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  SAVED FROM THE CULT

  Winter James

  Chapter One

  Dove

  The three of us go to pick the flowers in our white dresses and soft sandals—Robin, Charlotte, and me. We’re almost like three flowers ourselves as we move through the woods in our neat row, flashes of white against an endless expanse of green.

  Robin bumps into me, and I sprawl in an ungraceful heap on the wet grass. “Sorry,” she mutters, though she doesn’t sound sorry as I rub the ache from my knee.

  In the shade of the trees, we stop at the wooden gate that marks the boundary of the House of Rapture. Beyond the gate is the outside world. It doesn’t have a lock, but it does have a latch. Such a small thing to protect us from the sin and the chaos outside the fence, things I’ve heard more than seen.

  Robin steps up to the latch with a solemn expression on her face and bows her head. Her dark hair falls in loose waves from the half-ponytail she’s wearing today. If she wasn’t so horrible, I’d think she was pretty.

  “Lord guide us and keep us as we travel into the world. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Charlotte and I echo.

  A tiny spark of frustration lights up behind my breastbone. We’re all beloved children of God, which means I’m bound to treat Robin as a holy being. But my knee still smarts from where it hit the ground. Her words carry enough insincerity to make it tough.

  At least we get to go outside the gate.

  Of all the jobs that Leader Michael assigns us, this one is my favorite. It’s a chance to get out of the close heat of the houses in midsummer. It’s better than bending over to dust in small corners or to scalding my hands in hot water doing dishes at the basin sinks.

  Sending us out for flowers isn’t Leader Michael’s favorite task for us, of course. But I don’t want to think about him now that we’re out in the sun. I especially don’t want to think about how he watches me when I’m replacing the flowers in his house.

  I think he wants to marry me. And marriage is for eternity. And eternity—

  A stick cracks beneath Robin’s foot. “Ouch.” She lifts her foot from the ground and brushes at it, hooking her basket over her elbow. The basket shakes violently. “These shoes are pointless. I could have lost my foot.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Robin glares at me, dark eyes sharp with animosity. “Do I look okay?”

  This is a trick question. I can tell her she does, in which case she’ll say that she’s obviously not. Or I can tell her that she doesn’t, which will lead us into an endless loop of tell-me-exactly-how-I-don’t-look-okay, Dove and it will ruin the very limited free time that we have.

  Not that time spending flowers is really free. I should spend the time praying and thanking God for his bounty and worshipping Leader Michael. But it’s better than my other chores, so I say nothing and pretend to be very focused on the pathway beneath my feet.

  If a stick goes through my shoe, it’ll only make things worse.

  We reach the end of the path that leads through the thin strip of woods separating the compound from the highway.

  Sunlight splashes down at the dividing line between forest and sloping hill. I tip my face into the sun and let it soak in. That’s not something I can do at the compound.

  If Leader Michael sees, he’ll punish me for exposing my throat in a sinful way.

  “Hey.” Charlotte nudges me with an elbow. “Look.”

  “What is it?” I snap my head up.

  If Leader Michael has followed us here—if he’s caught me exposing my throat—then at least one of us is in trouble, probably me. But Robin isn’t looking at me with her smug, satisfied smile. She’s staring out at the highway. The same direction as Charlotte.

  Something is different today.

  Large yellow equipment stamp across the green landscape.

  We stand at the crest of a gently sloping hill that tumbles down into the blacktop gouge of the highway in the center of the grass. A rest stop splays itself out on the other side. It’s nothing special—a low brick building surrounded by crumbling sidewalk.

  Not very far away from us, that sidewalk.

  A quick sprint is all, even in soft shoes. The possibility of it shines in the sun. It’s so bright and tempting it takes my breath away. But I’m not that reckless. I follow the rules, even the ones I don’t like. That’s what we have to do in order to please God.

  And, more importantly, to please Leader Michael.

