Three knocks. A pause. Then the lock thunks. This…is new. If Zeke thinks knocking is going to change my attitude, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Shit!” I leap up as Joshua’s bulk fills the entire doorframe.
“Blessed Day, Nova.”
“Enough with this ‘blessed day’ crap. And don’t call me Nova. You know that’s not my name,” I snap. “I’m Grace Sto?—”
His hand clamps around my arm, his grip unbreakable as he drags me into the hall. “Prophet says you’re going to the box.”
“The b-box? What’s the box?” I try to resist, digging my heels into the rough wood, but it earns me nothing but splinters. “Please, Joshua. Don’t do this.”
“It’s Brother Joshua,” he grits out. “And Prophet knows what’s best for you.”
Where is the sweet, awkward kid from my painting class? The one who blushed when I praised his technique? Who laughed nervously when I asked about Ruth, the fiancée he said he couldn’t live without?
Now, all I see is a zealot.
I sweep the hall with my gaze, searching for anything—an open door, a shadow I can dart toward—but Joshua locks my wrists together in one of his big hands. He drags me down the stairs like I weigh nothing at all.
“Did you get married, Joshua? Her name was Ruth, right?” My voice shakes, but I keep pushing. I have to find the boy I knew in my class—the one buried under all this fanaticism.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink.
Women are forbidden to speak unless spoken to.
“Brother Joshua,” I try again, softer this time. “I know I’m not supposed to talk, but…please. Just one question? I know the rules. I’m just…scared.”
He halts in the living room—so sparsely furnished, it feels like it belongs in a prison. Just two sagging couches, a fireplace, and a pile of board games stacked in the corner like an afterthought.
“What is it, Nova?”
“Did you get married?”
His eyes brighten, his whole face softening for a heartbeat. “Yes. Ruth is helping the other wives cook supper now. She loves it here.”
I swallow against the bile rising in my throat. “Brother Joshua, I have a husband. We’ve been married for fifteen years. He’s probably out of his mind looking for me. You love Ruth, don’t you?”
“She’s perfect,” he says, almost dreamily.
“If she went missing, what would you do to get her back?”
“Anything. I’d die for her.”
The flicker of humanity breaks me open. “Then please. Call the Austin field office for the Texas Rangers. Ask for AJ Stone. Tell him where I am. He’ll protect you and Ruth. He’ll keep you safe from your father.”
Joshua’s entire body goes rigid, and the brief spark of humanity fades into pure evil. He jerks me forward so violently I stumble and nearly crash into him. “You’ll address him as Prophet. And when I tell him you tried to turn me against him, he’ll double your time in the box.”
“Brother Joshua?—”
“You will not speak to me again!” His shout hurts every bit as much as his father’s blows.
He wrenches me through another door and into the sunlight. It sears my eyes after two—or is it three?—days locked in that dimly lit room. The ground is rough, sharp pebbles slicing my bare feet with every step.
The pain is nothing compared to the terror of what could be coming next. Zeke was already willing to hit me for the smallest infraction and starve me without a second thought.
Why didn’t I read more of that fucking book? Maybe then I’d know what this box is.
It’s so hot, sweat slicks my skin. Whispers from all around us raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
