CHAPTER EIGHT Luke

Iremained curled up on bales of hay, with my jeans at my ankles, staring into the dim interior of the barn's loft. Small particles of dust and debris floated in the streaks of sunlight that made their way through the aging walls of the building. I numbly stared at the dust as I began to put myself back together again emotionally. Franklin had exhausted his needs and left me to get back to whatever else he did in his day.

I hated my weakness. The constant threat of abuse from a man who claimed to be a vessel of God was overwhelming. Was I the only one suffering at our leader's hands or were others silently struggling as well? How long would he be wielding his power over me? I had many questions and miserably played them over in my mind after each experience. What Franklin did couldn't be normal, yet he was the person God had appointed to lead our family of worshipers.

Standing up, I winced with pain from his brutal attack. I was a physically strong person, but I didn't feel like a match for a man of Franklin's size. I wasn't a small man by any means, but he was at least four inches taller than me and had a minimum of another hundred-plus pounds on him. When I struggled to get away, he simply overpowered me. When I'd grown bigger and stronger, the ropes were introduced.

And, of course, there was the fear of retaliation. Retaliation he'd already inflicted on my family many times. Franklin was the end-all of power in our community. Unfortunately, there was nothing I'd ever be able to do to stop him.

The abuse had begun the same year my father died. I was thirteen. Once my father was out of the picture, Franklin was emboldened to begin his assaults on me. The confusion of losing my father, and the attention that Franklin began giving me, played tricks on my emotional vulnerability.

I craved the love of a father figure and Franklin had said he would fill that role for me and my younger brother, David. What he'd failed to say was that his intentions for the role were far more sinister and he enjoyed being cruel.

"I want you to remove your clothing, Luke," Franklin said the first time. "I need to examine your body for purity."

"I was told never to reveal my body to anyone but my intended mate," I answered, glancing around the loft in fear. I wanted to run from him but knew I had to obey any demand he made.

"That is correct, son, but I am God's chosen person to keep you chaste and pure," he began. "Only I have the authority to examine your body besides God."

"I'm not sure, sir," I pleaded. "I've never been without clothes in front of anyone."

"You can trust me, Luke. Now do as I say," he urged, crossing his arms impatiently.

Franklin moved closer to me, his sheer size intimidating me enough to begin unbuttoning my shirt. I hesitated after laying the single piece of clothing on a stack of bales beside me. Franklin ran his fat tongue across his upper lip and fixed his gaze on my developing chest.

"You're filling out, boy," he growled. "Yet still so smooth."

His hand ran across my chest, pausing over one of my nipples. I wanted to throw up. "I'm cold," I said, stepping back. He stepped forward. "Does everything look okay, sir? Can I get dressed now?"

"Remove all of your clothes, Luke."

"But…" I whispered.

His hand encircled my throat, his fingers lightly caressing the sides of my neck. The sensation was delicate, but his strength was obvious and I sensed he could end my life if he'd wanted to.

"All of your clothes," he repeated, his eyes darting across my bare chest, his breathing elevated. "Now, Luke." My fingers were unable to undo my belt as I struggled through the panic, so he grabbed the buckle and pulled me to him, unbuckling my belt. "Now take off your pants."

I fought to back away, but he had his hands firmly on my hips as I attempted to push my pants down. Franklin was big and terrified me to the point I feared I would pee myself. Once past his hands and my lean hips, the jeans fell to my ankles, revealing the holy white undergarment we were required to wear.

He moved a step backward and watched my hand move to the waistband of my underwear. I couldn't bring myself to remove them in front of him. "Can you examine me like this?" I asked.

He slowly shook his head while he fixated on my body. I'd never seen Franklin look so scary. His eyes were locked onto my hands as he waited. "Pull them down," he ordered. "Trust me, boy. You do not want me to remove them."

He was right; I didn't want him to remove my underwear. His tone had changed to gruff and threatening, and he had a vacant stare in his eyes. To me, he looked possessed. "Yes, sir," I said hoarsely.

Franklin watched emotionlessly as I tugged my holy garment past my hips, and they, like my jeans, fell to my ankles.

"So," he began. "You are becoming a man. Turn around, boy."

I did as instructed and stared at the interior wall of the loft, noting the small cracks of sunlight sneaking through the wooden walls. The day was sunny and quiet. I could almost imagine the beauty beyond those walls. Almost.

I fumbled with my clothes while attempting to dress, the usual nauseous feeling setting up shop in my gut. I ran a finger between my legs to determine if I'd bled this time. I hadn't. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Oddly, a vision of the fancy-dressed stranger entered my thoughts. I wondered if he did these bad things to people. As thoroughly disgusted as I was about Franklin and his behavior, I imagined being touched by the man who called himself Tate. I wondered if I was a bad person for having such thoughts, while at the same time, doubting that a man like Tate would ever engage in such behavior. But still, even after all the abuse, I imagined lying beside the elegant man with no clothes on.

As quickly as the thought entered my brain, I shut my eyes and forced myself to purge such images from my head. I would definitely need to pray for guidance for myself, as well as forgiveness for Franklin. He was imperfect, but weren't all of God's children?

As I stood and gathered my thoughts, an image of the handsome stranger once again returned, filling me with a very uncomfortable feeling of desire.

"Pray extra hard, Luke," I whispered.

And then the other image that horrified me daily filled my mind. An image of my younger brother being abused by Franklin. That could not happen, and it would be up to me to prevent David suffering the same fate. But what could I do?

You could kill him.