  The rest area parking lot is decorated with pieces of big yellow equipment—the kinds of things nobody ever uses at the compound. We do everything by hand. We til the land and raise barns. Leader Michael doesn’t need to rip up concrete and metal. These men do.

  There are three of them, just like there are three of us.

  We could not be more opposite. Their skin is tanned by the sun, not covered in white. Grubby t-shirts under loud orange vests. Heavy boots and rough hands and a sense of intense purpose around them, as real as the bright sun. It’s impossible to miss them, but I want to see more.

  Robin reaches up and pinches the fleshy part of my arm. “Stop staring,” she hisses. “You know Leader Michael wouldn’t like it.” She casts her eyes demurely down at the grass and lifts the hem of her dress another few inches like she doesn’t have her own agenda. She wants Leader Michael for herself, and for a while, it seemed like he wanted her back. There were all those private prayer sessions with the door closed. Then one day Leader Michael focused on me.

  Robin’s eyes flick up to meet mine and she pinches again, then lets go and stalks away. “We have a job to do.”

  “She’s right,” says Charlotte, and I know she is. Charlotte lifts her red hair, tied up in a thick braid, away from her neck and slings it over her shoulder.

  Fine. Fine. I follow her down the hill, stopping every few feet to add a wildflower to my basket.

  It’s hot. It shouldn’t be this hot for this early in the morning, but I’m a thousand times more aware of the sun now. Of the heat like a physical weight on my shoulders.

  And the three men across the highway.

  I force myself to look for ten wildflowers. Count, Dove. One. Two. Three-- What’s there to see, anyway? Muscled men in orange vests? There’s nothing exciting about that. There isn’t. I try again to convince myself that I don’t care about the men. It’s just curiosity, that’s all. They’re not like the men on the compound. They’re out in the world, taking on machinery work. Fighting with nature, making it bend to their will.

  I steal a glance across the highway as I bend to pick a white daisy, and he’s watching.

  The biggest one of all. The one with thick muscles and a hard face. He meets my eyes across the highway like there’s no space between us. A hot flush starts at my cheeks and shoots down my body. I’ve never felt a pull like this, magnetic, like he’s hooked one of his big fingers through the center of me and is pulling with all the strength of gravity. What would it feel like to run my fingers over his sweat-slicked muscles and lift the hem of that t-shirt to see what’s underneath?

  I bet it would feel good.

  I want it to feel good. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Desire blooms like the flowers dotting the hillside. It’s a fresh layer of heat below the sun on my skin. Deeper than that. More...primal.

  I want him.

  Which is a sin.

  To want is a sin. To feel is a sin. To desire is a sin. A terrible sin. That’s what Leader Michael says, and that’s what I have no choice to believe. We all have to pay the price for desire. And if I don’t stop this now, he’ll know. He’ll know that I was watching the men while they worked. He’ll know what I felt. And he’ll punish me.

  So as much as I want to keep looking, I take a deep breat
h and turn away.

  And tumble over an unexpected obstacle headlong into the grass.

  I barely have time to throw out my hands to catch myself. My basket goes underneath me, tangling my arm and digging its handle into the soft part of my belly. “Ouch,” I hiss into the grass. My stomach throbs from the handle. The shock makes it hard to get up.

  A shadow falls over me.

  Robin.

  She stands with one hip jutted out, blocking out the sun, her basket hooked over her arm. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Even with soft shoes, if she stomped on me now, it would hurt. I hold my breath. Embarrassment singes my cheeks. They all saw, I’m sure of it. But I can’t think about them now, or else I’ll be sinning again.

  “Oops.” Her voice drips with acid. “I must’ve gotten in your way.”

  Robin plucks her basket from her elbow and turns away, her dress swishing around her legs in time with her steps. A gentle hand comes down on my arm. Gentle or not, it makes me jump. But it’s only Charlotte, a concerned frown on her face. She helps me untangle myself from the basket and stand up, brushing the bigger chunks of grass from my dress. There’s nothing to be done about the stains. I’ll have to wash them out later.

