Loving the Cult Read online

  LOVING

  THE

  CULT

  Nicole Tillman

  Copyright © 2014 Nicole Tillman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and registered trademark owners of all branded names referenced without TM, SM, or ® symbols due to formatting constraints, and is not claiming ownership of or collaboration with said trademark brands. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Lindsey Editing

  Printed in the United States of America

  Other Books by Nicole Tillman

  DUPONT Series

  Come Tear Me Down

  Don't Make Me Look

  Please Let Me Stay

  HOPELESS HERITAGE Series

  Secondhand Sapphire

  Temporary Partner - Coming Soon

  FORCED HOME Series

  Loving the Cult

  Taming the Cult – Coming Soon

  Ending the Cult- Coming Soon

  Dedicated to headstrong women

  who refuse to stop fighting...

  PROLOGUE

  It's a nightly thing. I go outside, lie down on the moist grass, and stare up at the sky. Sometimes I daydream, but mostly I contemplate my mortality and the complications of merely existing. I know, that's some pretty heavy shit for someone in their twenties (late-twenties, but twenties nonetheless), but when I look up at the sky, wondering what else is out there for me, I can't help but feel melancholy. It's just who I am.

  But not tonight. Tonight is different, mostly because I'm not home. Normally, I bring Percy, my twelve year old Basset hound with me on my spur of the moment camping trips, but he's just getting too old to schlep it in the great outdoors for more than an hour. He's partial to his air conditioning, his plush doggie bed, and I even find it hard to break him away from daytime television. So, after a particularly dull week at work, I decided to take a mini-vacation by myself.

  This campsite is my own personal Nirvana. I could sit in my backyard and stargaze but it's just not the same. I don't have to blot out the glare of streetlights or drown out the rush of the freeway with noise-canceling headphones. I'm completely isolated. The world is calm, at peace, but not quiet. The bugs and frogs sing their chorus, lulling the day-walkers to sleep. It's a riotous symphony that becomes increasingly soothing as the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

  My body turns to jelly and I'm more relaxed than I've been in the last five years...

  Until I hear the crunch of boots tromping through the woods.

  Snapping up off the blanket I have spread across the grass, I narrow my eyes and try to see through the trees. It's no use. It's practically night and my vision is hazy on even the brightest of days.

  “Hello?”

  In response to my shaky cry, the footsteps seem to cease. Or, maybe I was just imagining them. That has to be it. After an exceptionally long week, I've finally cracked and am now hearing things. Next, I'll be hallucinating Smokey the Bear coming out of the treeline, lecturing me on how only I can prevent forest fires.

  After several minutes of sitting and staring, there's no bear, no human, no vermin. Nothing crawls out of the darkness. Content that it was just my overactive imagination, I settle back on the blanket and continue to count stars and name constellations.

  Okay, so that's Mizar which means that's Ursa Major... Now where's Ursa Minor... Probably should have paid more attention in Astronomy...

  The crunch of dry leaves snaps me back to attention. There's definitely something moving around in the trees. I hope it's an armadillo, although by the sound of it, it's much bigger.

  Maybe a really fat raccoon? Or a small bear? A serial killer skulking through the woods at night looking for young women to scalp?

  Shaking my head, I grab my flashlight, toss the blanket over one arm, and head back to my tent resting on the lonely slab of concrete. This campground is deserted, has been for years, which is the number one reason it's my go-to location.

  THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

  The quick falling of footsteps spikes my adrenaline and I whirl around to see three dark figures rushing toward me. Barely sparing them a glance, I drop my belongings and sprint at full speed to my car.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  My heart beats loudly in my ears as I barely come to a stop next to my car and jerk my keys out of my pocket. My hands are trembling so bad, I can't get the damn thing in the door. I whip my head to the side, hoping to get my long fucking hair out of my face but it falls right back like a veil. I know I have to stay calm, if I lose my head I'm done for. It's screeching damsels that get themselves killed in these kind of situations. But I'm quickly on my way to damsel in distress level since I can't get the freaking key in the damn keyhole. In a matter of five seconds, they've almost caught up to me and all I've done is scratch all the paint off my door with my key.

  “Come on!” I scream, just before three pairs of hands wrap around my body.

  I don't bother screaming, it wouldn't do any good. I'm the only one within thirty miles of this place. Well, aside from the assholes trying to jump me.

  “Get the fuck off me! What are you doing?!”

  I struggle as the two biggest men hoist me off the ground and slam my body against the hood of my car. From the faint glow of the lone floodlight coming from the campsite, I can tell the third man is uncoiling a length of rope as I struggle to push the weight of two brutes off my chest.

  “Hold her still.”

  I struggle harder, instantly terrified by how calm the man seems, the certainty lurking beneath the smooth, emotionless voice. I refuse to be taken who-the-hell-knows-where by these men. As the two men part to make room for the third man to bind my hands, I bring both knees up to my chest and thrash them out, over and over, smashing my hiking boots into any piece of soft flesh I can find. I find good purchase in the biggest man's chest and as his lungs forcefully empty, I shove off, slide across the hood and fall to a heap on the ground next to my passenger side tire.

