Before His Choice (Dark Romance Prequel) Read online

  Before His Choice

  A prequel to Under His Rule

  By Clarissa Wild

  A Deal Made © 2020 Clarissa Wild

  Copy Editing by Editing4Indies

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or person, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All characters in this book are eighteen years of age or older.

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  Noah

  When the needle enters my skin, I bite my lip and shut my eyes.

  The pain is easier to handle if I don’t look. But man, does this tattoo sting.

  “Almost done,” the elder says as he inscribes our family’s symbol onto my hand.

  I count down every agonizing second in my head, hoping it will stop soon. I never knew it would be this painful, but I have no choice in the matter. This is what happens to all the patriarchs and their heirs. I’m already lucky they wait this long with men. Women have to get it done at a much younger age to signify they belong to the Family … because they’re the property of their husbands.

  “Beautiful.” The last stroke makes me shiver.

  The man wipes my hand with a cloth, and says, “Have a look.”

  I open my eyes again and stare at the dark ink injected into my skin. Even though it doesn’t look that special to me, it means I now truly belong to the Family.

  And when I look up into my father’s proud eyes, I smile.

  “Finally,” he says. “Bandage him up, will you?”

  “Of course,” the elder says. He reaches into his box and takes out bandages and some tape, wrapping my hand until the tattoo is completely hidden. “It’ll be red and puffy for a few days. Let it rest, and wash carefully afterward.”

  I nod and get up off the chair, ready to get out of this damp hut.

  “Where are you going?” Father asks.

  “The forest,” I say, clutching the doorframe. “I was going to meet up with—”

  “Fine,” he interjects. “Just be home in time for the ceremony.”

  I nod, even though we both know it doesn’t matter because he won’t be there to check up on me. He’ll be at the ceremony along with all the other adults while us kids get to hang out together with a few of the elders who chaperone. I’m already fourteen, so I don’t need anyone to watch me. I can’t wait until I’m eighteen and allowed to participate in the ceremony. I’m already excited just thinking about it.

  I run along the stones and grass and head straight for the forest. Behind it is a clearing filled with apple trees. The apples are ripe and ready to be plucked, so I immediately pick up a basket and pull some off the trees. These will be a nice gift for my mom.

  Suddenly, something hard hits me in the head. “Ow!”

  A giggle follows not too far ahead.

  I look up at the girl whose small hands cover her mouth mischievously. “Gotcha!”

  “No fair, I didn’t have time to block!” I yell back, and I grab an apple and throw it at her. Not too hard, and I obviously miss on purpose. I’m not about to throw apples at a little girl’s head … as she did mine.

  “That hurt,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.

  “Sorry,” she says, pouting while clutching her hands, which immediately makes me forgive her. She approaches me and grabs my arm, nudging me to lean over. When I do, she places a gentle kiss on the bump. “There.”

  A blush appears on my cheeks, and I smile. “Feels better already.”

  She smiles too, and says, “Missed you.”

  “It wasn’t that long,” I say, winking. “But I missed you too.”

  She picks up an apple and places it in my basket. “I’ve been waiting all day. Picking apples is no fun when you’re alone.”

  “I know, but it had to be done,” I say.

  She grabs my hand and looks at the bandage. “Does it hurt?”

  I retract my hand and bite my lip. Should I tell her the truth? She’s still so young … so vulnerable.

  “A little,” I say, sighing as I turn around and walk toward the well. “Nothing a little water can’t fix.”

  I unwrap the bandage and stick it into the water. The sting reminds me of a burn, but this time all over the back of my hand. I hiss and hold my breath, hoping she didn’t hear that.

  “It looks painful,” she says, glancing at my hand.

  I stare at it for a while.

  “But now you belong to the Family,” she says, smiling at me. “That must feel good.”

  “I guess …” I reply as we both sit in the grass. “But I don’t know why we only do this to the patriarchs and their heirs. Why not the entire community?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know either. Maybe it’s because the patriarchs are important?”

  “Maybe.” I sigh. I just wish I wasn’t. “Guess we’ll find out when we’re old enough.”

  “I don’t think I want to know,” she says, grasping at the grass. “I’d much rather just play with you forever.” She throws the grass away, and the wind picks up the small plucks, letting them drift through the wind.

  “There’ll be a time when we can’t play anymore … You know that, right?” I say.

  She sighs out loud. “Do you always have to spoil the mood?” She gets up from the ground and pats down her dress.

  “Yes. The truth hurts, but it’s better than lies,” I say as I look up at her.

  She smiles again and then holds out her hand. “Promise you won’t lie to me, Noah.”