  When I’m back on my face, Charlotte shoots a glance at Robin, who bends gracefully to pick another handful of wildflowers a little way down from us. “Don’t worry about what she did,” Charlotte murmurs. “We both know she’s a bully.”

  “There’s good and bad in all of us.” My voice shakes a little, but it’s not from the fact of Robin being a bully. It’s because I know why she’s like that. I know about the things Leader Michael does during private prayer. And I know about the way her parents beat her when he turned his attention to me instead of her. There are good people and bad people, even in the House of Rapture--but it’s not Robin I’m afraid of. It’s everyone else.

  Charlotte puts a hand on my elbow. “We’ll pray for her.”

  I give her a nod and smile and go back to picking flowers by the side of the highway. My basket fills. One flower at a time. I keep my head down and ignore the sound of metal against stone. It’s a raucous violence, all that cutting and clashing and banging. I feel it against my skin. I can’t help that—I can’t help the sensation. But I can pray to God to keep my mind where it belongs. On the flowers, not on the men across the street. Not on the man who looked at me with fire in his amber eyes. No. Never him.

  Chapter Two

  Jake

  As an ex-con, I don’t have any chances left. That’s what that means. I used all of my chances when I went to jail just to survive. I mess up again, and I’m back in prison.

  It’s a fine fucking line I’m walking.

  Which means I have no business noticing the pretty ankles on the girl across the highway. Or the way she somehow has the most sensual body I’ve ever seen, despite the plain linen dress she’s wearing. I’ve seen women wearing those kinds of dresses before—everyone has, if they come from around here. But I’ve never seen anyone like her. And I should not be looking.

  The hem of her dress is an inch or two shorter than the other girls—a redhead and a brunette, both of them wandering in opposite directions. What the hell are they doing? Picking flowers, looks like. But the blonde with the pretty ankles lingers. She keeps her eyes on the grass as she bends over at the waist, again and again, picking the flowers with her delicate hands and laying them into her basket.

  She’s probably jailbait. I should treat her like she’s radioactive. To me, she would be. I’d be behind bars in a second and nobody would feel any remorse about it at all, except for me. The white dresses on the three of them scream that they’re from the little cult nobody seems to want to do anything about. Everyone here just lets them go on their way. I’ve never heard anyone ask any questions, which strikes me as a little weird. It’s a cult.

  But damn. Even those people should know better than to let someone like her wander around outside of their compound. Even in a white dress that goes halfway down her calves, any man would go to hell to be with her.

  I’m already going to hell.

  But I won’t go back to prison.

  Do I want to sit here and look at her all day, bending down like that? Hell yes. That and more. But I drag my attention away from her slim hips and lovely ankles and keep it on the backhoe I’m driving. It’s heavy equipment. Can’t take any chances. None of us can take any chances.

  A glance out the front window tells me the two other guys on my team are also enjoying the view. I lean out the side door into the heat. “Hey. You fuckers ready to get going?”

  One of them, Brad, gives me the finger. “You in a rush, Jake?”

  “I hate your ass.” I’ve done hard things in my life, but nothing is harder than keeping my eyes on the job and away from that blonde girl. My own eyes work against me. I keep getting flashes of white in the corner of my vision. Well, I have to keep an eye out for them, too. I’ll be in even bigger trouble if I run one of them over with my backhoe. The House of Rapture might not be very forgiving when it comes to manslaughter, but the state pen will be even less. A shudder moves over my back. So I won’t look for long. Just long enough to make sure they’re not in the way.

  I look up just in time to see the other girl—the brunette one—stick her foot out and send the blonde one sprawling. She lands on top of her basket, dress hitched up to her thighs and ass in the air. My hand hurts. Too tight a grip on the controls of the backhoe. Every muscle tenses. I could be by her side in a few long strides.

  The redhead gets there first. Helps her up, brushes her off.

  I grit my teeth and do what I came here to do. I drive the backhoe.