  Untangling my limbs from one another, I bolt up, causing my joints to pop painfully as I scramble to run through the loose gravel. I can hear their wheezing behind me as I take off in the opposite direction. Screw the car, I just need to get to the highway. If I can make it somewhere surrounded by headlights, I know I'm less likely to be taken.

  Belatedly, I realize I dropped my flashlight when they surprised me. Shit! I curse my lack of foresight but continue into the darkness. Rushing through the trees, I try not to scream as branches and limbs smack against my bare arms and thorny bushes shred my calves. I curse again as my head whips back and I blindly rip and pull my hair from the clutches of an evergreen.

  I freeze.

  I don't know how long I've been running, and I'm not exactly keeping a low profile. I'm running, which is noisy. I'm breathing like a fifty-year-old smoker on an elliptical, and I've been rustling every tree within a mile radius. They have to know where I am. Even if they are still back at the treeline, I'm sure they can pinpoint my location on just my noise alone.

  Squinting, I try to make out any kind of shape I can amongst the trees. Nothing. Just darkness.

  Crunch.

  I hold my breath, this time hoping that it's actually a bear instead of a man. My lungs are burning, but I know I can't take a chance on being heard.

  Don't breathe. Close your eyes. Calm... Jus
t. Stay. Calm.

  I smell his cologne exactly two seconds before I'm captured.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I don't belong here and I sure as hell don't know why I've been taken. At first, I thought the men who took me were either going to rape or kill me, but they've done neither. I rode in the back of a pickup truck for what seemed like hours before we stopped and I was escorted into this house.

  I've asked them who they are, but they won't answer. They also won't tell me where I am.

  Judging by the room we're all standing in, we're inside a very nice, somewhat new, ranch style house. Standing in the middle of the room, I'm unsure of what to do with myself as the three of them stand watch over me, awaiting further instruction.

  I want to open my mouth again, I want to beg not to be killed, but I hang on to the tiny sliver of pride I have left. Judging by the looks on their faces, begging wouldn't do any good.

  The door creaks open and three people walk into the room. They look completely ordinary; like people I pass on the street ever day. The two men are much older than me, and the woman- I can't tell. She seems too regal to have an age.

  My hands begin to tremble and I know it's not just because of the cold air seeping from the vents. Even though it's early fall and cool enough outside, these lunatics have the central air set to freezing. Clenching my hands at my sides, I jut my chin out in defiance and pride as they all take seats around me.

  “Are you going to kill me? Because if you are, I'd rather just get on with it.”

  That is by far the stupidest thing I've ever said in my entire life. I may as well have said, “Here, hand me that whetstone! I would love to sharpen that knife for you. Wouldn't want it to snag in my hair.”

  The woman begins to laugh and it's not a friendly sound.

  “My dear, we aren't going to kill you. You're too important to the cause.”

  “What cause?” I ask, knowing full well she doesn't plan to answer any of my questions right now.

  “Do you have any family? Close friends, work colleagues, anyone like that? Anyone who would be out looking for you?”

  I should probably lie, but I don't have the energy and I've never been good at lying. I highly doubt my dog counts as family, so I shake my head no. The trio smiles to each other.

  “Good then,” the woman says before gesturing to the door. “Bring him in.”

  One of my captors walks to the thick double doors and knocks three times. We all wait, me holding my breath while the rest of them smile and chat quietly.

  Part of me hopes this is some kind of cruel joke. I'm hoping someone I know will walk through those doors and put an end to my suffering. However, I'm not a stupid woman, and I know just how unlikely that is.

  I watch as the doorknob slowly turns to the side and the heavy wooden door is swung open, revealing a casually dressed, scruffy faced man. He can't be but a few years older than myself, but his sad brown eyes, his protruding cheek bones, and the wear on his tired face tells me that he's an old soul. He stands, shoulders back as if he's a soldier at attention, as he acknowledges everyone in the room but me.

  “Jameson, this young woman is yours now. Name her what you like, deal with her however you see fit. Those details are beyond my concern,” the stern woman instructs. “But she will bear your blood before the end of the year. Understood?”

  “Yes, Ma'am.”

  His voice is soft, shy almost, but the deepest I've ever heard from someone of his stature. But that's not what has my eyes going wide and my mouth going dry.

  “What do you mean, I'm HIS? I'm not a slave,” I say quickly, now ready to beg for mercy. “I don't BELONG to anyone!”

  The man finally turns to acknowledge me and his eyes are filled to the brim with sadness, despair, and if I'm not mistaken... pity. But there's something else there. His brow slowly lowers over his eyes, casting them into dark shadows that tell me he's straddling the line between crazy and in control. That look is meant to tell me one thing: He's dangerous.

  The oldest man in the room stands from his chair, gesturing to my apparent 'owner'. “You'll listen to what Jameson has to say. You are his now, don't bother fighting it. You won't be able to overpower him or anyone else in this compound.”

