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Kandace heard the soft sounds of clothing dropping to the floor and her stomach curdled even more. Run! I can’t do this. But if she let them know she was conscious now, what would they do? They couldn’t possibly risk something like this getting out. She thought of the three young women, their children locked in the basement, even now. What had happened to those women? Had they really left their children here? Or was it something far worse?
Her nightgown was yanked upward and it took all of Kandace’s courage not to cry out with fear and anger and distress.
This man, this stranger was using her unconscious—or so he believed—body to do with as he pleased. She screamed inside her mind. A shudder ran through her veins.
She didn’t expect the slap. The cry of pain and shock came unbidden. She let out a garbled moan, and let her head fall heavily to the side. The man’s breathing sped up. She could hear the sound of his hand working on his own flesh. The violence had excited him, as had her cry.
He slapped her again, but more softly this time. “That’s right,” he grunted. “Take it, you little whore.”
Kandace’s head was turned to the side, so the man didn’t see the tear that rolled from her eye and was soaked up by the bedding beneath her.
He climbed on top of her, his breath moist and heavy as he panted into her neck, calling her vile names as he rubbed his flesh against her. Kandace thought of all the men she’d let use her. She thought of the men she herself had used. She’d never been very discriminating. The things the man was calling her, they were true, weren’t they? Her mother had told her they were. Kandace herself had never denied it. What did this matter? It was for an end.
It was so she could take this place down.
Because now she knew.
So she endured.
The pain.
The burn.
Please stop.
Please stop.
But he didn’t. He rammed into her, ripped her flesh, tore something deep inside she wasn’t sure what to name. Her soul?
No. My soul is mine. It cannot be torn. Not by you.
You’re stronger than you think you are.
She dared to crack her eyes ever so slightly and shock flooded her when her eyes met those of the kid, slumped over on a red chaise lounge, his face turned directly toward her. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, mouth slack, but his gaze was unblinking as he watched her be degraded.
OhGod,ohGod,ohGod. Her shame spiraled. He always kicks up such a fuss over that ugly little thing being taken away, Ms. Wykes had said. Georgia? It had to be her she was referencing. Was it just about protecting Georgia or were they also grooming him for their religious group? Had he resisted?
He finished with a loud grunt and Kandace squeezed her eyes shut and then forced her facial muscles to relax. As he pulled away, he slapped her one more time and called her filthy, his voice full of disgust. Then he cleaned her quickly—sparing no gentleness—and pulled her underwear up and nightgown down.
He picked her up again and made the journey back to her room where he deposited her in her bed, the door to the room clicking closed behind him.
In the dark, she heard Aurora’s and Sydney’s quiet snores. Kandace turned toward the wall. It didn’t matter what that man had done. The last time she’d had sex, it was because she’d wanted some weed. She’d endured three minutes of sweaty screwing, rolled her eyes as he climbed off, and then happily smoked the drugs he’d offered. Yes, what had occurred tonight wasn’t anything she hadn’t allowed to happen to her dozens of times. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t given permission for more often than she could count.
So why am I crying?
Tears coursed down her cheeks and for a moment, Kandace gave in to the silent sobs that shook her shoulders.
Yes, now she knew. Even if she still had no proof.
Her hand moved slowly to her stomach, acknowledging that which she hadn’t had the courage to acknowledge yet. The tracks of her tears dried, breath becoming even. Her palm moved over the very small bump, the rounding that would only be obvious to her because she knew her own body.
A realization came to her and her eyes opened, staring up at the shadowy beams of the attic ceiling.
She did have proof.
She had the child in her womb.
And now she knew. . . it belonged to one of them.CHAPTER THIRTY“My girls,” her mother said, flinging the door open wide and pulling Scarlett and Haddie into a joint embrace. Scarlett dropped her duffel bag on the floor, one arm around her mother, the other around her little girl, breathing in the comfort of her mother’s smell: rose-scented lotion and clean laundry.
