Page 17 of Silas

“I…I do.”

Jerry repeats his vow, and then I’m being hauled up against his belly, which is somehow hard yet soft at the same time. His mouth is on mine, crushing, awful, tasting of chewing tobacco and whiskey and halitosis.

I fight the urge to vomit as he pulls back, his huge hand clapping possessively over my bottom. Not just grasping, but gripping. Clawing. Claiming.

He presses his mouth to my ear, hot vile breath washing over me. “This reception is gonna be awful short, Naomi. I’m not a patient man. So if you want food or cake, you best get it before I take you home.”

Home.

A brand-new cabin about a thousand yards through the woods. My brothers’ cabins aren’t done yet, but because Jerry brought resources and contacts to the compound, he got preference. Plus, Papa’s militia was hired for some sort of work somewhere—two weeks after Jerry arrived, the whole militia poured out of the compound in an endless stream of hand-painted camouflage pickups and second-hand military vehicles.

I was moved in there this morning. Meaning, my meager collection of handmade, floor-length, long-sleeve dresses and undergarments was packed up in Jerry’s truck and hauled over to the new cabin. I was expected to unpack all of Jerry’s things, as well, of course. His clothing, his young childrens’ clothing, his collection of books, the kitchen things.

I also had to cook for the reception—for my own wedding, in which I got no say.

By the time the wedding itself arrived at six in the evening, I was exhausted to the point of feeling faint. But if I slack off, if I show the slightest hesitation or weakness, I’ll be punished.

I don’t dare.

There’s whistling and cheers and catcalls from the audience, and then Jerry holds our joined hands aloft. More cheers. As if he’s won a prize, and is accepting his accolades.

I force my features into neutrality, which is the best I can manage. I cannot summon even a vestige of joy or excitement.

I feel horror. Disgust. Fear.

I’m hauled away from the makeshift altar, through the crowd of Papa’s friends and militia members. I spot a few of the militia women in the audience and see only pity and understanding in their expressions. They know what this is—everyone does. Yet no one does anything to stop it.

Whatcanthey do? What can anyone do?

Nothing.

I’m not a person, here. I’m a thing. A possession.

* * *

After forcingmyself to eat roast pig and corn on the cob, because I know I’ll need food in my system, I’m expected to dance with Jerry. He steps on my toes with his huge, heavy loafers. Holds me clutched up against his body with possessive, grabby hands. On my backside, my hips. Grinning down at me, breath wafting over me.

All too soon, the dance is over. The band—a motley collection of militia members who can barely keep a rhythm, let alone a cohesive melody—strikes up a country tune popular several years before I was even born.

Jerry is hauling me through the crowd—to more cheering and catcalls. They all know where he’s taking me.

I know where he’s taking me.

Into the cabin.

To the bedroom.

He closes the door behind himself and then turns to me. “Been a long, long time since I been with someone as young and sweet as you, Naomi.” His grin is a leering, eager thing, turning my stomach. “Your father assured me you’d be nice and obedient for me.” He steps closer, unbuckling his belt. “Is that true, Naomi? You gonna be sweet for me?”

I swallow hard. I’m shaking all over. I know, intellectually, what sex is, but I have no experience of it. I don’t know what’s expected of me. I just know that if I get it wrong, it’ll cost me. Brutally.

I’ve considered my answer for too long.

His palm cracks against my cheek, spinning me around. “Asked you a question,wife.” He palms the back of my neck in a crushing vise grip, yanking me so close I can’t make out his features. “Are…you…gonna…obey?”

“Y-yes,” I whimper. “Yes.”

“Show me that you’re gonna be a good girl.” He drops his slacks, his male member flopping free. He shrugs out of his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. His member is hardening. “Show me, Naomi.”