Page 5 of Bloodmoon Ritual

The Enforcer’s head tilted, and I wondered if he vaguely recognized me, but couldn’t quite place me. It would have been six years since he’d seen me and I didn’t think I had a very memorable face.

“She’s tiny,” the other man said. “Probably wouldn’t even last through the Reaping.”

He had a long ferrety face and looked a bit like Abel, who had been a few years younger than me, just with a patchy beard now.

“She doesn’t have to last through the Reaping,” Eli said. “She’s just a whore. Sometimes it’s just easier not to have too many to take back with us.”

He put a hand on my sweatshirt and dragged me upright, lifting me so high off the ground that my feet were dangling in the air.

“I bet your asshole and cunt are nice and tight, aren’t they? Let’s go.”

In my position, I was forced to meet everyone in the coffee shop’s eyes.

Some looked frightened. Most look relieved.

One woman looked sympathetic.

No one tried to help me.

Because it would be suicide to try to go against a Congregant.

I didn’t even bother trying to kick and scratch at Eli. I knew how men in the Congregation were. It would be smarter to wait and see if I could find an opening to escape. I would haveonechance. Maybe no chance. But if I kicked this man and it pissed him off enough, I might get a clout upside the head for my pains and I’d be too disoriented to try to escape.

So I said nothing.

But I felt spikes of panic as he dragged me out, heading for the big truck that had just noisily parked beside the coffee shop. It had thick bars of iron and heavy chains around it, and I knew it was used to keep the women inside until they took them wherever the first night’s stop would be.

My brother hadn’t turned around yet.

What would he say when he turned around?

Had he forgotten about me?

What if being in the cities for six years meant he’d think I was nothing more than a worthless whore?

My stomach felt like I would be sick. Rhyder was terrifyingly, brutally pious. Would it be more painful if he gave me the punishment that I deserved, according to the Congregation? Or more painful if I saw that same look in his eyes? The one he always had when he looked at me?

The one that meant no matter what I did I wasn’t getting away from him.

Eli yanked the truck gate open, and was about to throw me inside, when Rhyder turned around, the leather in his jacket crinkling as his big body shifted.

Our eyes met.