Beyond His Control: Chapter 12

When morning comes, the guards finally leave their position next to the door to my room, and I immediately leave. It’s time for breakfast, which means all the patriarchs will be heading into the same direction. All of them … except for me.

Because I’m headed straight for Patrick’s room.

“Patrick!” I burst inside and glare around until I find him shaving himself in the bathroom mirror.

He peeks out the door and looks at me. “Ah, Noah. Glad to see you’ve returned.”

“Quit the bullshit. You told the president, didn’t you?” I growl as I march toward him. “Tell me the truth!”

He cocks his head while tightly holding his razor. “Calm down, brother.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!” I yell, pointing my finger at him. “It was you. You told him she was his daughter.”

He holds up his hands, but I can’t ignore the slight smile on his face. “Touché. You got me. Now what?”

“You mother—”

“No swearing, remember?” He winks. “It’s in the rules.”

I grab him by the shirt. “Fuck the rules. You did this on purpose.”

“Why would I do that?” he says, clutching my arm. “You sure you wanna go down this path, brother?”

“Stop calling me that,” I say through gritted teeth. “You want me dead, don’t you? You’re no brother of mine.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before scheming and lying your way through this house.” He cocks his head. “Did you think no one would find out?”

My eyes twitch. I want nothing more than to sucker punch him right now, but if I do that, my head will surely roll. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

“What? Told him that his rightful heir returned?” he muses. “Because I wonder how she managed to escape in the first place, you know, being so young.”

“Stop.” I shove him. “You don’t know anything, so shut your mouth before you say something you’ll regret.”

“I don’t regret anything. Not a single word. You should’ve told him yourself,” he says. “Could’ve prevented a lot of this trouble you’re in.” He eyes me down and looks behind me.

When I glance over my shoulder and see two guards peering at us, I grind my teeth. We’re being watched. Or rather, I am.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Patrick jokes as I release him from my grip.

“You don’t wanna mess with me,” I growl.

“Or what?” he retorts. “Don’t put this on me. Your wife couldn’t stop talking about that scarf of hers.”

What? She talked to Patrick while I wasn’t present? When? And what else did they discuss?

“You talked to my wife alone?” I growl.

He lifts a hand again. “Relax. Nothing happened.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” I reply.

“There you go again with the swearing. Is that something you picked up during all your trips?”

I put my hands against my side and cock my head. “You’ve always had a thing for the girls the other patriarchs bring into this house. What is it? Their unavailability? Is that what turns you on?”

“Watch your mouth, Noah,” he growls back.

“Boys …” The president is in the doorway.

The moment our eyes lock, I immediately step away from Patrick.

“This is no way to treat your fellow patriarch,” he says. “Stop fighting. What’s done is done. History is history. Get over it.” He lowers his head and glares at me. “I will speak to you soon.”

He tucks his hands into his pockets and walks off, but that last statement made me gulp.

I know my reckoning has yet to come. I just hope I can convince him to believe my lies.

“See? Told you to cool it,” Patrick says.

“Zip it. If it wasn’t for you, neither me nor my wife would be in this shit,” I spit back.

“You got yourself in trouble. That’s not on me, brother,” he replies, and he waves me away. “Now shoo. I need to get dressed.”

I’m done with his ass.

I bolt out of his room and go downstairs, but when I try to enter the dining room, the doors are blocked by two guards.

“Step aside,” I say.

“We can’t, patriarch. Direct orders from the president,” one of them replies.

I scowl at him. “Direct orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I turn around, but one of them clears his throat. “You won’t find him in his room. He’s already inside the dining room.”

I frown and stare them down for a few seconds. That bastard. Trying to keep me away from breakfast too? What kind of game is he playing? It’s as if he’s only doing this to make me feel inferior, and it’s working.

I ball my fists. “Fine. I’ll speak with him later.”

I march back up the stairs and go to Natalie’s room, but that too is blocked by guards.

“Don’t tell me … I can’t enter my wife’s room either?”

The guard shrugs, and says, “Sorry, patriarch.”

“President’s orders …” I hiss, and the guy confirms my suspicion by nodding.

This is the first time he’s actively tried to block me from doing day-to-day things, and it doesn’t feel good at all.

“If you see him, tell him he can’t keep me away from her forever. She’s my wife, and she’s carrying my baby. I’m not going anywhere.” I tap the guard’s chest as if it will add more value to my words even though he’s just the messenger.

I know it’s useless because even if they do manage to tell him, he won’t listen. But at least I’ve made my stance known.

All I can do now is go back into my room and wait.

Wait and pray … that he’ll listen to her.

And that she’ll save me from being hanged.

Natalie

When someone finally knocks on my door, I’m practically jumping to get out. I’m still a prisoner here, and anything is better than being stuck in this room like a caged animal.

Agatha enters, and says, “The president would like to see you now.”

I take a quick glance at myself in the mirror. I grabbed a dress from the closet and put it on. Is it ridiculous to look nice for these people? Yes. Am I a lunatic for obeying their rules? Yes. But it all has a purpose. I have a role to play … and that’s one of a loving daughter and wife. A faithful servant of God. A woman who will gain the trust of her father so she can change the course of this community for the better … and stab him in the back later.

That’s what I’ve decided.

It’s my time to play the game Noah intended me to play.

So I smile at Agatha, and ask, “Am I presentable?”

She nods. “You look good, matriarch.” She steps forward and grabs my hand, pressing a kiss on top. “Very good.”

I feel unease as she releases me. Is this what they always do to matriarchs?

“Follow me, please,” she says, and she walks outside.

I traipse behind her, past the guards, whom I’m almost tempted to flip the finger at, but that probably won’t help me in the long run, so I don’t.

Instead, I throw them a single glance, one that speaks volumes and says all the words I’m forbidden from speaking out loud to the men.