  I contemplate it for a minute, and then I grab her hand, and she helps me get up. “Promise.”

  We shake hands and then hug each other, just as we always do … like we were taught to do in this community of love.

  ***

  “Why couldn’t you wait?” my mother yells at my father.

  This is what happens every other day. Sometimes it’s because of choices he made without asking her. Sometimes it’s because he’s too drunk to behave. And sometimes it’s because he can’t keep his hands to himself.

  “He is my son. I will decide what happens with him and when,” my father yells back, clenching a bottle of booze in his hand.

  Today it’s both, it seems.

  I peek into the room where they’re having a shouting match, wondering if I should go in and ease the situation by making up something. I could tell them I hit someone or that I almost drowned. Any lie is a good lie if it helps them focus on something other than each other.

  “He’s my son too!” my mother yells back.

  “I am the patriarch. He will obey my rules, just as you,” my father growls. “End of story.” And he takes a big sip from the bottle.

  “He’s just a boy. He wasn’t ready for the tattoo yet,” she says.

  “I’ll decide that,” my father replies. “And he was fine. Stop complaining.”

  “You always do this. You always shut me out when it’s about us. About the Family.”

  “Don’t speak to me about the Family!” he growls. “You know nothing of the work that goes into keeping the Family intact. This community means everything to me.”

  A bitter scowl rests on her
face. “More than I or our son could ever mean to you.”

  Oh boy.

  Father marches toward Mother and smacks her hard.

  I duck behind the door and cover my mouth with my hand to prevent a shout from escaping. If they find out I’m here, that I’m spying on them, I’ll be punished in even harsher ways.

  “What was that?” my father growls.

  My eyes widen, and in panic, I bolt away as fast as I can, to the only room in this giant house I know I can go to in need. Not mine … hers.

  I burst through the door and close it behind me quickly before crawling into bed with her.

  “Noah?” she mutters as I quickly pull the covers over both of us.

  I bring my finger to my lips, and say, “Shhh … I’m hiding.”

  “Are your parents fighting again?” she asks.

  I nod, and the look on her face immediately turns sour.

  “Mine did too, today,” she says as she turns to face me. “I wish they could just get along like we do.”

  “Me too,” I say. It’s happening more frequently, and my father’s violent outbursts are getting to the point that I’m scared to confront him, let alone tell any of the other patriarchs about it. Would they even care? She’s a wife. She’s merely a vessel for babies, nothing more, nothing less.

  At least, that’s how my father looks at her now. A long time ago, he looked at her with fiercely protective eyes, but that love has long faded away. All I know is that she never felt at home here … and that comes at a price.

  It won’t be long before he tries to woo another woman … and chases her off … or worse.

  I swallow hard. I don’t want to think about what could happen to my mother.

  I love her more than anything, but he doesn’t, and that hurts.

  My father always said this community was purely built on love, that love is what drove all of us, and that we should respect it, nurture it … live for it. Because that is what God wants us to do.

  But what he’s doing now is nothing of the sort, and I don’t think God would ever approve.

  Do the other men in this community treat their women like this too? Or just the ones living in the temple? Because it sure feels like that to me.

  “We won’t be like that, will we?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  “Swear on it,” she says.

  I put my hand on my chest, and say, “I swear on my life.”

  She smiles, and we lock hands tightly while we lie down in bed and close our eyes, huddled close together. Just as my father once did when he still loved my mother.

  Chapter Two

  Noah

  A few weeks later

  The rain pours down from the sky like someone turned on the shower somewhere up in the clouds. God must hate this day as much as I do.

  I stare at the ground in front of me … the dug up soil and the giant hole that appeared when they were done. There’s space for just one person there. There’s no bed, no soft cushion, nothing to make the final resting place more comfortable for my mother.

  I stare at her body wrapped in thick white shrouds as they hoist her down into the hole. It’s strange looking at that thing and imagining it’s my mother. One day, I’m still talking to her … then the next, her smile was gone forever.

  I wonder what she looks like underneath those sheets. If they covered her skin in paint to hide the bruises. If anyone had ever noticed or cared to tell another soul about her suffering.

  I didn’t … and now I pay the price.

  But I won’t cry a single tear. Not today. Not with this man standing behind me, clutching my shoulder, burying his fingers into my skin as if to say, “You’re mine, and you know this will happen to you too if you don’t obey the rules.”

  I’ve never wanted to swear before, but he definitely makes me want to do it.

  I close my eyes as they cover her body with sand slowly but surely. It feels like it takes forever, and the rain falling down on my face provides little relief. There’s no easy way to deal with this, no pill to swallow to take away this pain I feel in my heart.

