“I don’t want this,” she pled, looking from one man to the next, the agitation making her desperate. “Denny.Denny, you used to hold me in your arms, remember? You taught me how to play with a yo-yo?” Before Hamish had taken it away. She’d been eight, maybe.
And Benji, weak and repentant.Holier than thou.He grabbed her arm, avoided her gaze, and dragged her down the hall.
Eyes glued to her feet, Abby went along. Because Sammy was safe. He had to be; otherwise, he’d have been here today.
Isaiah was speaking, but she barely heard. The irons were in the fire. Three of them. The air stank of smoke and cinders, the ghost of burning skin. A sob tried to work its way up her throat, too big for the tight space. She forced it down.
Isaiah’s words finally reached her. “Do you accept the teachings of Isaiah of the Mount? Are you a Disciple of the Apocalypse?”
Her attention rolled around the room, her eyes hopping from one person to another to the beat of that same comforting litany:Sammy’s safe. Sammy’s safe.
On the edge of hysteria, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “No.”
Utter stillness. No one, as far as she knew, had rejected the Mark before. Even she had agreed to it that first time, convinced of her own wrongdoings. She’d wanted it.Beggedfor it.
“I need to hear your acceptance of the Lord, Abigail. Say it.”
“No,” she whispered. Then stronger. “No, I donotaccept your Lord unto my heart.”
She opened her eyes and focused them hard on the first man she saw—how fitting that it should be Benji. “I took responsibility for the sins of others. Not today. I do not take responsibility for your sins,” she said, shocking them all. Except for Carter, who’d collapsed against the door, eyes wide.
“How dare you—” Isaiah started.
“I don’t!” she shouted as loud as she could, lungs full, chest tight as if she’d just run back from the fence. Hands restrained her, angry fingers digging into muscle and bone. The air was full of something new—a violence she hadn’t felt that last time. There was another element, too, as Isaiah drew close and the men held her for his perusal.
“Let her go,” he said before drawing closer. “You think he got away safe, your little gimp?” he whispered in her ear. Abby stiffened and opened her mouth to protest. “Samuel is back. Did you know that? We found him, and he was so happy to come home, because this is where he wants to be. It’s where hebelongs, Abigail. Who are you to take him away from God?”
“No,” she whispered, louder, harder, harsher. Pained breaths escaped her throat as the scissors came out, tips pointy enough to gouge her eyes. Instead, they cut open her dress and bared her back to these men. Oh, how they stared, soaking it all in, starving for this: her shame, her near nudity, her pain. Daniel, who’d watched her with lust for years, finally feasted his eyes on her. Even Benji, as he watched, lost that tiny bit of guilt she’d seen on his face.
Dry, racking sobs consumed her body as she tried to shake the men off.
Tried and failed. Again and again.
From somewhere by the door, someone retched. Carter, of course.
“Best cut the rest along the seams,” came Isaiah’s voice, calm and instructional as he ambled over to check the irons in the fire.
Waste not, want not. Always thinking of the good of the Church, isn’t he?
Abby almost laughed.
Until the brand hit her back. Then she screamed.
11
Just a few hours had passed since Luc let the kid take off with the neighbors. Less than a day since he and Abby had kissed in the barn.
As the hours slid by, sleep eluded Luc, and his worry increased.
He shouldn’t have let those men take Sammy back. He should have slammed the door, barricading the two of them inside, and called the authorities. He could just picture the standoff now. And where the hell was Abby? Were they holding her against her will? No. Of course not. He’d probably misunderstood the situation.
Or had he?
As morning dawned, he rolled out of bed, exhausted, and went right to work clearing the new field, halfway expecting her to appear over the crest of the mountain at any minute. By midmorning, it had started to snow, and he’d developed a crick in his neck from turning back to look at the fence line.
Maybe he’d head over there. Although that sounded like the worst idea. He’d never watched much TV, even in France, but he’d heard enough about cults to know things couldn’t end well. Like that Waco place in Texas where everything had been blown sky-high, or the Solar Temple people in Switzerland, all dead in a fiery inferno.
Jesus.What if she was already dead?