We walk downstairs and go straight into the hallway behind it. There are giant doors in the back that open once we arrive. My jaw practically drops when the hall I walk into beyond that could host hundreds of people. It’s like a big auditorium, but instead of people getting lectures, there are loads of empty seats lined next to a yellow rug that stretches all the way to a big door at the end. On the other end of the rug, near the wall, is a bigger seat that has hand-carved embellishments and resembles a throne. And on top of it … sits President Lawrence.

My father.

I swallow down the lump in my throat as Agatha steps aside and beckons me to go inside.

One step. Two steps. My knees begin to quiver, so I straighten my back. My fingers start to tremble, so I turn them into fists and continue my pace.

Showing weakness in front of this man is like showing your wounds to a wolf; he’d bite your head off.

His face doesn’t look any less menacing as I step forward onto the rug. I stand before him with my hands firmly by my side and my head held high. The number of times I’ve seen him and talked to him can be counted on one hand, and never one on one like this. When his eyes home in on mine, I stop breathing for a few seconds.

“So …” He clears his throat. The pause seems to last ages, and it makes the sweat pool in the small of my back. “I heard you paid your mother a visit.”

I swallow. He sees and hears everything. His staff are loyal to him, not the other patriarchs, so lying is of no use to me. Instead of trying to weave my way through this mess, I’m going to come clean. Maybe a fresh start would convince him of my usefulness.

“Yes,” I reply. “I didn’t know she was still alive, so when I found out, I had to see her.”

“And? Did you like what you see?” he asks, scratching his face. “Did you take a good look at the scars and the pain she suffered thanks to the fire?” He clutches the chair. “So that you could escape?”

My throat tightens as though he has his hands wrapped around my neck right this moment.

“I …” My eyes falter. I can’t look at him. Not when we both know I caused all of her pain.

“You know exactly what you did when you escaped. And for what reason, exactly?” he spits. “Did you hate it here that much?”

I don’t reply. I don’t know what to say without making him hate me even more.

“You’re my daughter. If you’d only told me …” His voice sounds as though he’s lamenting on our lost time together. “You’re both the same. You and your mother,” he growls, forming a fist with his hand. “If only I hadn’t picked that woman to be my wife.”

“I’m glad you did. She’s the best mother a girl could ever wish for,” I reply in a moment of courage.

“Hmm … you really think so?” he says, tilting his head.

This sounds like a test, like there is no right answer to any of this. “I wish I could’ve grown up with a mother like her. That I could’ve been there.”

He looks at me. The wait seems eternal, and sweat has started to drip down my back.

A smile appears. “I wished for the same thing.”

I smile back.

“But, unfortunately, that’s not how things went, and we can’t change the past.” He clears his throat. “However …”

The pause that follows makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“I’d like to know how you managed to escape at such a young age.” He leans forward in his throne-like chair. “Surely, you must’ve had help?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t remember. The details are hazy.”

It’s no lie. I didn’t remember, for the most part, though Noah brought back some of the memories that lingered in the back of my mind. But he doesn’t need to know that part.

“You sure you don’t remember anything?” he emphasizes.

“No,” I say. “Otherwise, I would’ve tried to find this Family a long time ago.”

Another wretched smile forms on his lips, which dissipates quickly. “Yet you escaped … twice.”

I suck on my bottom lip. “Because I needed to say goodbye to my former life one last time.”

Good one, Natalie.

“If you’d told me sooner you were my daughter, maybe I could’ve arranged such a thing without you going through all that hassle and putting a strain on our guards to go and find you. Hmm?” He leans back in his chair.

“I didn’t know I was your daughter until my mother told me on the day she set fire to the hut.”

His eyes twitch. “Interesting …” He licks his lips. “So you didn’t know you were born here?”

I shake my head.

“But your mother knew?”

I don’t want to throw her under the bus, but I guess it’s too late now.

“She only realized after I showed her the scarf,” I lie.

“What scarf?”

“The scarf she gave me before I … first escaped.”

“So you do remember something,” he says.

Shit. Shit, shit.

“No, no, I …” I mutter, feeling the heat rise under me. “I just had it on me as a child. I don’t remember anything else, just that I always had this scarf which carried the symbol of the Family.”

His eyes narrow. I wonder if he believes my story. I hope so.

“Let me see the scarf.”

“I don’t have it,” I reply. “It’s in the hut that I was made to leave after … marrying Noah.”

“I’ll have it fetched then,” he says, and he snaps his fingers.

Immediately, an elder comes forward from the shadows. I hadn’t even noticed him.

The president whispers into the man’s ear, who then immediately walks off.

Probably to pay a visit to Holly, April, and Emmy … if they’re even there. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if Emmy ever returned to this community. How do we know the helper Noah brought along didn’t just take her away so they could disappear? And if he did bring her back, where is she now? And is she unharmed?

“I’d like to know where my friend is,” I ask in a bold moment of courage.

“Oh … so you have wishes now,” he jests.

“I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but she was with me on the outside, and she was whisked away by one of the helpers, and I don’t know—”

He raises his hand. “I know. She’s been taken care of.”

Been taken care of?

A cold shiver runs up and down my spine.

“Is she … dead? Did that man kill her?” The question makes me want to vomit.

He frowns and cocks his head. “Oh, my sweet, sweet child … are you really that oblivious?” He’s mocking me. “I wouldn’t allow Noah off this property without someone to accompany him.”

So the president sent that man to grab Emmy?

He claps his hands. The big door on the other end of the room opens up to a panoramic view of the Holy Land. In walks a man … the same man who I saw the day Emmy was taken.

My eyes widen, and I stop breathing for a second.

She’s right behind him.

“Emmy,” I whisper, tears staining my eyes.

She survived.