Page 120 of At Her Will

“He’s not that gentle.” Vera refused to look away from Tisha’s flat eyes. “He won’t forgive you for harming me.”

Her lips tightened. “He’ll never know. Unless you want more of this, you’ll tell him you don’t want to see him anymore, because you’re tired of him. Because you’re done playing your sick games with him. He’ll return to us, where he belongs.”

Tisha drew Vera’s gaze toward the deep, fast running creek, and the mill wheel attached to a larger building, the original mill, she assumed. “The wheel still works,” Tisha told her. “We run water through the chute to make it turn for the children, for youth events. It sticks sometimes, but Rev is so handy. He always gets it started up again.” Her eyes held Vera’s. “But he’s not here right now, is he?”

She turned to Witford. “Tie her to the wheel.”

“What?” In that moment, she saw that Witford hadn’t been prepared to take this beyond the threat. Whereas Tisha had planned for it.

“She has to know we won’t stand for her evil. That we’ll stand up to it, that if she persists in trying to corrupt Rev, we won’t back down.”

“Mother…”

“Witford, I’m not evil.” Vera spoke over them both. “You know that. I love Rev. I’m in love with your cousin and he is in love with me. Evil doesn’t love.”

Simon grabbed her by the throat and tightened his grip, cutting off her air and making her choke. When her eyes rolled toward him, he gave her a humorless smile. “Keep mouthing off, witch.”

“Simon, ease up,” Witford ordered. Simon did, but not before Vera was seeing spots.

Simon didn’t want to torture her. Or maybe he did, but he wanted a different end result than Witford.

He wanted her dead.

And she knew Tisha did, too.

Tisha was clutching Witford’s shirt. She gave him a sharp shake. “Look at her. She knows what to say to get in a man’s head. Do you want to lose everything we’ve gained because we don’t obey the Lord’s Will in this?”

Witford stared down at her.

“We just need to convince her we mean what we say,” Tisha coaxed him, her voice softening, even though Vera was sure the glittering hate in her eyes didn’t. “That we’ll stand against any evil that tries to poison our church. We need to send the serpent crawling back under its rock.”

Witford’s mouth set in a thin line, and he raised his eyes to Vera. The corruption in his soul meant that what he had the power to do to her, with her so helpless and at his mercy, was starting to grip him. Giving him the twisted shot of adrenaline that corruption craved.

“No.” She tried to counter that feeling by making the word strong and defiant. But a wavering note had crept into it, coming from that place inside that knew when it was up against forces so unimaginably terrible.

If you can’t find hope, use hate.

Holy Mother, another Cyn-icism, as Skye liked to call those pearls of wisdom.

“You’re a coward,” Vera snarled at him. “And you know this is wrong. Rev knows your soul is in trouble, Witford. Don’t prove him right.”

Simon hit her in the mouth this time, breaking one of her teeth and sending her to her knees. He gave her a kick that sent her rolling. “Don’t talk to the preacher like that, witch. You pray for your soul. That’s all you got left.”

Then he jerked her up by the elbow, so violently she was afraid he’d dislocated her shoulder. “Tyson,” he snapped. “Get in here and help me.”

Did Witford miss that they hadn’t asked him for permission, that Simon had decided to run with Tisha’s desires instead?

As they took her toward that wheel, Vera struggled and screamed, but every defensive move she had was thwarted. Her wrists were bound to one of the wheel slats with rope, Tyson holding her waist as Simon did that. Then they shoved her intothe water, her weight pulling against her shoulders. Cold and slimy, dark. Tyson adjusted the manual crank, turning the wheel backwards to lift her out.

As Simon leaned out to bind her ankles to a lower slat, she kicked him in the face. With an oath, he punched her in the stomach. Her breath wheezed out of her. He tied the ankles so tight she’d lose her feet if they were left that way.

Her body was curved over the wheel, the rough edges digging into her shoulders, back and hips.

They had a rack at Club Progeny, with padding and protective measures. Being put on it was exciting and pleasurable for the submissive, with only the amount of fear and pain they wanted from it.

This was not that.

Triumph and darkness gripped Tisha’s round face. If Vera died, Rev’s aunt would convince herself it was God’s will. In a saner moment she wouldn’t be able to face the reality of what she’d done. Or why.

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