Beyond His Control (Dark Romance Suspense) (His Duet Book 2)

Weeks later

The first time out of the temple is a blessing in disguise. Smelling the fresh air after having been cooped up like a chicken brooding her eggs feels so nice, but at the same time, it’s a bitter pill to take … because I’m being chaperoned into the prayer hut, where the patriarchs pray to God and bless marriages and pregnant women.

Us women just stand behind them and witness the ordeal like good wives do as an example to the other women in the community. The prayers and the ritual are the only events where we wives are allowed to have a choice.

Join and witness the ordeal or stay at the temple in your comfy room, pretending the world is great and the people are happy. Like Trisha, Meghan, and Ashley. They aren’t here today. Neither is my mother, as she’s still not well enough to get out of her bed. The guards won’t even allow me entry into her room; the president is keeping her far away from visitors … even me.

Is it to protect her, or to protect me?

After all, he must know she had something to do with the escape. He must’ve noticed the fire was too much of a coincidence. I pray he won’t hurt her. She’s already in so much pain.

All I can do is wait and hope she recovers enough to join us again.

Sylvia and Abigail are here at the prayers too. Apparently, their men are the patriarchs David and Lucas. I don’t know the names of the other women’s patriarchs, and I don’t care. I’m here because I have to, because if I don’t attend these events, people will think I’m dead. And President Lawrence doesn’t want people to worry. Worry would undermine his authority, and he loves authority more than anything in the whole damn world.

My hand curls into a fist as I try to contain my rage while we go inside. The people are all nicely lined up again, just as before when I was still down there in the crowd, wearing my white dress, completely oblivious to what was about to happen to me.

Now I step onto the stage as a matriarch accompanying her husband. As he sits down, I stand behind him, hands clutched together in front of my body as all women do.

The crowd gazes at us with their lips parted, eyes filled with hope, as though these seven men provide the faith they need in their own religion. It’s ludicrous, cult-like, and I don’t understand why anyone would ever willingly choose to join this Family.

Unless you’re a man, of course.

Men get everything.

I swallow hard as the president begins to speak, and the eyes of the crowd settle on him. But mine scour the room for someone else. Emmy. She’s in the back, on her knees, eyes down to the ground. She doesn’t dare to look up even though she knows I’m here. The man clutching her hand tightly might be the reason, and it makes me cringe.

Then I spot someone I haven’t seen in a very long time.

April.

When I find her, an electrical current rushes through my spine, and I struggle to remain standing. Our eyes connect. A visceral reaction bursts through my veins, and I want to scream and lash out.

Noah quickly reaches for my hand, gently caressing me, and I feel grounded once again.

I can’t panic now. If I even give away a hint of being disheveled, they’ll lock me up in the temple and never let me out again. I must remain calm … even when we’re looking at each other in the eyes, knowing she still stands there in the crowds, wearing the same clothes over and over, being forced to wash with strangers, and eventually get fucked by a man who will claim her to be his.

Has she been married yet? Is there a man who put a scarf around her neck and called her his? I wasn’t here for the past few prayers. Maybe she’s already been taken, and I wasn’t there to help her.

We never stop looking at each other even while the president speaks. Neither of us seems to pay any attention to what he’s saying. All I care about at this moment is her.

Is she happy or afraid?

Tears well up in her eyes as she smiles, and I smile back, unable to stop the tears from flowing on my end too, and at that moment, I know we’re on the same level.

We’re not matriarch and follower. I’m not above her, and she is not beneath me. We’re still kicking and screaming, still fighting this impossible regime, even if it’s from opposite ends of the chain.

No matter how small our acts of resistance, each gesture is enough to prove the fact that we are still here. We are still breathing and still aware of the fact that we don’t belong here.

And it doesn’t matter where I was or how long it took me to come back. I know what we’ve been through, even if we weren’t together for it all. And that connection transcends time and space.

The women step forward again, and our eye contact is broken because of the red cloaks being thrown over their bodies. I gaze at each of the women who go to their knees in front of the stage. When they look up, my jaw drops. One of them is Holly.

When she looks at me, she smiles broadly as though she’s happy she got taken by a man. She was always so giddy whenever it was time to go to the showers. From the day I met her, she never stopped speaking of wanting to get married, of becoming a wife.

Now she no longer has to wear the scarf while eating. Now she can speak to the other couples and start a family of her own. It’s what all the women aspire to be here because they have nothing else to yearn for.

And for some reason, knowing she’s so happy makes my heart twinge with grief.

After the president finishes giving his blessing, her face beams, and she returns to her man in the back, who greets her with a brazen kiss, claiming her in front of everyone. When the prayers are finished, the hut empties out, and the patriarchs get up from their seats. The wives accompany them outside.

I gently nudge Noah’s hand as we walk out and lean in to whisper, “Can you give me some time, please?”

His brow rises. “Why?”

I swallow hard and point in the direction of the crowd going the other way. “April. One of my fellow initiates.”