  “This... this compound?”

  Before I even realize he's moved, Jameson is towering over me, hunched over so he can lower his face to mine.

  “You will speak when you are spoken to.”

  My jaw drops open, but only for a second. Only until I realize that I've never let a man speak to me like this before, and I'm sure as hell not going to start now.

  “I'm not a dog. I don't take commands.”

  Jameson's eyes flicker over to our company and the eldest man nods. I don't even think about the significance of the gesture until my head whips to the side, popping my neck and sending shock waves of pain across my cheekbone and up through my eye socket. My eyes instantly water; not because he scared me or because I'm shocked that a man hit me... my eyes water because it fucking hurt.

  Stretching my mouth open while I cradle my jaw in my hand, I cautiously look over my shoulder. One thick vein running up Jameson's neck is pulsing and he seems to be grinding his teeth. I don't know why he looks so on edge when I'm the one who just got bitch slapped.

  “You will speak,” he repeats slowly, “when you are spoken to. Do you understand?”

  So, that's how we're going to play it. Great. I can't wait to smother this bastard in his sleep. I straighten my back and look him square in the eyes. From what I've seen of everyone's behavior here, I'm supposed to submit. Well, to hell with that. I'm not frail, I'm not a damsel in distress, and I'm not a weak-willed little girl that men can push around. I'll push right back.

  Jameson waits for me to answer, to nod, to do something in response to his question. So, I continue to stand in silence. I know my refusal to answer is more powerful than words, I can see it in his eyes when it dawns on him that I'm not done, I'm not backing down, and I'll die before I let anyone treat me like a dog.

  “Enough,” the woman barks. “Take her to your room. I have better things to do than sit around while you carry out your little staring contest. Go.”

  “Yes, Ma'am.”

  Without any warning and without even looking into my eyes, Jameson grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me behind him through the double doors. As they shut behind me, I wrench my arm away from him and he doesn't bother to reach for me again.

  “Follow me.”

  His eyes have grown darker, more menacing, and he looks over my shoulder to a man standing guard outside the room.

  “No.” I plant my feet firmly into the carpet, just to drive my point home.

  Jameson sighs and scratches the back of his neck. If I didn't think he was an animal and a sociopath, I might find the gesture attractive. But not today.

  The guard behind us clears his throat and Jameson, quick as lightening, grabs my left arm, my left leg, and swings my entire body over his shoulders.

  “What the hell are you doing?! Put me down!”

  My screams assault my own ears as they bounce off the whitewashed walls. If there's anyone sleeping in this house, they're wide awake now.

  “Stop fighting,” Jameson growls as he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of my inner thigh and marches down the hall.

  After ascending a flight of stairs with me kicking and screaming the entire way, Jameson shoves open a door and roughly tosses me onto the bed. I bounce once, then instantly right myself, scrambling off the bed to stand my ground in case he plans to attack me.

  Jameson turns, secures the deadbolt, then rests his forehead against the door with a sigh, hands propped up on either side of his face.

  “Why did you make me do that?”

  I let out a very unladylike snort as I try to contain myself. Isn't that the same question wife-beaters have been asking their women for years? 'Why do you make me hit you?' It's laughable.

  “I didn't make you do anything, you goddamn c
aveman! I didn't ask to be abducted and dragged to wherever in the hell we are. I didn't do anything! And I'm not yours. I will never be yours. I'd rather die than have anything to do with you and those psychos downstairs.”

  Jameson pushes off the door, whirling on me faster than I anticipated, and shoves my shoulders down until I'm sitting at the foot of the bed. I push him away in preparation for a fight, but he immediately steps back.

  “Yeah? Well, newsflash you stupid woman, I don't want you either.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What?”

  Okay, I know it's stupid of me to feel hurt, but dammit, it doesn't matter the circumstances under which someone refuses you, it stings no matter what. Actually, it doesn't hurt me; it pisses me off.

  “I don't want you here any more than you want to be here.”

  “Then... why am I here? What are you doing with me? Just open the damn door and let me go home!” My voice cracks over the last word and I don't know if it's from anger or despair.

  “I can't.”

  “Yes, you can!”

  “What's your name?”

  His question throws me off, because I was gearing up for one hell of a fight. A fight I planned to win.

  “It's... it's Tess.”

  He holds his hand out to me in the most gentlemanly gesture I've seen from him thus far.

  “I'm Jameson.”

  I stare at his outstretched hand. He can't for one minute think that I'm actually going to be civil about this.

  “Are you all daffy?” I ask, not bothering to hide my incredulous laughter.

  He lowers his brow and shakes his head the tiniest bit, telling me he doesn't understand the question.

  “Are you all crazy?” I translate. “You kidnap me, hold me hostage, tell me that I'm going to be a- a slave or something, and now you want to shake my hand? Are you fucking insane? I mean, really?”

  As I stop talking, he raises his eyes to the ceiling, examining the light fixture in silence before bringing his shuttered eyes back down to me. His expression is wiped clean and he looks bored, indifferent, and perfectly empty.