Page 61 of Regressive

A flicker passes through Levi’s eyes. Something I can’t discern. “Is that where you got the bruises from?”

“What bruises?” Rex asks, closing the space between us. His picks up my other hand and reveals the marks on the other arm. He swears when he sees them.

“Were you restrained?” he asks. His voice takes on that tone—the one I can’t quite identify. Anger? Distrust? Suspicion?

I pull my hand away, but in the process hit my hip. I yelp and soon all four of them are on me. “You’re hurt,” Silas says, eyes meeting mine. “Where?”

Elon reaches for the hem of my dress. I try to step away but land against the hard muscle of Rex’s stomach and chest. He holds onto me, while Elon lifts the fabric up, looking for whatever caused my pain.

“I’m fine,” I tell them, but tears well in my eyes from the burn. From the betrayal. I know what I’ve done is wrong. Even if it’s unspoken, the branding is a violation to my commitment to Rex. I can feel it. I know it.

Elon lifts my dress until he spots the bandaged wound. Silas steps forward and slowly removes the tape, revealing the branding.

“Christ,” Elon mutters. “What the hell is that?”

Rex leans over my shoulder, trying to get a better look. He must see it because he growls in my ear. “Whothe hell did that to you?”

“I’m getting my kit,” Silas says, staring at the wound long and hard before running down the hall.

A million questions run across Levi’s expression as he stares at the brand, but he doesn’t ask one of them. He just looks at the wound, like he can’t figure out how it got there.

I shake my head so forcefully, tears fall. “I can’t tell,” I say to all of them, although Rex is the one that asked.

“Yes, you can, Imogene,” he says. “You can and will.”

“No,” I try to pull away, but Elon’s hand is clamped tight around my unbranded hip. “I can’t. Not without endangering all of you.”

Rex has grown eerily still and I turn, forcing myself to look at him. He’s staring at the branding, head tilted, eyes slightly glazed. I wait for the rage, the accusation, but he shudders an exhale and says, “Fucking hell. Goddamn him.”

Him.

“It wasn’t your father,” I say. Silas returns, his kit already open and he eases me away from Rex and Elon, down on the couch. Levi takes the seat next to me and together they sort through his salves and creams.

“No?” Rex asks, unphased by the men caring for me. “Who else would brand my father’s initials in your skin?”

“It’s not his initials. There’s no ‘A.’”

He reaches out, finger pointed. I brace myself for the pain of his touch, but he simply traces in the air. “T. W—Timothy Wray. My father had someone brand you with his fucking initials.”

I look down, past the image I’d been told was being branded on me. The ‘E’ for Empowerment and Enlightenment. A sideways ‘W’ for Women and The Way. And see it for what it really is.

Anex branded me and four other women with his initials, like we were nothing but livestock down in the barn.

The rush of bile rises in the back of my throat, and I hold onto my stomach, trying to keep it down. Levi looks stricken by the knowledge and Elon storms out of the room. A moment later, something big and breakable crashes against the floor, followed by the sound of fists slamming into the plaster.

“Rex,” I say, wanting to explain, but, how can I? The collateral. The threats. And now this? Anex must have been behind it the whole time. This was no exclusive group. It was another manipulation. Another level of control.

I walked straight into it like a lamb to slaughter.

I look to Rex and see his handsome face, twisted into furious rage. “Who was it?! Who the fuck branded my father’s initials into your skin? Margaret?”

“If I tell—"

“I don’t give a shit what they threatened you with, Imogene. There is nothing my father can do to me, Elon, Silas, or Levi that justifies this.” Our eyes lock. “Tell me.”

“A-a while back I was invited to join a women’s group. I was told it was exclusive to women—blessed by your father, but that he was not involved.” Silas wipes the branding with a damp cloth, and I hiss at the pain. “Oh god… I thought it was just women—like the men’s group. A way to Empower and work on our Indulgences in a safe space. The meetings felt sacred—special, because only a few other women were invited. Things were secretive and, yes, there were times I wasn’t comfortable with what they wanted me to do. But isn’t that what we’re taught? Enlightenment is uncomfortable.” Fresh tears build in my eyes. “By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. I was committed.”

“What did they want you to do?” Elon asks, he’s returned, uncaring about the blood dripping from his knuckles.

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