I didn’t have to wait long.
The waitress appeared and set down our drinks, then Mitch ordered himself a lasagna and me a mushroom risotto.
I was grateful that he’d remembered I was vegetarian.
“So this cult,” he said when we were alone again. “The Way Forward, right?”
I nodded and took a sip of milk. It coated my top lip, and I retrieved a drip with my tongue, licking from left to right slowly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, a steamy haze flashing over them as he watched me.
A sense of power bloomed. I might be his little girl, but he wanted me, he wanted to fuck me, bad, I could tell.
And it had been a while for him…so he’d said.
I pressed my thighs together, a tremble setting up in my pussy. Mitch was different to my usual one-night stands. He was a man, a real man, with bulging muscles and a darkness that called to me for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Fucking him would be different.
I cleared my throat. “What do you want to know about The Way Forward?”
“They’re still going, aren’t they?”
I nodded and curled my hand around my glass of cold milk. “As far as I know. I don’t exactly stay in touch or seek them out in any way.”
“And growing in size?”
I shrugged. “I guess so, as that’s their aim.”
“And the leader, Nigel Strand, did he live in the…the…”
Ah, so hehadsearched for it online. Not that I had for a while. Out of sight, out of mind. That suited me.
I pulled in a breath and nodded. “Commune of Light, that’s what he called the camp, and yes, he did live there.” I suppressed a shudder. “The man had brainwashed my entire family, everyone I knew growing up adored him, treated him like the messiah, a prophet come to save the world. He preached that he had a direct line to God and was passing on His message. Really what he was doing was preying on the weak, and then when they were in his grip…he ate them, or at least their souls.” I grimaced at the memory of his fire and venom sermons—memories with sharp claws.
“Go on.” He sat back and folded his arms.
“He liked to give sermons, frantic, excitable sermons that riled up the crowd into hating the outside world and at the same time thanking the Lord they’d been chosen. He got into their blood like a fever. His words taught hearts to beat to a new tempo, and caused previously logical brains to rewire with short circuits and delusions.” I frowned. “Myself included for a long time. He’d convinced us all that creating lots of babies, children, a new generation ready for the second coming was the way forward. That these children would have the skills and the unshakable faith to offer God’s son a refuge upon his arrival on Earth and prevent him from being hauled onto a cross for a second time. There was even a room set up in preparation for him, as though he was just going to knock on the gate and walk in one day.” I shook my head. “It sounds crazy, but I believed it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he said. “You’d been told that was the case all of your life by adults. Children believe what they’re told, it’s a fact. There was nothing crazy about you or your beliefs, it was the grown-ups who had fallen for Strand’sideology, delusions, whatever you want to call them, who are responsible. They didn’t tell you the truth.”
“I guess.” I sat back as my food arrived. “Thank you.”
Mitch picked up his knife and fork and stabbed into his lasagna. A sliver of steam rose in front of his face. “And they didn’t give you a normal childhood from what you’ve told me about dormitories and shared clothes.”
“I don’t know what normal is, but I know it’s not that.” I picked at my creamy risotto; it was flavored with tarragon and teeming with oyster mushrooms. “And I know it’s not normal to let children bring up children.” I looked straight at him. “As soon as I was old enough, I was changing nappies and carrying toddlers on my hip because the adults were off populating the camp! We were literally left to our own devices. Just waiting to be old enough to have our own children.”
“No, that’s not normal.” His jaw tensed, and his shoulder lifted.
I noticed his right hand tighten on his knife.
“It’s a kind of child abuse,” he said.
I nodded and carried on eating. My eyes prickled, but I blinked and willed myself not to cry.
“Bastards,” he muttered with a sneer.
His sudden flash of anger was electric. I could practically feel it fizzing off him. I took another sip of milk. He did the same with his lager then blew out a breath and shoved in a mouthful of food. When he’d swallowed, some of the tension had gone from his shoulders. “What’s your twin called?”
