Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
We’d only ever tried to save each other.
“Repent, brother,” Judah begged, his voice soft and pained. “Together we can make our people great. We can prepare the faithful for The Rapture. Heaven will be ours.” His fingers tightened around mine and he dropped a kiss on my head.
“If the end of days has come, then we will perish regardless. We have no pure Cursed Sister to save us through marriage. We’re doomed either way, Judah. All is lost. It is over.”
Seconds passed in silence. “No, it is not,” he said. I froze. Judah sighed in excitement. “I have found another.”
I reared my head back and searched his gleeful face. “What?” My voice was raw with shock.
Judah’s hands landed on my shoulders. “Repent, brother. All is not lost. Everything is going exactly to plan. Our people are training. They are learning how to fight. The devil’s denizens will not take us before we rise.” Locking eyes with me, he said once more, “Repent. Repent and return to stand beside me. It was always meant to be you and me. Let us finish this as we began. Together.”
Shock rendered me speechless. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to agree. I wanted to bathe, to sleep, to eat in the mansion. I wanted everything my brother did . . . but not how he wanted it.
I couldn’t.
I pulled away from his touch. “I won’t repent for what I’ve done. I was right. Our practices must change. The Cursed Sisters don’t belong here with us.”
In a flash, the loving brother I knew was gone and in his place was the pretender prophet once more. Standing, he turned from me, only coldness in his stance. “Brother Michael! Brother James!” Judah called. The door behind me opened. My heart was breaking, but I held still. Judah addressed the men behind me. “He refuses to repent. He is a sinner and his punishment must continue.”
“Yes, Prophet,” Brother Michael replied. I stared at my brother, willing him to look at me again. He didn’t. He walked out of the room, never looking back.
Large hands wrapped around my arms and I was yanked to my feet. I bit my tongue to stifle a shout of pain. The disciple guards dragged me to the punishment room, struggling to carry my limp body. I was taller and broader then both these men. But I was weak. I couldn’t fight back.
Like every day, I was made to stand, and the punches came. Fists plowed into my ribs, kidneys and chest . . . but I didn’t feel anything.
I forced myself to remain standing. They left my face alone today, but with every strike and blow to my body, they smiled, and I could see the disdain on their faces. But I could not hate them. I had been like them once. They believed in our cause, one hundred percent. In their eyes I was a sinner that had been swayed by the devil.
Maybe I was.
I knew the devil was real. Panic whipped around me. Maybe I had fallen victim to evil. Maybe my soul was destined to burn in hell.
I just didn’t know. As the questions circled in my head, I realized that, in that moment, I didn’t even care.
Brother Michael delivered one final rapid punch to my back and I fell to the floor, my knees buckling with the pain. My palms pressed down on the stone floor as I fought for breath.
Brothers Michael and James wrenched me back to my feet and pulled me from the punishment cell. I shook with every step I took. And with every new step, my anger grew. I could feel it infusing every part of my body, bitterness seeping into my veins like an intravenous drip.
The door to the cell house opened. Sensing someone was near, I lifted my head to see two new guards standing at the entrance. They were both dark haired, with dark eyes. They were heavily muscled, with short hair and dark-stubbled cheeks. They looked as if they were related. Each of them held an AK-47 in their hands, and they were dressed in the typical black clothing and heavy boots of the disciple guards. They flicked their chins at the guards holding me. When their eyes fell to me, their lips curled in disgust.
As I was dragged back to my cell, I noticed an older man and an older woman preparing food at the end of the long hallway. They both looked toward me, but quickly turned away when the guards from the entrance ordered, “Work!”
The guards threw me into my cell. As my cheek slammed against the stone floor, I couldn’t contain my rage any longer. Using the residual adrenaline pulsing through me, I launched myself to my feet and let out five weeks’ worth of screams. I paced around the room in staggered steps, my legs stinging and throbbing as blood rushed to my muscles.