Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(15)

Rebecca gasped from the doorway. I snapped my eyes shut and clenched my teeth. I couldn’t even imagine what she must be thinking of me.

A smug grin crossed Porter’s face. “I’m kinda impressed, ya know?”

“What?” My voice cracked as I shook my head in disbelief. “Why?”

“I remember you, Brinley. You weren’t exactly a rebel.”

“Nobody is.”

“Well, they made that next to impossible. Step outta line, look what happens—” He raised his arms and waved his hands, gesturing to the apartment that surrounded us. “So, be careful. It’d be a shame if anyone found out.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s exactly what I need. I can show my loyalty to the prophet.” He gritted his teeth and walked around me as he spoke. “I’d turn you in, they’d kick you out, and I’d be back at home in my nice warm bed.”

Horrified, I clasped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. “Stop, please!”

“Brinley!”

Rebecca stormed into the apartment, a mama bear ready to attack. I turned and waved her back, letting her know I was okay.

“Ah.” Porter adopted a pondering pose, his hand clasping his chin. “So, this is Rebecca. How interesting.”

“Please,” I begged as my eyes stung, threatening tears. “Just give me the purse.”

“Not yet. This is way too much fun.” He waved his hand, dismissing me. “Re-bec-ca. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

“How?” Rebecca frowned and rubbed her bottom lip. “How do you know my name?”

“Ask your sister wife,” Porter said, still smiling smugly.

“Brinley?” Rebecca was clearly petrified, and I was sure she must be mentally retracing her steps that morning to find how on earth she’d ended up at an apartment in town with a clearly possessed man . . . a man who knew her name.

“He has a demon inside him, don’t listen.” I turned my attention to Porter. “Please, I don’t care about the money. Just let me have my bag.”

“Fine, whatever.”

He walked to the dining table and retrieved my purse. My stomach settled as he carried it back to me, holding it above his head, teasing me as though we were children. I stood on the tips of my toes, but couldn’t reach it.

“Oh good God,” he said. “You’re not even trying.”

Anger rose within me. I could handle his anger, his disdain for my presence in his home, but that I would not tolerate.

“No.” I shook my head violently. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“And what are you gonna do about it? This is my home, not yours, goddamn it.” He slammed the purse on the counter.

Again I covered my ears, attempting to block out his sin. I now understood why people like Porter were exiled from our community. They deserved it. They were not part of the chosen; his actions confirmed that fact.

All the blood drained from my face, but I reached my hand out to take the purse. In that split second, Porter grasped my wrist and squeezed.

“Why are you on the pill?” he demanded. “Seriously, tell me why.”

“Why? Why do you want to know?”

“Because, I remember you. You were the girl with the doll. All the toys were taken away, but you had a doll.”

His eyes narrowed and I felt my defenses slide away and fall at my feet. My stomach flipped as he recalled my first act of defiance.

“It was just a doll,” I said, attempting to downplay my actions.

“No, it was more than that.” He lowered his voice and softly brushed at my wrist with his thumb.

My stomach flipped again in response to his touch. What was I feeling? Fear? Pleasure? I didn’t understand it, but a strange part of my brain didn’t want him to let go.

“And you know it,” he insisted.

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t. He was right. There was a part of me that questioned my faith, questioned the prophet, my husband, all of it. It was as if he could see me, really see me in a way no one else could.

“Seriously, be careful. If they catch you, it won’t end well.”

Gone was his smug demeanor. In its place was a concerned expression, softer, gentler, much like the strokes that continued against the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.

Mesmerized, I nodded. “I will.”

Our eyes were locked as we stood in silence. As he stroked my wrist, I did my best to control my breathing, to prevent him from knowing how fascinated I was by his touch. My cheeks burned, just as they did when Aspen embarrassed me in front of the other sister wives. These foreign sensations overwhelmed and confused me, yet I was consumed by them.

“We should go.” Rebecca placed her hand on my shoulder, snapping Porter and me out of our daze. He blinked repeatedly and released my wrist.

He felt it too, didn’t he?

“Thank you,” I said. “For the purse.”

He nodded, rubbing his red eyes. “Sorry about the money. Gotta eat, right?”

“Right.” I shrugged and gave him one last glance before we walked out of the apartment.

When the door closed behind us, Rebecca turned on me, blocking my access to the stairwell.