“Is this fun for you?” I asked, and she jumped, grabbing her chest as she turned toward the sound of my voice, her eyes narrowed as she searched me out.

“Could you be more dramatic?” she whisper-yelled, not wanting to disturb Connor from his sleep, even though his room was on the third floor and he slept like the dead.

“More dramatic?” I asked as I pushed to my feet. I hurled the glass across the room, and it connected with the inside of the living room wall, shattering into the darkness. “That better?” I asked, arms stretched out at my sides as I walked toward her.

Her hands went over her face reflexively, and as she lowered them she stared daggers at me. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“That so? Where were you?” I hurried toward her angrily. My filter had disintegrated with each drink, and now I was dangling from the edge of aggression.

“None of your business,” she snapped and took off up the steps to avoid me, slipping and coming down hard on her knee, the cracking sound enough to cause me to flinch. She let out a cry of pain as she clutched at her leg, her body splayed on the staircase like a broken doll. This is what happens to girls who get too close to me.

I took the first three steps in one stride and lifted her effortlessly into my arms to carry her up to her room. “Fuck, Annabel,” I groaned as we made it to the darkened hall above, and I kicked open her door with my foot. She cried, her tears wetting my bare chest. I laid her in the center of her bed and brushed the hair from her face, causing her to flinch and clutch her cheek.

“You hit your face?” Through the moonlight coming in through her window, I could see her nod, and the shadow of a forming bruise was already evident. “Hold on.” I hurried back downstairs and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, wrapping it in a red dish towel. When I made it back to her room, she was lying on her side, her hand on her face. I pulled her fingers away and pressed the ice pack to her cheek. She flinched, but her hand slid over mine to hold it in place. I stood up and sighed as I ran my hand over my dark, short hair.

“Thank you,” she whimpered, sounding years younger than seventeen and more like that girl I had met a lifetime ago.

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re still going to tell me where you were.”

“I was out with friends.”

“You need to trust me and let me protect you. It’s my job.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Colin. I just want you to leave me alone.” She rolled farther away, and the pain of her words hurt worse than a physical blow could inflict.

“Because you’re so good at taking care of yourself? Look at you? You just kicked your own ass.”

“I don’t need to protect myself,” she bit back, her feelings hurt from my implication that she was helpless.

That was it. That’s what I was waiting to hear. She had met someone, and I had no idea who this guy was, and the fact that she smelled like marijuana did not get by me. The once perfect and innocent Annabel was falling from grace, hell-bent on proving me wrong about who she was. “You can continue to pretend that our life before we moved here was all just a bad dream. I wish I had that luxury. But I know exactly what happens to girls like you who think they are invincible.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” she challenged.

“I prove them wrong.”

She rolled over halfway to face me in the dark. “Go away, Colin.”

I stared at her shadowed silhouette for a moment before forcing myself to leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me but not latching it. My room was directly across the hall, and I slipped inside, leaving it wide open. I slid my dark suit pants down and kicked them off, falling onto my bed in only my gray boxer briefs. I could hear Annie’s muffled cries from across the hall, and it killed me inside that I couldn’t help her, that I couldn’t trust myself.

When her sobs subsided, I was able to drift off into a nightmare-filled sleep, plagued by memories of a youth spent in hell. I was thankful Annie was able to block it out enough that she could project the appearance of functioning normally, but I knew it ate her up inside as much as it did me. I would gladly hold the weight of our troubled past if it meant she would have a normal future. Watching her slowly throw it away killed me inside.

I watched as Taylor’s hand came down hard across Marie’s cheek, and the sound of her grunt echoed in the large room as she fell to her side, catching herself on her hip and hands. Her strawberry blond hair covered her tear-soaked face. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat as he looked over at me. “Disobedience will not be tolerated.” I nodded and watched the girl, a few years older than me but half my size, lie helpless and sobbing on the floor. It was a scenario I’d seen play out dozens of times. It no longer fazed me. It was the way things were. Every story was different and the same. This girl was a runaway who prostituted herself out in order to score drugs. I didn’t know why Taylor even bothered bringing her in, but she fit the profile—blond hair and green eyes laced with flecks of gold—and he was becoming desperate to bring validity to his visions. The church was growing restless.

