Chapter 30

Tori Townsend

Whatever I'm lying on when the world starts to fade back into existence is not as soft as it should be. Situated on my side, I can feel the springs dig into my ribs. This mattress was designed to be uncomfortable, or it's just that old, and I groan as I shift around a little to try and relieve some of the ache in my side.

I remember everything: the rain, the blur of an orange raincoat, the bag over my head. Kent. He took me from my shop, and before he peeled out of the parking lot, he jabbed my arm with a needle.

Anything after that? I don't remember.

My head swims with emotions I can't quite touch because of the lasting effects of whatever drug he gave me. I have yet to open my eyes, however. I know that wherever he took me, I'm now a prisoner, and I don't want to see what my conditions will be.

My surroundings smell like mildew and the musty stench of damp stone. Somewhere outside, I hear a rooster and clucking chickens, and above me, I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet racing around the floor. But it's when I hear whispers that my eyes slowly slide open because they're whispers of women, women muttering in fear.

"Tori?" a slightly familiar voice whispers to me.

Still resting on the mattress, I swivel my head toward the voice and find Susan next to me. I don't know what I expected. Bars maybe? Cages? Padded rooms? I knew the Lillian's women wouldn't be free to roam around. What I didn't expect was for none of those things to be true.

My gaze moves to Susan. Her slim face is dirty, and her red hair is a ratted mess. Beneath her rests her own mattress. It's soiled and stained, and the blanket she must be allowed is draped over her chest and around her arms.

She rests against a stone wall, and embedded in it is a chain that reaches to her legs and cuffs around her ankle.

I hear more murmurs and squint into the dimness to find two more women on the opposite wall. Their eyes are wide, and their blankets are swathed around their swollen, pregnant bellies.

This time, the fear does seep through the lasting effects of the drugs. Reality strikes true, and when it does, I sit up. My ankle veers in the opposite direction as my own chain tugs against my movements. "No," I whisper, wrapping my hand around the chain and giving it a yank. "No, this can't be happening."

Wildly, I search my surroundings. By the stone walls and the egress windows, I can tell that we're in a basement, and by the sounds of the outdoors, we're on a farm in god knows where.

My heartbeat slams against my ribs. The woman I hit comes fully to the front, the missing teeth, the burned-off fingerprints. It hits me then why the Lillian did that – to hide their identity if we were to escape. But a quick check of myself makes me calm just a smidge because my fingertips aren't burnt and my teeth are still there.

Despite that little fact of being unharmed, I scramble to my feet because I spot a window right next to me. My head is fuzzy, and I sway before I catch my balance on the stone. It scrapes my palm a little, but I don't truly notice as I shuffle my way to the window. The window is small, and even if I were to break free of my chain, I'd never fit through it.

Even though the pane is slightly dirty, I take in the outdoors. Chickens of all colors roam freely, and there are a few trees, a shed, and a barn, but in the distance, I can see the mountains underneath the darkness of the rain clouds.

I squint as I try to take in what's between me and the mountain. I can barely make out a main road and the red car that drives on it. It passes by white blobs, and I gasp as I come to realize what, exactly, those white blobs are.

"The field of lilies," I whisper as I splay my hand across the dirty glass. How fucking fitting that the Lillian lives next to a patch of lilies.

"What?" Susan whispers back.

We both look up as children giggle from above, the Lillian's children. These women's children. I swallow thickly and return my gaze to hers. "We aren't far from town."

That gives me hope where, in a place like this, hope doesn't exist. At least, not for these women, but if we're this close, we shouldn't be so hard to find.

That is… if anyone is looking for us. For me.

They hadn't been able to find where the woman I hit came from. Even if they saw the cameras, they wouldn't know where to look for me.

Tears threaten to prick my eyes as I succumb to my fate. I head back to my mattress, slump down on the springs, and bury my face in my hands. I'm going to end up just like these women, pregnant against my will, a prisoner, pumping out children for a sick and twisted man.

Chains rattle before a hand comes to rest on my knee. "It'll be okay," Susan says, though I don't hear the honesty in her tone. I can see the healing burn marks on her fingertips and hear the slur of her words because of missing teeth, and I want to shout at her that it won't be. "We get fed, and most of the time, we're left alone."

I drop my hands to my thighs and turn to glare at her. "Nothing about this is going to be okay. Nothing, Susan."

She gives me a sympathetic look, one that tells me everything she isn't saying: I have no choice but to endure what comes next.

Fresh tears prick and spill down my cheeks. Children terrify me. Being taken against my will terrifies me. Never being found again terrifies me. And yet, there's absolutely nothing I can do. My choices had been stripped of me the moment I was thrown into the van. No. The moment I received the lily, the moment I knew I was being hunted like a deer in Open Season.

"Oh, god," I sob.

She squeezes my knee, and it does nothing to comfort me. I cry for a while, letting the tears flow because everything – my entire life – is now over, and everything from here on out won't be my choice. I'll be violated in the most unspeakable ways, and the thought makes me gag a few times.

When my cheeks are raw and my eyes are puffy, I peer at my palms as I ask Susan, "How long have they been here?"

She blows out a breath and glances at the other two. It's then that I notice the brand on her wrist. "They came from Vermont with him and his kids. There used to be three but one . . ." she trails off and glances at me knowingly.

"Died," I murmur.

"Yeah," she sighs out. Her lips twitch like she doesn't want to say what she plans to next, but then she blurts quietly, "He usually only ever has three women. Or so they told me when you got dragged down here. I was to replace the third. But you?"

I wipe my cheeks and turn a frown to her. "Why me?"

"I don't know," she breathes so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. "Did you do something to earn his attention?"

