Page 37 of The Preacher's Pet

I can’t, I realize. She has to go. But how am I going to make her leave, and, if the other two want to keep her around, will me wanting her to leave break us apart?

Is there something I can find out about her that will stop Cain and Malachi from obsessing over her?

Cain said she’d gone missing when she was young. Where had she been all that time? I assume the answer has something to do with the way she dresses and acts. She seems so innocent. Is she? How innocent? Is she a virgin?

Fuck. The possibility jumps into my head and makes me even harder. An untouched pussy. Has she even had a man’s finger inside her? Has she had one of her own?

I groan and drop to my haunches, covering my face with my hands.

Maybe the reason behind me wanting Ophelia to leave isn’t because I’m trying to save the others, but because I’m trying to save myself?

My head is spinning, trying to figure out the best path to take. I have both Cain and Malachi’s hair, so I could try to change their ways by imploring the gods. That would be a betrayal of its own kind, though, and I don’t think they’d forgive me if they knew I’d tried to manipulate their behavior in such a way.

There is another option, of course. I could go directly to the problem.

I could speak to Ophelia.

It hadn’t worked the first time I’d spoken to her in the cafeteria, but perhaps I’d gone about things the wrong way.

Is it possible she might understand what I’m asking of her? What if I bare my soul? Explain to her we’re trying to do something important here, and having the other two distracted won’t work?

It might work, or it might make her angry at me. Maybe she’d go and tell Cain. He is protective of her; I saw it the moment he laid eyes on her for the first time. Jesus, Malachi is playing with fire.

How will Cain react to the information that Malachi kissed Ophelia? Has the news gotten back to him yet, or…was Saint right, and the two of them have been screwing with her behind my back? It would explain why there have been no fireworks from Cain.

My grip tightens around the knife. Then a small smile tugs at my mouth because there’s one way for me to find out for sure. Cain won’t be able to hide his anger at what Mal’s done if he truly didn’t know. If I tell him, and he’s as protective as I believe, he’s going to want Mal’s head on a spike, which means Mal will have to face Cain and me together.

Christ, there are so many ways all of this can backfire.

This girl really could be the end of us.

20

OPHELIA

I’ve been deliberately tryingto avoid both Malachi and Cain.

I can’t get the image of that room in the tower out of my head. That dream I’d had about the Preachers, of being sandwiched between the two of them, while their friend stood by and watched, has been haunting me, too. Every time I think of it, heat tingles between my thighs, my clit pulsing, and I find myself squeezing my legs together, a part of me willing the sensation away, while the other part wants to explore it further.

I’m battling the guilt as well. I can tell myself I’ve done nothing wrong, but the truth is that I kissed Malachi first. I initiated this. I’d wanted to kiss him again, too, and I would have, if I hadn’t found that strange little room. I’ve also still got his leather jacket in my closest, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to give it back. Every so often, I open the closet door, lean in, and press my face against it, inhaling the scent of leather and his cologne.

Ever since kissing Malachi, then having that dream, it’s taken all my mental strength to fight off the voice of the man who took me. He’s in my head so often now, telling me how I’ve sinned for kissing a man, and how I’ll burn for all of eternity. I tell myselfit’s not real and it’s not true, but that doesn’t stop the words from echoing over and over in my head.

I sit through the classes on my schedule, but I can barely follow along. My parents hired a tutor for me when I came home, to try to bring me up to speed on where I should be with my education, but I’m still so far behind. At the commune, we weren’t taught most of the subjects. We were taught how to be faithful wives and mothers, how to make a home and mend clothes and cook a good meal. Ironically, I discovered some of those options available on the curriculum for the girls here, too, though they’re disguised by other names—nutrition and wellness, and interior design. It doesn’t escape my notice how only the girls are encouraged to take these classes, and it makes me wonder how different this world is from the one I escaped from.

My thoughts drift back there and to all the people I left behind. I know my name won’t ever be mentioned there, not even in passing. When others disappeared from the commune, there was a strict ban on ever mentioning them again. It was as though they no longer existed. Sometimes it was the men who went missing—husbands and fathers—and the missing men’s families were simply handed over to another man and forced to act as though their husband or father had never been in their lives. It was a special kind of cruelty, but cruelty was the norm in that place.

My hand instinctively lifts to my scar, my fingers tracing its ridges and seams. Yes, they knew all about cruelty.

I’ve got an hour until my next class. I’m tempted to hide away in my room, but the weather is lovely, and my therapist said being outdoors, in the fresh air and sunlight, is good for my mental health.

I bump into Camile as I navigate the hallways.

“Hey, how did it go the other night?” she asks.

My cheeks flush with heat at the memory.

She arches an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

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