Page 14 of Stolen By the Hit Man
I nod.
“It’s not legal.”
While I think on this a moment, he begins rifling through desk drawers, looking for something. “I shouldn’t have made you interested in me. I haven’t yet learned how to control my feminine wiles.”
Should I be insulted that he’s laughing again?
“You didn’t do anything,” Joaquin says. “Who fills your head with this horse shit?”
My chin trembles as I find the words. “Men can’t control themselves. Women are temptresses, and we have to be always on our guard.”
“Says who?”
“The Prophet.”
After I woke up from the accident, the four older sister wives filled me in on everything. I had to undergo a crash course in the rules and conduct, as well as information about our leader and his elders.
They tried to prepare me for the outside world. But nothing could have prepared me for this feeling of intense, desperate craving for another human being. Despite knowing it’s wrong.
“Your so-called Prophet is in jail awaiting trial for child abuse, kidnapping, welfare fraud, child neglect, money laundering, tax evasion, and to top it off, murder. I don’t think he’s any type of reliable authority on morality.”
I blink at Joaquin. I know The Prophet’s in jail but…But I didn’t realize the extent of it.
I swallow. “That can’t be right. They said The Prophet is in jail because of persecution.” Even as I say it, it sounds fake and meaningless.
But what else do I have to believe in?
Joaquin leans down and cups my face in his two big hands. “Listen to me. I wish I didn’t know any of this. It’s neverbeen my business to care. But my best friend is married to Georgeanne.”
My stomach leaps into my throat. I’ve heard that name. “Georgeanne was kidnapped by the Wylie Gang and then shunned for adultery.”
“And now she’s legally married to my brother because they fell in love. A piece of paper that’s signed by The Prophet means absolutely nothing."
Joaquin isn’t going to give up until I believe him. And the way he speaks, he chips away at everything that I’ve tried to accept as true.
“But they said that a spiritual marriage is binding."
He shakes his head and doesn’t let go of my face. “What’s it going to take to convince you that you’re not married to an abuser?”
“Well, there’s the whole 'til death us do part thing.”
With no hint of a smile, he says, “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who do I have to kill?”
I wait for him to make a joke out of what he just said, but he doesn’t. Chill bumps form up and down my arms.
“I don’t want you to kill anybody.”
Joaquin releases my face and puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
My shoulders relax as he goes to his desk, opens a drawer, and retrieves a bottle of clear liquid.
“There are other ways to undo a spiritual marriage.”
He opens the bottle, takes the paper cup from my hand, and grabs another one from the dispenser. He doesn’t seem to hear me as he pours the spirits into the two paper cups. He tosses one back, then shoves the other cup across the desk to me.
“What are you doing?”
Joaquin squints out the window. “Masking my give-a-fucks.”