Noah briefly looks around, searching for guards, but today there aren’t many accompanying us. I feel like they’re starting to trust us again, as we haven’t made a ruckus or raised a lot of eyes in the past few months, so maybe I can get away with this if I’m really quick.

“Quickly then. I’ll stay here and wait for you,” he says, and he pecks my cheeks in such a sweet way that it leaves a blush.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I just wanna talk to her.”

He nods. “As long as you don’t enter her hut.”

“I won’t. I promise,” I say, and I rush off into the direction of the crowd.

With my pretty purple dress, I draw a lot of attention from the people walking back to their huts, but I pay no attention to them as I dart through the waves, searching for her.

When I’ve finally found the hut April’s going to, I bolt past the people standing in my way and manage to catch up to her before she enters the door.

I grab her shoulder and swiftly spin her on her heels.

She’s befuddled at first, her face bewildered and looking upset, but then she sees it’s me, and a smile appears that could bright up the sun.

“Natalie,” she murmurs, and she falls into my arms almost instinctively.

“April,” I mutter, hugging her tight. “It’s been so long.”

“Tell me about it,” she says. “I was so worried about you when Noah announced that he’d take you as his wife.” She leans back, smiling. “But you look okay. How do you feel?”

She glances at my stomach, which is becoming big at this point, and another blush spreads across my face. “Ah … I’m fine.”

“There was talk amongst the people who … well …” She licks her lips and glances around the area to see if anyone’s listening, then she leans in and whispers, “That you escaped.”

“It’s true,” I reply. “I did …” I avert my eyes. I can’t look at her and say these words when I know she would’ve given everything to get out of here. “But I had to come back.”

She takes a step back. “Wait … what? I thought that they’d found you. Everyone here said the patriarchs went out of the community. They only ever do that to get new followers …”

“Or to find someone they lost,” I say, and I sigh out loud. “Noah did come for me, but he didn’t take me back.”

“Why didn’t you try to escape him?” she says. “I thought you wanted to get out.”

“I wanted nothing more,” I explain, trying to keep her from walking back farther. “But I’d already gotten pregnant, and … my mother. She’s here.”

She frowns. “Your mother?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. It was hard to accept for me too, but …” I swallow hard. “I was born here. My mother’s a matriarch.”

It’s silent for a while. Then she takes another step back.

“I can’t … I thought you were …” She shakes her head again. “This isn’t real, right?”

“I’m telling the truth,” I say, blinking a couple of times so I can stop the tears from flowing. “But I’m still like you. I was taken too.”

I try to grab her arm, but she jerks free of my grip. “No. If you were born here, if your mother was a matriarch … that means your father is a patriarch.”

“Yes, but I came from the outside,” I try to explain.

“Don’t lie to me,” she hisses. “Please. I can’t take it. I thought you were a friend.” Tears well up in her eyes, and it hurts.

“We are friends! Please believe me; I’m not lying,” I say. “I escaped when I was little. I spent all this time living in the outside world, just like you.”

When I try to reach for her hand again, she leans back.

“No, you’re nothing like me.” Her body goes rigid. “You dress in these fancy clothes, get to walk up on stage with those men, you get to live the high life. You eat like a normal human being, no, like royalty. You sleep in a soft bed with feathery blankets, and people serve your every need, from dressing, to washing, to making you feel good.” Her words sting like a knife. “You’ve become a puppet. One of them.”

“Don’t say that,” I say.

“Why not? Tell me it isn’t true,” she hisses. “You can’t.”

She’s right. I can’t. Living inside the temple is a luxury compared to the huts, but it is still a prison. An opulent prison, but a prison nonetheless.

“I am still a wife. I got claimed. I never asked for any of this,” I say, pointing at my belly.

“But you’ve accepted it,” she says through gritted teeth. “Do you love him?”

“What?” I mutter.

“Do you love your husband or not?” she asks. “It’s not that hard to say yes or no.”

“I don’t … know …” I reply, wishing I knew how to say the words lingering in my heart. How can I describe what I’m feeling for Noah if I don’t even understand it myself?

Even though he’s the catalyst to my ruin, he also saved my mother. He fought for my love so hard that he’d sacrifice his body in order to make me happy. He endangered himself and put his own life on the line just to give me time to decide on my own whether or not I wanted to go back to the community. How can I not love that?

How can I not love this man who has put so much on the line just to be with me?

But I know that this admission can lose me this friendship that I care so deeply about.

So I sigh, and say, “Yes … I do.”

The look on her face turns cold and bleak. “See? You can’t even admit it to yourself. That’s how ashamed you are of yourself. You know it’s wrong.”

“I didn’t choose any of this, and you know that,” I reply.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “None of this matters. Nothing will ever change. I won’t ever get out, and you don’t even want to anymore. Why did you even come to see me?”

“I’m worried about you because we haven’t seen each other in months,” I reply.

“Well, don’t bother with me,” she says, turning around. “I’m gone soon anyway.”

“What?” I gasp, and I grab her arm to force her to stop before she enters her hut. “What do you mean gone?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Her brow lifts. “Of course not. You’ve been cooped up in your castle all this time.” She sounds bitter. “People talk. They know I’m difficult. No man wants to make a woman like me his wife when she’s mouthy and won’t listen to rules.”