  And when my eyes break open again, all I can look at is her.

  That girl in her cute little dress and the beautiful smile that appears when her eyes connect with mine.

  I don’t need words to know what she’s thinking, and I don’t need to hold her hand to know she’s there for me.

  I just pray to God this won’t happen to her, too.

  ***

  A few months later

  I’m searching the grounds for bugs to add to my collection. I have a box under my bed where I keep them. Luckily, my father hasn’t found out yet, or they’d have been thrown out already … me along with it.

  I sift through the grass on my hands and knees, poking at the sand to see if anything comes up. Hearing some sniffles from a hut makes me pause and look up. It’s definitely coming from there. Sounds like someone’s crying. Maybe they need help.

  I walk up to it and listen near the door. Someone’s definitely crying in there. I knock. The sniffles stop, but no one replies. “Hello?”

  No response.

  I knock again and then push the door open.

  In the corner, near the fireplace, sits a woman with her face buried in her hands.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as I approach.

  When she looks up, I stop in my tracks. It’s her mother.

  I heard in passing from some of the matriarchs that she flees often and usually gets found a day later by the guards. Is this the hut where she always goes?

  “Sorry, no, but … don’t mind me,” she says, wiping away her tears.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “If anyone finds you here with me, you might be punished too.”

  As a man, I’m allowed to go wherever I want, but she … as a woman … can’t. And that strikes me as unfair. She clearly has a good reason. Why else would she be here?

  She slides aside her auburn hair and tucks it behind her ear. That’s when I notice the dark bruising on her collarbone.

  I gasp. “So she was right. He hits you.”

  Her eyes widen, and when she realizes I’ve seen, she immediately covers herself up further with her scarf. “Please don’t tell anyone that I’m here.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” I reply. “But you have to tell me why.”

  Her face darkens. “It’s nothing you can solve.”

  “I want to try. At least give me a chance.” I grab her hand.

  She smiles gently. “You still have such soft hands, untouched by violence.” She pulls me toward her. “What can I do about this? Nothing.”

  “It’s dangerous for your daughter,” I say, worming my hand away from her grip. “Let me help.”

  “How?” she asks.

  I think about it for a second. There’s only one option to get to safety … and that’s out.

  “I can get her out,” I say.

  Her eyes widen. “No, that’s not possible.”

  “It is. I can bring her with me on one of our trips to convert people.”

  She looks around skittishly and sucks on her bottom lip. “You could do that? Would you be willing? You know it’s dangerous, right?”

  She’s thought of it too, I’m sure, and that’s why she’s so eager to let me.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve contemplated this. Violence is a part of this community even though the leaders try so desperately to hide it. Pain always leaves cracks in the surface that are easy to spot. I don’t intend to let her succumb to it.

  But I also don’t want things to continue the way they are now.

  If this place will ever change … it will have to be without them.

  And the only way I can make that happen is if I become the only man left standing.

  But I’d have to do it under the radar, without the others noticing. Follow their way of life and sneak up underneath them when they least expect it. But I can’t d
o it by myself.

  I suck in a breath. “I will take her out. But she can’t stay there forever.”

  “What?” She seems perplexed. “Why not?”

  “I need her to come back … one day,” I say, biting my lip.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “Then she stays here, and she’ll be hurt and humiliated, just like you. What if he hits her too? Is that what you want?”

  She frowns. “You’re just as awful as your father.”

  That hurt. More than I’d like to admit.

  “I’m giving you an option.” I hold out my hand. “Take it or leave it.”

  She eyes it for a second before reluctantly grasping it. “Fine.”

  A wicked smile spreads across my lips. In the end, I’ll always get my way. “Deal.”

  Chapter Three

  Noah

  Two weeks later, it’s time for a new round of recruitment, and my father’s bringing me along again to learn how it works so I can do it on my own when I get older. He always asks me to pack well, but today, I’m bringing an extra big trunk. No one will notice, no one ever cares about me or my luggage. I just tail along for the ride to learn, but I’m expected to lay low and not bother him too much, which is a perfect opportunity to bring something else along.

  Before the sunrise, while it’s still dark, I go outside with my snow boots on, as the ground is covered in it. It’s so cold I can see my own breath while I walk toward the hut where I met her mother before.

  When I arrive, I knock three times. She opens the door. A little girl dressed in all white steps forward. Her mother wraps a scarf around her neck and kisses her one last time. A tear travels down her cheeks as she hugs her little girl and pushes her toward me.

  “What’s going on?” she mutters.

  She’s far too young to understand, and explaining it would do more harm than good.