The stranger clenches his jaw. “Believe me, miss, I’m well aware of your husband’saccomplishments.”
My brow furrows at his tone. I don’t know who he is, but there’s clearly something different about him, something that makesmy brain screamdanger.I hike up my dress and set down my glass. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I turn to leave, but the stranger grabs my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I’m mesmerized by the feeling of his thumb brushing softly over the back of my hand. My eyes dart back and forth between his, searching, before I look over my shoulder again, this time to find Gabriel’s eyes on me, burning bright with anger. I yank my hand out of the stranger’s grasp with haste and stutter an excuse. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t.”
I push my way through the hoard of guests, the alcohol in my veins making my movements sluggish and clumsy. I look over my shoulder again to find Gabriel stalking after me, his face dark with rage. He catches up to me in the corner of the room, grabbing my elbow hard enough to leave a bruise and pushing me against the wall with his body. His breath is hot on my face, and I wonder how many drinks he’s had tonight. “What the fuck were you doing?”
“I was just grabbing a glass of champagne—”
“Who were you speaking to?” Gabriel towers over me, forcing me to shrink further into the wall.
I go to turn my head to look for the stranger again, but Gabriel grabs my cheeks with his hand. “I don’t know,” I answer, my words slurred from the position they’re forced into.
“Why was he touching you?” Spit from his mouth lands on my cheek, but I can’t recoil.
“I—”
He doesn’t let me respond, only slams my head into the wall, hard enough that black spots pepper my vision for a moment.
“No one touches what’s mine.”
The alcohol must be making me overly emotional because tears slide down my cheeks and my chin wobbles. “I’m sorry!”
Gabriel releases me and stomps off, not even sparing me a backwards glance. I wrap my arms around my shaking form and stumble out of the room, utterly humiliated.
Maverick
Present Day
“Females are to keep their eyes downcast in the presence of a man. She may only speak when spoken to.”—EXPECTATIONS FOR FEMALE BEHAVIOR, N.A.L. 6 § 11
My fists clench so hard my knuckles pop. He’s got her backed into the fucking corner, screaming in her face as she shakes with terror. It takes everything in menotto interfere, knowing it could jeopardize the entire operation.
We’ve been planning this for months; one wrong move and it could all fall apart. I slink away, but not before I notice him slam her head into the wall.
Motherfucker.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gone undercover at one of these events, and every time it makes me sick to my stomach to see how the men treat women here, howhe’streating his wife.
“Mav.” The small, undetectable radio in my ear crackles to life.
I exhale through my nose, reminding myself why I’m here.
“Mav, it’s now or never,” the voice in my ear says again, and I grunt in confirmation, forcing myself to move into position.
The purpose of tonight’s mission is twofold. Firstly, to infiltrate the Brotherhood’s internal network and download as much information as possible. And secondly, to rescue as many women as we can, the latter of which being the most important. We’ve taken in countless runaways over the years, but up until this point, we’ve never attempted to extract anyone from within the Brotherhood’s borders. It’s risky, but we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to deal such a devastating, multifaceted blow.
The men here have always been arrogant, but they’ve grown lazy, believing they’re invincible—which makes what we’re about to accomplish that much more satisfying.
“I’m almost there,” I respond, knowing I should’ve been in position a while ago. I don’t bother explaining why I’m running late, that I was unable to tear my eyes away from the woman in the black dress, unable to stop myself from approaching Lord Gabriel’s wife. Admittedly,nota part of the plan.
It’s not like I haven’t seen these kinds of women before. The Brotherhood trains wives to be meek and subservient, submissive in every way. The ones that are lucky enough to become wives are just glorified sex slaves, a step above theactualsex slaves and other servants.
But something about this woman in particular caught my eye, aside from her obvious beauty. She’s young, probably in her earlytwenties, keeps her head down like all the other wives. But deep beneath the surface, behind the facade of the woman they’ve trained her to be, there’s a fire begging to be let out. I saw it in her eyes when I asked her to dance—a spark, a glimmer of the woman she could be, the woman she never got the chance to be. So much has been stolen from her—from all of them—and she doesn’t even realize it.
Wives aren’t usually high up on our priority list to get out, but I can make an exception. If all else goes according to plan, I should have enough time to get to her and bring her with me, to give her a chance at a better life.To give her freedom.