She shows me her hands, which are covered in bruises and red marks. Those are the same marks that I once had, the same pain I endured. That same agony is reflected in her eyes, and it ruins me.

Tears cascade down my cheeks. “April, I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be. You weren’t there; you couldn’t have known. No one cares,” she says with a melancholic tone in her voice. “Tomorrow, I’ll be shipped off to another community.”

My pupils dilate. Another community? There are more? “What? Shipped off? No, no, they can’t do that.” I shake my head.

“They can, and they will,” she says, and she turns to face away from me. “Don’t bother caring. It’s too late for that.”

Before I can say another word, she opens the door and disappears through, shutting it behind her. I’m left frozen in place. Even though my feet are firmly planted into the grassy soil, I’m shaking so vigorously I can feel it in my bones.

The one person who understood what it meant to be taken, to be here in this community when you don’t belong here, to be used and claimed … hates me.

And now I won’t ever see her again.

Shipped off to another community.

I didn’t know that was possible or that there even were multiple communities. That this religion stretched out its branches further than this sole Family.

I should’ve known, I could have, if only I’d dared to ask. I was there in the library. I had the time, so I could’ve looked. All those books filled with information and never once did I try to find out more.

I’m selfish. I was addicted to the privileges that come with being a matriarch, the high that follows the lavish lifestyle, and I never once looked back to see how the ladies I shared a hut with were doing.

I should’ve gone to them sooner, should’ve tried to talk to them, should’ve … done so many things.

And now it’s too late.

With tears streaming down my face, I run off, right back into Noah’s arms.

“What happened?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.

“They’re shipping her off to another community,” I say through gritted teeth, and I bury my head into his shirt. “I can’t protect her there. I can’t talk to her anymore. She’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“Oh … I’m sorry about your friend,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“Why did no one ever tell me there were more than one of these communities?”

“Because it wasn’t important,” he replies. “You already belong here, with me.”

“You could’ve told me,” I say, leaning back and placing a finger on his chest. “Why didn’t you?”

“I just … it never came up,” he says, shrugging. “I’m sorry. If I knew what was about to happen to your friend, I would have told you, I promise.”

“So, you didn’t have any part in this?” I ask.

“No,” he says, looking at me with stern eyes. “I swear to you, I did not do this.”

“But who did?”

“The president has the capability to decide these things on his own merit. The other patriarchs usually need a consensus.”

I scowl. “So, my father did this?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can ask, but it’d be risky.”

“Why would he do that? It makes no sense,” I reply, mulling it over.

“Maybe the people complained to him about her, and he was done with it,” he says.

I grimace. “But you’re a patriarch; you can stop this, right?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I don’t have that power.”

More tears well up in my eyes. “They can’t do this. They can’t take her away.”

“There’s nothing I can do at this point. Even if I did do something, I’m all alone because none of the other patriarchs would ever go against the president. Not for a girl.”

“She’s not just a girl!” I shout. “She was there, the first day, in that cell right alongside me.” I punch his chest in anger. “I should’ve protected her!”

My knees cave underneath me, and I sink to the ground, but Noah comes down along with me, holding me all the way through my pain.

“Punch me. Kick me. Hurt me,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“Why?” I say, punching him in the chest again. “Why are you letting me do this?”

“Because you need to, and I will accept that. Be angry … let it out. I can handle it.”

“Fuck!” I yell into his shirt, letting it all out.

He’s never said those words before, and it opens a wound inside me I didn’t know existed. Cuts into it deeply and forces me to rip out my own soul.

And he does it all … for me …

He takes my rage as though he deserves it …

Like a man would quell the pain inside his wife’s heart.

And when I’m done slapping, kicking, and screaming, I fall into his arms and hug him tight. “Thank you.”

He pets my hair, and whispers, “I’m here.”

And right now, that’s all I need.

Him.

It was always him.

But at the same time, all I want is for all of those other patriarchs, including my father, to disappear. Or die.

Not that I’ll ever get my wish.

But I can at least damn well try.

And the only way to do that is by following Noah’s lead. He wants them gone as much as I do, even though it’s for different reasons. He wants power and control—to be the top dog—while I … I just want to survive. I want my child to grow up somewhere safe, and since Noah wants that too, we share a common goal.

But how do I prevent my child from ending up in the same system that ruined me? How do I stop all of these women from being confined by these rules? From being used and sold like livestock animals?

There has to be a way to break the chain. The men aren’t going to do it. They’re in a position of power they’d never relinquish freely. No … it has to be taken from them.

And I lean back, grab Noah’s arms, and say, “I will do anything I can to make these men lose everything, even if it costs me my soul.”

He looks at me from underneath those dark lashes with even darker eyes, stained by the devil himself, and he says, “You know what must be done for that to happen, right?”

I nod. “Our child must be the next heir to this community, and for that to happen …”

He finishes my sentence as though he can peer into my thoughts and fit the images together like pieces of a puzzle. “The president must die.”