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She’s not coming. She’ll never be coming.
At least now, when CJ forces himself on me, I’ll know it was Ronan—my first true love—who got that special part of me. It hurt, yes, but it also felt like our souls were melding together. The intimacy between us was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
I lie awake in the tent, waiting for the inevitable. Just the thought of CJ inside of me when I’m so sore has me grimacing. If only I had my knife. I’d take great joy in stabbing him in the gut for trying to have sex with me.
A giggle from nearby has me sitting up. I crawl over to the tent opening, unzip it, and poke my head out. A couple of male voices can be heard beyond the tents in the woods, which means most of them have probably gone to bed. Except CJ, which is good. It would be a great opportunity to escape.
Maybe this is our only shot.
Quickly, I shove my feet back into my boots and scramble out of the tent. I scan the shadows, looking for anything to use as a weapon.
My eyes land on a stick between my tent and the one next to it—the one I’m pretty sure is Sadie’s. Soft crying can be heard, which makes bile rise up my gorge. Before I can figure out what to do about it, I hear female laughter nearby. The giggling isn’t coming from that tent. It’s coming from the woods. I squint in the darkness, looking for the source.
Mya steps between two trees, Wyatt and Olivia with her. Before, those two kids were nice and I got along with them. Now, they both stare at me with contempt. If they’re both here, does that mean Tom is forcing himself on Sadie as we speak? Terror mixed with hatred burns hot in my gut.
“You’re not supposed to be out alone,” Wyatt says, frowning. “Your husband will be angry.”
I snarl at him. “What husband?”
I’m not married, no matter what their cultish leader says or what they believe.
He scowls at my attitude but doesn’t say anything back. Mya walks up to me, a sneer on her stupid face.
“My brother wanted you so bad, but you’re just a backwoods dumb bitch.” She curls her lip up at me. “I hope it hurts when he fucks you.”
With a growl, I shove her hard. She crashes into the tent with a shriek. Wyatt and Olivia scramble to help her back up.
“You psycho bitch!” she bellows, charging at me.
I’m ready for her and swing my fist this time. It connects with her face. The sickening crunch of bone is satisfying. She stumbles and falls to her knees, a loud sob ripping out of her lungs.
I take another step toward her, ready to beat this witch up, when Wyatt puts himself between us. He may be a few years younger, but I’m not opposed to hitting him too.
“Hey!” a deep voice calls out, trotting over to us. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Your wife,” Mya chokes out, tone filled with venom, “was trying to escape.”
CJ, the body behind the voice, helps his sister up. The dying campfire illuminates the side of their unhappy faces. Seeing the blood running over Mya’s lips makes me grin.
“Raegan,” CJ says, attempting to inject authority into his tone. “Get back to our tent.”
I refuse to move, making sure to give him the bitchiest expression I can muster.
“Watch your back,” Mya snaps, swiping at the blood. “When you go to sleep, I will find you in your bed. And I’ll cut your hair off. Maybe I’ll blindyouwhile I’m at it!”
Her words are exactly the same ones I said to her what feels like an eternity ago.
“I’ll be too busy fucking my brainless, shittyhusband,” I bite back. “Nice try. I hope I broke your nose.”
CJ hisses at them to go back to their tents before Michael gets involved and then hauls me to our tent. He reeks of liquor and I just now notice him swaying. Great. He’s drunk and I’ve just reminded him about having sex with me. Fear prickles at my skin, making the hairs on my neck stand on end.
“Sit,” he grumbles. “You’ve given me a goddamn headache. Jesus.”
I plop down and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not having sex with you.”
He groans as he sheds his shirt. “Fuck off, Raegan. I’ve got whiskey dick anyway. Go to sleep and don’t try any funny shit.”
I make sure to lie down on the sleeping bag as far away as I can get from him. Whatever whiskey dick is, I’m glad he’s got it. I hope his dick falls off altogether. Lying stiff as a board, I wait for him to trick me and pounce when I least expect it. He settles on his own sleeping bag within seconds. The sounds of his heavy breathing as he falls asleep are oddly relaxing. At least I’ve dodged the bullet that is my “wedding night.”
