Twenty-Four

My eyes faded in and out of focus as the finger took shape. A bloody, human finger. The stump was ragged, the tiniest bit of white bone showing through the mangled flesh. Fresh blood coated the satin bottom of the jewelry box, seeping into the white tissue paper it was cradled in, dying it red.

I gasped and dropped the box. The finger rolled out, sliding across the floor, leaving a thin trail of blood behind. I pulled a hand to my mouth in an attempt to keep the contents of my stomach from spewing out.

“Whose finger is that?” I choked out.

Elijah chuckled. “You don’t honestly need me to answer that, do you?” His tone was so even, so balanced, that he sounded more like the manager of a Taco Bell than the psychopath I knew he was. “You’re obviously a smart girl. You’ve managed to convince my son to do your bidding and allowed him to take a beating that was rightfully yours.”

“She didn’t do anything,” Joseph interrupted. He wedged his body between me and his father. There was barely an inch of space between us, but Joseph took up every bit of it, pressing me into his back, protecting me. “She has nothing to do with me leaving. Nothing to do with me or Mom or Aunt Mary. You leave her out of this.”

“Don’t patronize me, Joseph. I know exactly what you’ve been doing, both of you.”

I peered around Joseph’s shoulder, forcing myself to look down at the finger. What had he meant by “you don’t need me to answer that”? I squinted, suddenly realizing there was a mark on the finger I hadn’t seen when it was in the box. A tiny black mark. A tattoo.

I inhaled sharply, staring at it. The barest hint of ink took shape, the black marks stroking downward three times. I inched closer, tears streaming down my face as the tiny Roman numeral three came into view.

“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I shrieked.

I wracked my brain, tried frantically to remember if the ink on Luke’s tattoo was that dark, if the lines were that narrow. I could see his hands clear as day—the calloused palms and the cracked knuckles from playing ball in the cold. I could trace every seam of his fingers and knew that the pinky on his left hand was bent at the tip, broken courtesy of an offensive guard two seasons ago. And the middle finger on his left hand … that one was inked with a tattoo.

“This is … this is Luke’s?” I was barely able to get the words out. Spots flashed before my eyes as I fought to breathe.

A twisted smirk spread across Elijah’s face. He was happy, enjoying every second of my agony. All this time I’d thought Luke and Mike were tucked safely away in that shack, and now I knew the truth. He’d found them, tortured them, and that knowledge was splintering me into a thousand different pieces all at once.

“What did you do?” I scrambled out from behind Joseph and hurled myself at Elijah, tearing into him like I was possessed.

Elijah stumbled backward, stunned, and I lunged at him again, intent on getting my nails into the soft spot on his neck, into his jugular. I was going to kill him. Screw saving Eden. I was going to kill Elijah Hawkins here and now, and then I was going to walk out of here.

“I warned you!” Elijah yelled as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me off him. He yanked my head back so that I was looking at him. His breath was hot as he pressed his face next to mine, his mouth touching my ear. “I told you to do exactly as I said. When you disobey me, there are consequences.”

His voice lowered as his disgusting, sour breath poured out over me. He kicked Luke’s finger closer to me, forcing me to look at it. “We don’t desecrate our bodies here. They are our temples, and this mark, this disfigurement, was a sin. It had to be removed or he had no chance of salvation. Trust me, he will thank me for this one day. Both of you will.”

My mind flashed frantically to Luke’s initials inked on my tailbone. I’d gotten that tattoo four months ago when we were drunk and feeling invincible. We’d driven two hours to Canada and ended up in some sketchy tattoo parlor that didn’t think twice about verifying our fake IDs. Luke held my hand as the needle dug into my skin again and again, branding us as belonging to each other. Exactly how did Elijah plan on getting rid of that?

I clawed at Elijah with both hands, tried to fend him off despite his hand fisted in my hair. In one swift motion, he released his hold on me and gave me a hard shove. I landed on the floor, my elbow breaking my fall.

Joseph ran for me, my name —my real name—tumbling from his lips. Elijah hauled off and slapped him, sending Joseph stumbling backward, away from me.

“Stay out of this, Joseph,” he ordered, then crouched down next to me, his lips inches from mine as he jerked my chin up, forcing me to hear, to digest, each word he said. “You listen carefully, because I will not remind you again. You will not cross me. You will not disobey me, and you will not refuse me. If you do, I promise someone you love will suffer. At the end of the day, you will be safe and warm in my care. You will be guided by me. Your salvation will come through me. It is that boy who will pay. Have I made myself clear?”

When I didn’t answer, he shook me hard. “I asked you a question, Rebekah. I expect an answer.”

Joseph crawled up next to me, his hand cradling the side of his face. “Stop it!”

“Or what, Joseph?” The veins in Elijah’s forehead pulsed as he dared his son to do anything but back down. “You want to try something? Go ahead. Do it. But rest assured, I know all your weaknesses. I know exactly how to get you to do what I want.”

I’d been here less than a day, and even I could read be-tween Elijah’s twisted lines. He’d figured out why Joseph had come back, why he’d brought me back. Eden.

“Perhaps a little persuasion is needed where you are concerned as well,” Elijah said as he stood up. “You’re sister is young, Joseph. She has so much life ahead of her, a life that could be perfectly comfortable here. But that’s up to you.”

“Don’t you touch her,” Joseph growled, the panic he’d kept so well hidden flaming in his eyes. He looked helpless, and I found myself wondering how many beatings he’d taken for Eden, how many times he’d bared his own flesh to spare hers.

“Your aunt, your mother, even this girl here has paid the price for your indiscretions. Shall we make Eden pay as well? Because it will be your hands that bear her blood and your soul that is condemned, not mine. I don’t kill my followers. They choose their own fate, and in turn, their own punishment.”

I wanted nothing more than for Joseph to hit Elijah, to knock him on the ground and pummel him. But I knew he wouldn’t. He had at least fifty pounds on his father and was a good three inches taller, not to mention younger and stronger. There was nothing stopping him from knocking Elijah out right now, except for the threat to Eden.

Elijah smoothed out the wrinkles on the front of his shirt and shot a look of disgust in Joseph’s direction. “You’re lucky, son. This town has been run by our family for generations, and if you weren’t next in line to take over … ”

He paused and looked at me, his eyes carrying a promise that made my skin crawl. “Tread lightly, Joseph, because once this girl here gives me another son to fashion in my own likeness, I will have no need for you.” A smug smile crept across his face. “No wonder your boyfriend is so worried about you. You’re a very stupid girl.”

I swiped at the tears slipping down my cheeks, horrible images flickering in my mind. Luke tied up. Luke without a finger. Luke bleeding and worrying about me. Mike screaming for help. Joseph struggling to stand up straight as his father took a belt to his back. And me stuck here forever.

“Shut up!” I yelled.

Elijah chuckled once more as reached for the doorknob “This time I took one marred finger. Next time I’ll take his hand. Keep disobeying me, Rebekah, and soon I’ll have his life.”