I shake my head. "I don't even know what he looks like."

She opens her mouth to say something, but a door opens and floods a light on the stairs I hadn't seen until now. Footsteps follow until they come into sight clad in men's tennis shoes, then a pair of legs, then a torso with a plaid button-up. Another set of adult feet follows behind the first man.

When the first man comes into view, all the air is sucked from my lungs. He strides right for me with those puppy dog eyes, the ones I thought were harmless. The ones I didn't know belonged to a predator.

"Hi, Tori," Josiah says clear as day, breaking through what was once a quiet, dooming conversation. It's almost too loud for my ears, too loud for the space.

The women on the other wall cower, but Susan remains strong by my side, squeezing my thigh to keep me in reality when all I want to do is pretend that none of this exists.

"I don't understand," I say, my throat clogged with disbelief that someone I'd grown to care about is right before me, bending at the knees to be eye level with me.

I look behind him to find the second man standing somewhat in the shadows. Even though it's darker where he hovers, I can see the scars across his face. Fresh scars that are still puffy, and I know then and there that this is the man that Killian tortured. It has to be.

I can see Josiah in him. They have the same curly hair and the same thickness. Their eyes are different though. Where Josiah's is calm and collected, this man's eyes are wild. Unsure.

In his arms, he holds a toddler. The toddler, with curly hair and pudgy cheeks, watches on silently.

He reaches and taps my chin, and I veer away in disgust. "Ask your questions, and I'll give you answers."

"So freely?" I hiss.

He shrugs. "It's not like you have anyone to tell. Besides, I keep my girls informed."

Realization dawns on me. His big family. His father I've never seen – the guy Killian tortured who knew that he was working with someone. "You're him," I gasp. "You're the Lillian. These are your kids." I point to the ceiling in emphasis then look past him to the toddler who watches me.

His smile pulls me back to him. It's sweet, nothing telling to the snake behind it. "You came to that conclusion faster than I thought you would. Killian must have been telling you stories."

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's why you don't like Killian, isn't it? You knew who he was, what he'd done to your father." I took a guess that the man behind him was his dad, but by the way his smile twitches, I know that I'm right. "You killed his family!"

"My father is a good man. He didn't deserve what Killian did to him. What kind of son would I be if he didn't pay for his actions?"

I laugh without humor. "Your father is a man who kidnaps helpless women so that his son can rape them and build the perfect family."

Josiah shrugs again. "None of those things are wrong, but you make it sound so dirty."

"That's because it is," I spit. "Is that what you plan to do with me, Josiah? Hmm? Force yourself on me and make me carry your baby?"

He reaches to touch my face again, but this time, I move before the contact. "You're the most impure woman I've met who's absolutely captured my attention. But I can change that for you, your purity. In the eyes of God, you'll be pure again once we're united."

"You mean once you've raped me. Doesn't sound so damn pure now, does it?"

"You're upset," he observes out loud.

"Damn right I am. Let me go!"

"That'd be a shame to do since Pastor Kent went through all that trouble to help me get you here."

A tear forces its way out my right eye and trails a hot path down to my mouth where I taste the salt. "He's a bastard. You're all bastards!"

"Now, that's not fair. Just because he doesn't like you, it doesn't mean he doesn't want to save you."

I snarl at him. "What a coincidence that two creeps met each other in such a small town."

"Oh no," he begins with a shake of his head. "We didn't meet here. We met in New York when my father and I visited his church. We moved out here shortly after him, a few weeks ago."

"What? You mean when you chased that woman trying to escape? The woman I killed? Were you what? Moving them?"

He nods with surprised eyes. "That was my father, but I didn't know it was you who killed her at the time. She was my favorite you know… until you came along. I'm sure you'll make just as pretty babies."

"You are fucking sick." I spit in his face.

He doesn't move to wipe it away. "Did you at least like my lily?"

I lean to spit on his face again, but he moves out of the way just in time for it to sail over his shoulder. "Was that you or Kent?"

He waves a hand around the space between us dismissively, and as he finally wipes my spit from his cheek and sticks it in his mouth to suckle on, he eventually says, "Pastor Kent doesn't do my dirty work, Tori. He just helps me move the women since my father can't do it anymore. Not with a face like his, not after what your little boyfriend did to him."

I rake my hands down my face, wiping my eyes while disbelieving but knowing everything he said isn't a lie. "You were in my house." I don't know what's worse – him or Kent.

"I was. Even though I wanted to snoop, I didn't stay long. I thought you might appreciate that." He stands up and heads to the wall with no women chained to it against their will. A shelf stands there meant for canned goods, and on the shelf are things I cannot identify.

"What are you doing?" I demand with a shaky voice. I look to the father, but he just watches on with those same manic eyes. "Please. Please make him let me go."

"He won't listen to you," Josiah says with his back still turned toward me. "My father loves me. He gives me what I want most. He knows my work is for our Lord, and he plans to stay the course."

"What now?" I shout. "Hmm? What happens now?"

He turns back toward me, and through the light of the upstairs, I see a syringe in his hand. He heads back toward me. "Now, I brand you, but I assume you don't want to be awake for me to mark you as mine."

"Fuck. Off," I bite out as I scramble further backward. My spine hits the wall at the same time he reaches me. I grab onto Susan's arm and start to beg her. "Please! Please don't let him do this to me!"

"I'm sorry, Tori," she sobs out. "I can't–"

"Please!"

"While you're out," he says above my pleas, "I'll check to see where you're at in your cycle. If you're ovulating, we'll begin."

"Please! Please, Susan!"

And then he grabs my hair roughly, yanks my head to the side, and jabs the needle into my neck.