Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(89)

“You don’t know that, you haven’t—”

“I belong there,” she insisted. “It’s what I believe. It’s where I belong.”

“But I—” I choked on my words, sadness and grief filling me from head to toe. “If I’m out here and you’re in there, then I’ll be dead to you.”

Aspen walked to me and placed a kiss on my forehead. “You’re my sister,” she whispered. “You’ll never be dead to me. Never.”

“Promise?” I asked, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Yes.”

Aspen wrapped her arms around me, careful not to hurt me. But I didn’t care. I pulled her close, pulled her tight as the tears continued to spill from my eyes. She kissed the top of my head and said good-bye.

“We have to get back. I still need to deal with Lehi.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, hoping once more that she’d change her mind.

She brushed me off, though, as I knew she would. Aspen was strong, determined, and independent. There was nothing I could say to force her to leave her faith. Despite the influence of the Cluff household, Aspen knew her place in the world. And that was to be a part of the chosen. To live in the compound and to serve Heavenly Father.

And I had to accept that.

“Brinley, I—” Rebecca said meekly. “I can never . . . apologize enough for what I did.”

“You didn’t know,” I told her. “You didn’t know what they were capable of. I understand. And eventually . . . eventually I’ll forgive.”

She nodded, her face twisting as tears fell. “Thank you.”

Porter walked my sister wives to the door, thanked them for bringing me to him, and at Aspen’s insistence, promised to remain at the apartment, no matter his urge for revenge.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said, helping me off the couch and walking me to his bedroom. Carefully, he stripped me of my dress and long underwear as I sat on the edge of his bed.

I glanced around the room, astonished at how tidy it was. “You cleaned?”

“No big deal.” He shrugged. “Just trying to clean up my act.”

“I see,” I said, smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“You won’t be needing these anymore.”

He tossed my clothes into the wastebasket. The heavy dress draped over the side of the can, toppling it to the floor. I stared at the can, lying on its side, knowing that I would no longer be weighed down by a garment of any kind. I would stand tall.

Porter dressed me in a soft cotton T-shirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. My body, despite the pain that I was still in, was enveloped in the peace these simple clothes provided. I stood in front of his mirror, stroking the bare skin of my arms as I studied my body. Purple bruises were forming on my legs. Bandages covered the gash on my eyebrow, and my hands that were cut by the shattered glass. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

Porter cleared his throat, taking my braid in his hands. “May I?”

I nodded, and Porter released my braid. His fingers weaved through the loosened strands, freeing my hair from its bonded state. Unimaginable relief swept through my body, my brain, my heart.

No more braids.

No more prophet, domineering husband, or sister wives.

I was free.



Chapter 33

Aspen was proud of herself. Not for what she’d done to protect Brinley. She couldn’t imagine not rising to that occasion. She cared for Brinley, loved her like a sister. It was her duty, her obligation to protect her. No, she was proud of the armor she’d encircled around her when saying good-bye.

She couldn’t let Brinley know that she was terrified.

Inside, Aspen dreaded seeing Lehi’s face when they returned to the compound, hearing his venomous words. And the idea of laying with him to make another child was absolutely incomprehensible. She was proud that she’d placed a mask over her fear, given Brinley hope.

And she was satisfied that Porter would stay true to his word. He’d hold on to his copy of the note. She placed her hands inside the wide pockets of her dress, comforted by stroking the crumpled papers one by one. There were seven copies on her person, two inside her sock drawer, one in Ruthie’s piggy bank, and three inside her mother’s home. Aspen couldn’t be too careful.

Rebecca had said nothing on the drive back to the house. But when they walked inside, Aspen was surprised to find Rebecca trailing behind her.

“I’m going to clean her room,” Aspen said, and Rebecca nodded.

The two women stood in the empty room. Picture frames had fallen from the wall. The quilt on Brinley’s bed showed evidence of the scuffle. It was rumpled crazily, with one pillow lying at the foot of the bed. Broken glass littered the floor at the base of the nightstand, and blood remained dark and sticky on the floor.

Aspen stared down at the blood and her brain flashed with snapshots of memories from earlier that evening. Brinley being slapped, kicked, and brutalized as everyone watched. Aspen had to know, she had to know why Rebecca would turn her back on her sister wife in such a despicable manner.

“Why’d you do it?” she asked, hanging a picture frame back on a nail jutting out from the wall.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Just tell me. Stop pretending to be so innocent in all of this.”