It’s toward the end of the meal that this horrible clanging sound starts.
No one says a word. Darryl stands up first, striding out of the room as if he had been expecting the interruption; or, better yet, hadorchestratedit. That would make sense. He was gone for a while, and as he invites Maverick to rise next, there’s a smugness to him that has my hackles rising.
“Alexandra will join us,” he announces, gesturing at me next.
Felicity, the newest wife, shoots a jealous look my way. “Why does she get to go?”
“Because I said so, darlin’. You’re not questioning your husband, are ya?”
The poor girl pales. “No… Darryl, honey, of course not. You know I would never. You know that, right?”
He makes a tsk-ing sound. “I thought I did. I thought you understood that us boys… we keep our women safe in the house. Unless you’d rather be the one the alarm bell’s ringin’ for?”
Her fingers jolt. Her fork falls to the tabletop. “No. I’m sorry, Darryl.”
“That’s fine, Felicity. When I get back, you can join me in my room and show me just how sorry you are, my sweet thing.”
A hint of fear, a touch of distaste… watching the slender brunette closely, I see all of that, followed by the same sort of determination that’s stared back at me when I used to look in mirrors.
She’ll do anything to survive—including this brute.
“Of course. I… I’ll be waiting for you.”
“That’s my girl. And Kendra… you’ll be next.”
Another one of his wives nods. “Yes, sweetheart.”
Darryl shares a look with Maverick. “You got to show them who’s boss. Eh, Brooks?”
Maverick says nothing.
I wonder if I can grab the knife that Felicity used to cut the cake and jab it in Darryl’s jugular.
Figuring that’s pretty much a death wish, I rise from my seat, sidling over to Maverick’s hip again. I’m glad I get to go… wherever… even if the other women don’t. Right now, Mav’s the only ally I have. Darryl is going to have to pry me away from him if the prison town leader wants to separate us.
Once he sees that we’re ready, he leads us outside.
“This way. Follow the crowd. My boys know where they’re going.”
There’s a sea of people, smaller than the Grave, but large enough to carry me along it like a current as we all flow in the same direction. Before I think better of it, I reach out and grab Maverick’s chilly hand.
I glance up at him, and whether I want to assure him that the hand is mine or demand he tell me what we’re doing now, I don’t know, but I can’t find my voice. There’s such a strange yet curious expression on his face, one I don’t think I was meant to see because, in a heartbeat, it’s gone. He tugs on my hand, but doesn’t let go. I follow his lead.
The crowd empties us out on the edge of that first apartment complex, the one with the open center.
The one with the wooden platform that is basically some sort of stage.
Most of the crowd ebbs their way closer to it and I’m suddenly reminded of the high school auditorium in the Grave. This is just like that last assembly we had, when Maverick arrived. This is East Jersey’s way of coming together as a community.
Butwhy?
It’s no surprise to me when Darryl is the one who mounts the stage.
The clanging had stopped. I didn’t even notice until it starts up again as the big man moves toward the front.
“Tonight, I’ve gathered you all here to witness what happens when one of you don’t follow the rules.” He lifts his hand, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. “Clyde. Melvin. Bring him in.”
Two men march from the other side of the courtyard. One is a couple of inches over six feet. Dark skin. Hair closely cropped to his skull. He’s holding a handbell, ringing it out of rhythm. His partner is a little shorter, more squat, and with greasy black hair that’s tucked behind his ears.