Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(53)

Biting my lip, I debated my options. I knew that Jacob wouldn’t leave me. Besides, Micah was still here. If I had been the one to go missing, he would have searched for me. I owed him the same.

“Sister Teresa,” I asked, “is there a restroom that I could use before service?”

“It’s about to start.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I haven’t told anyone,” I whispered, “but I think I could be pregnant.”

“Oh, I understand. Yes, let me show you . . .”

Just as we were about ready to stand, the room quieted, and Father Gabriel entered the stage from a door on the right, and walking behind him was Jacob. Sister Teresa shook her head as I nodded my understanding. We wouldn’t be leaving our seats until the service was done.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see my husband more clearly. Though he appeared fine to all the followers as he took his seat by Brother Elijah, I could tell something was off. Continuing to stare, I waited until his dark eyes met mine. When they did, his jaw clenched, and even from far away, I saw the anger in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders just before his expression changed.

Something had happened, and he was trying to shield me. I just didn’t know what.

Throughout the entire service I waited for something, for anything from Jacob or Father Gabriel. I didn’t know whether he would make a big deal about our visitor status or whether he’d make some kind of announcement. Instead the service progressed as it would have at the Northern Light. I stood and sat at all the right times, recited the responses and verses as well as anyone.

I’d learned my lessons well.

As I began to relax, I noticed Sister Teresa’s hands upon her lap. With her dark skin, the burned tips of her fingers were even more pronounced. Rolling my wrist and seeing my own fingertips fueled my need to help end this travesty. And then everything changed.





CHAPTER 20


Jacob


Minutes earlier



“What the hell?” I said, as my arms were pinned behind me. I couldn’t see the person holding me back, but I sure as hell could see the * in front of me.

“I saw her face,” Richards said, his jaw clenched.

Heat boiled in my chest as I worked to relax my arms. Apparently he was done with his little right-hook demonstration.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Stella! That’s her f*cking name.”

“Stella?” I did my best to sound confused. Moving my shoulders, I said, “Let go of my damn arms. I’m not going to hit this *.”

“No, of course not,” Dylan replied. “You only hit women.”

Whoever was behind me released my arms, and I took a step toward Richards. “You’re talking about my wife. And what happens between me and my wife is none of your damn business.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “It is my damn business, more than you f*cking know.”

I took a deep breath and spoke louder than I should. “Father Gabriel gave Sara to me.” I emphasized her name. “If I choose to correct her, it’s my decision. Not yours.”

When I turned I saw a large man I didn’t recognize. Though he’d taken a step back, I had no doubt that if I went for Richards, he’d go for me.

“She’s . . .” Richards turned away before spinning to face me again. “She’s walking around like the zombie women around here. What did you do to her?”

“What did I do?” Fuck you. “Go to hell! I remember you. You were with her in Dearborn. You had her and you turned her over. She’s mine now, and I’m keeping her.”

“You’re keeping her? Like she’s a f*cking possession? This is insane.”

“No, not a possession, my wife.”

“Gentlemen.”

A chill went through me, silencing us all, as Father Gabriel emerged from a doorway farther down the hall. The man behind me and I immediately shifted our stances, standing taller and bowing our heads, to reflect the reverence we felt for Father Gabriel. Conversely Richards casually leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Patting Richards’s shoulder, Father Gabriel said, “This is The Light, we don’t argue, we don’t fight, and”—he leaned toward Richards, his voice low and methodical—“We. Don’t. Drop. Fucking. F. Bombs. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Richards said, though it appeared it pained him to do so.

“Brother Jacob,” he said, looking in my direction.

“Yes, Father.”

“We have much to discuss.” He pulled up the sleeve of his silk suit, revealing a watch, as well as cuff links that I would guess could have been sold to pay off the debt of a few small nations. “However, now is not the time. Service is about to begin.” His brow rose. “I assume Sister Sara is seated with the other Assembly wives?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Very well.” He turned back to Richards. “Won’t you join us? It’d be good for you.”

Pulling himself away from the wall, Richards again ran his hand through his hair. Although he was answering Father Gabriel, his stare never left me. “No, I need to get the hell out of here.”

I’d never in three years heard anyone tell Father Gabriel no, but from the way Richards walked away without waiting for Father Gabriel’s response, I got the distinct impression that neither of them found it unusual.