  The rest of the morning is eaten up in the tear and pull of the ancient concrete around the rest area. It’s been here so long that it doesn’t come easy. And Brad and Greg, those fuckers, want to drag this out so we can take home a heftier check. For once I don’t care about the money. The sooner we get this done the sooner I can stop looking at her.

  Heat gathers on the old blacktop and threatens to fry me to death when I climb out of the backhoe. Finally lunch. Brad and Greg have taken their coolers to a rickety picnic table in the shade of one of the trees. I don’t have a cooler but I follow them anyway.

  Brad tears into his ham and cheese with sharp teeth and eyes my paper bag. “What’d your mother make? Another peanut butter sandwich for her big boy.”

  I shrug. “My mom’s dead, so I made my own sandwich. I also made your mother—”

  “Hey, that’s his mom you’re talking about.” Greg punches my arm. “I’ve met her. She’s a nice lady.”

  “She had a lot of nice things to say about me when I left last night.”

  Brad raises an eyebrow and watches me through his mouthful of sandwich. “You’re pretty ballsy for an ex-con.”

  What other choice do I have? “And here I thought we were friends, Brad.”

  “We are friends,” he insists. “That’s why I give you so much shit.” Something flashes through his eyes. Nerves? Maybe. I’m a big guy. And I’m sure he could put me back in jail if he wanted to, but I’d do a number on him first if he tried.

  I take my sandwich out—yes, it’s fucking peanut butter—and waggle it in front of his face. This is all for show. I’ve taken a seat that faces away from those girls across the highway, but I can still feel them there. I want to turn around more than I’ve wanted anything in life, aside from getting out of prison. Instead I bolt down the sandwich and crumple the bag in my hands.

  “You fellas enjoy your dainty little meal.” I climb off the bench and stretch my back. “Don’t take too long.”

  Brad lifts his pinkie from his thermos and waves goodbye, and I head to the rest stop for a piss. On the way I smooth out the paper bag and shove it in my back pocket for tomorrow. I’m going to save up enough at this job to do something I really want to do. I don’t know what that is yet, but I’m sure an opportunity will present itself.

  I tu
rn the corner inside the low brick building and my heart stops as dead as my body does, muscles jerking out of place to avoid the person who’s standing there. It’s not enough and we bump together. It’s a glancing blow but the feel of her dress brushing against my jeans almost pulls me into her again.

  I’ve never been so aware of another person in my life. She smells like the outdoors, fresh and clean. And cotton. Jesus. Did you know cotton could be erotic? I didn’t until this moment.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she breathes, and her voice is cool water over every sweaty pulsing inch of me. She’s so pure and small, and I’m big enough to bring the building down around us. She tightens her grip on the doorframe to the women’s room like I might drag her off and have my way with her if she lets go. I fucking might. It’s such a terrible thought, so fucking inappropriate, the kind of thing that will get me sent back to prison, but I let it take up space in my head for another few moments.

  She won’t meet my eyes, the little thing. That only makes me want her more. And not for a chat at the picnic table. For rough things. Dirty things. I can hear her breathing. I’ve been hit. I’m going down. I stay on my feet only by focusing on her teeth worrying at her bottom lip and the rise and fall of her tits beneath her dress.

  Fuck me.

  After a thousand years of forcing air into and out of my lungs, she looks up at me with a pair of big blue eyes. The sensual curiosity there sends a jolt to my cock. I haven’t been this horny in years. Or ever.

  She clears her throat. “Sorry about that.” Give me more of these sweet apologies all day long. “What’s your name?”

  “Jake.”

  I’m so taken by the way her eyes go a little wider, like it’s the sexiest name she’s ever heard, that it’s all I can do to stay this far away from her. It would take nothing at all to back her into the bathroom and fuck her before she even knew what was happening. Nothing. I’d have her skirt up around her waist, her tips pushed up to the top, her arms around my neck.

  She said something, and I missed it—too busy imagining pinning her up against the wall in the women’s room. “What was that?”