a Nelson woman and a lot less dehumanizing than being the Mayor’s fourth wife.”
The last sentence surprises him. He lets out a soft huff of what almost sounds like amusement.
Encouraged, I say the last thing. “You can take anything you want from our house. We’ve still got a lot of weapons and supplies. You can take my dad’s truck. We’ve also got stored gas. You can bring all that back to your base—with me. Just think of the stories. You’d be a conquering king. Everything would get easier for you.”
I know this man is dangerous. My dad told me so, and I’ve seen it for myself any number of times from my window. But the primary emotion I sensed from him every morning when I watched him alone by the river wasn’t danger or aggression or anger or defensiveness.
It wasfatigue.
This man is so, so tired.
More than anything else, that’s why he’s going to agree to my proposal. I know it now for sure.
He wants his life to be a little easier. A little less exhausting.
“All right,” he says at last, gruff and curt and unsmiling. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ve only got one other thing to ask.”
“What’s that?”
For the first time, my voice cracks. “Can you help me bury my dad?”
Three hours later, we’re in my father’s pickup with the truck bed packed up with supplies from the house.
Boss dug a grave for my dad’s body himself, and I marked the spot with a big stone. He said we needed to do it right away because the house would be raided as soon as word got out thatmy father was dead, and sometimes unspeakable things happen to dead bodies.
