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“Shhh,” she reached out as though to soothe him, grinding her teeth as her ribs protested. “Rae is right against your heart. She takes comfort in its strong, steady beat. You need to stay even. Okay?”
Eric blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay. I’m calm.” He may have settled, but his eyes still held a violent hatred she’d never seen in him.
Delilah made her decision.
They’d be leaving that night. Right then. No matter how excruciating, she’d make it. They couldn’t stay. She would die before allowing Roger to get his hands on her fourteen-year-old sister. And Eric’s threats against their father and husband weren’t idle. They were born of a desperation cultivated from years of torment and abuse. Though she was the community’s black sheep and rebellious troublemaker, Eric had it even harder. As a son of the community’s founder, he was groomed to run the place one day. Everything he did and said reflected on their father, and Eric was never given a chance to forget that fact. He’d been mistreated his whole life not only by being hit, but powerful verbal abuse and violent, deadly training a young boy should never suffer through. He had the skills to carry through on his threat. Though she wouldn’t mourn the bastard should Eric eliminate their father, she wouldn’t survive without her beloved brother at her side either behind the walls of the community or in the real world.
“Help me up.” She extended a hand, smiling through the pain.
Eric frowned and shook his head. Clearly, she’d fooled him about as well as she fooled herself. “Del—”
“Shh,” she said, harsher this time. The exhaled sound rumbled through her chest as though a steam roller were crushing her ribs. “I-I’m all right. Just bruised and sore.”
Lies. She was pretty sure Roger had broken at least one of her ribs.
Eric gripped her forearm, and she did the same to him, only her hand barely made it halfway around his bulging muscle.
“Okay, pull me up.”
With a furrowed brow and eyes that spoke his disapproval, he hauled her to her feet in a swift, rip-off-the-Band-Aid move.
Delilah bit her lower lip as the pain in her chest stole her ability to breathe. Once upright, she grabbed Eric’s sides and bowed her head as she puffed through the anguish. Shallow breaths were all she could manage. Each one made her dizzy.
“Jesus, Delilah, we can’t—”
She lifted her head. “I’m okay,” she said, though her strained voice sounded anything but.
Eric rolled his eyes in a move so typically teenager, it gave her hope a young man still lived inside the world-weary expressions and man’s body Eric had.
“Here, give me Rae.” She motioned to herself with her hands.
“What? No. Are you crazy? You can’t carry the baby.” He took a step back, shaking his head.
This was something she couldn’t back down on. With her injured, Eric would end up doing more than his share of the work. She needed to carry her own weight and at least some of the others if they were to have any chance of success. “Eric, I’ll be fine. She’s tiny. I won’t be able to help the others climb the fence. You’ll need to do that. So hand Rae to me. I can manage her.”
Hopefully.
He pressed his lips together in a look of pure displeasure. Sometimes, she wished he’d just tell her to fuck off if he disagreed with her. Though he was more willing to argue with her than anyone else, above all, they’d had obedience drilled into them with punishing efficiency. She’d been the only one who never thoroughly learned the lesson.
And she’d paid for it countless times throughout her twenty-one years.
But instead of fighting, Eric unstrapped the baby carrier and carefully helped transfer Rae to her chest.
“Shh, shh, shh,” she crooned as she gently rocked back and forth. She’d handle this, pain and all. Women all around the world survived worse atrocities every day. “I-it’s okay, baby girl. I’ve got y-you.”
She closed her eyes and imagined life two years down the road. The younger kids happy and playing without fear. Her brother meeting a girl and dating like a normal teenage boy. Herself, working in a job she loved, surrounded by her happy siblings. None of them living under the feared thumb of the community. The visual strengthened her, overriding the worst of the pain. She could do this.
She had to.
The baby blinked up at her with sleepy eyes so full of innocence and trust before fading back out. Thankfully, this little girl had been a stellar sleeper since day one.
“You ready for an adventure, baby girl?” she whispered. Adventures had become her thing over the years. She’d discovered early on the easiest way to survive long days of physical training or work was to change the context in her mind. She’d drift off to faraway castles, the high seas, or a steamy jungle. Soon, it’d become a game she played with the younger children. A way of easing the stress of agonizing drills and grueling hours. What child didn’t love an exciting adventure?