You either accepted the rules or you were beaten into submission, and Taylor was very creative with his punishments. I carried the scars on my flesh to prove it. “Pay close attention, boy.”

I nodded once and waited. He grabbed Marie’s arm and jerked her to her feet, giving her a second to regain her balance. I was sure that by morning her hip would be bruised, and simple acts such as walking would be difficult.

At fourteen, I was now being taught the inner workings of the church in order to prepare me for the day I would take Taylor’s place. All encounters were videotaped for church records, something I never batted an eye at because it was just the way it was. To say my upbringing was unconventional was an understatement. The Descendants of God was a country-wide organization, and I was living at the epicenter and learning directly from our founder himself, Taylor Woodward.

He unfastened his belt as Marie wrapped her arms around her waist, sobs ripping from her chest.

“Don’t hit me.” Her pleading fell on deaf ears. I was no longer swayed by other people’s pain. My empathy had long evaporated with every scar I received. Bad things didn’t just happen to bad people. This was a fact.

He reached out and ran his thumb over her cheek to wipe away her tears. “Shh, I wasn’t going to hit you. Praying isn’t the only thing you will do on your knees around here.” Her gaze fell lower, and she watched as he undid his pants. I glanced at the red light on the camera that sat in the corner of the room atop a tripod and kept my expression unreadable, not wanting Taylor to see how much this still bothered me when he reviewed the tape. The only thing worse than the depraved acts I was forced to witness was having our leader deem me useless. I’d seen what happened to those who didn’t conform, and I wasn’t ready to meet my maker.

I awoke to my mattress being nudged. My eyes flew open, and I stared up at Annie’s messy, wild hair from a night of restless sleep. She was wearing one of my white undershirts, and it fell to midthigh. Mascara was smudged under her eyes from a late night.

“What’s wrong?” I groaned as I blinked back the harsh sunlight that poured through my window. Annie’s blurry image slowly came into focus. She held out a bottle of water and two pills in the other hand. I grabbed my covers and pulled them up, suddenly realizing it was morning and I was only in my underwear. The evidence of my twisted, fucked-up past was painfully hard, and control was something I lacked when I needed release. “Fuck, you could have knocked,” I snapped.

“You could close your door if you want me to knock.” She laughed as she set the bottle of water on my bare chest. The cold made me jump, and I sat up, my head thumping with the sudden movement. “Here.”

I held out my hand, and she dropped the pills into my palm before tucking her hair behind her ear and sitting down on the edge of my bed with one leg tucked under her.

I swallowed them down and drank the bottle of water in one long sip. Her eyebrow rose as she watched me and shook her head. I rubbed the heels of my hands over my eyes and looked over at her, taking in the purpling of her cheekbone on her otherwise perfect porcelain skin.

“Shit,” I groaned and reached out to run the pad of my finger over the mark, but she pulled back and swatted my hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m fine.” Just like that she shrugged it off as if it had never happened. Had her face not bore the mark of the encounter, it would have been erased from her memory entirely. That was what I envied about Annabel. She could block out anything that caused her pain and live in a bubble of contentment. That was why our new life suited her so well. She was a chameleon with a self-imposed dementia.

I shook my head as I sat up farther and ran my hand over the ridges of my abdominal muscles. “Is Grace making breakfast?”

Annie snorted and then laughed at herself. “She did an hour ago.”

I groaned, and she rolled her eyes.

“I woke up late too. I had her save our plates, but you may want to get dressed. Amanda stopped by. You’re welcome.” She grinned and pushed from the bed.

“Fuck.” I fell back and pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes as she left the room. I felt like shit, and I probably looked worse. “Take off my damn shirt,” I yelled after her.

I pushed from my bed, glancing at the full-length mirror on the opposing wall. Working out had become one of the few ways to deal with my growing aggression, and the results were proof that I harbored a lot of rage. My muscles were cut, and I barely had any excess fat, but I still wanted to be bigger, stronger. I was glad my scars only marred my back, and I wasn’t forced to look at the physical manifestation of my sins and my early reluctance to obey Taylor.