“The Prophet said similar things,” I whispered softly. “It's really not so different from the things you've been taught.”
So I hoped. In truth, I knew next to nothing about beliefs among the corrupted. I only knew I'd been warned in the harshest terms to stay the hell away from them. The Prophet always said if no man punished me for communing in this world, God would.
This world was dark, hurtful, and a mere prelude to worse ones waiting for sinners.
“I think you're wrong,” he said coldly, reaching for my hand. “But it's okay to be wrong, Cassie. You've got a lot to learn about this fucked up world, and we'll help you through it. You need anything, you let Izzy and me know. Seriously. Don't ever think I'm blowing smoke up your ass because I am not that kind of man.”
He didn't skip a beat. I couldn't help it, but I laughed.
It wasn't like I'd never heard his language before. Plenty of men in the congregation were rough and swore, but they always repented – they had to. Impure language was a damning thing, as toxic as everything else from the great beyond. Guess it was one of the first things to corrupt me too.
The man next to me spat crude words like they came naturally, totally unconcerned about offending anyone.
“I'll give it my best,” I promised, looking back to Izzy.
She got up and gave me a wink before retreating to the kitchen. She returned a couple seconds later, a decadent lemon torte in hand.
“Eat it and enjoy, babe. Forget everything you knew before,” Evan said, watching me intently as I took a big bite and smiled. “You're in my house now. Long as you listen, we're all on the same page. Here, we play by different set of rules.”
I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so pampered, so safe. Yeah, these two were strange, but they were a far cry from living with a tyrant I was forced to call my father.
It wasn't until the next day when I found out just how fucking different the rules Evan mentioned truly were.
Izzy was losing her patience, and so was I.
I didn't expect her to come for me so early. It had been a long, fitful night after we ate dinner and she re-dressed my wounds. She told me they were healing nicely, but the pain was enough to make sleeping on my back like laying on needles.
I shouldn't have tried to cook. But she was so insistent, dragging me to the kitchen, where everything was laid out and ready to go.
Ready for me to ruin.
In just a few hours, I'd burned a pan of bread, over seasoned a potato salad, and dropped several slippery egg yolks on the floor. I learned fast that I didn't know a thing about cooking. The tools, the recipes, the ingredients she threw at me weren't like anything I'd ever seen, a far cry from popping the frozen family dinners into the oven at home or opening up a can of cold ravioli when Daddy screamed for food.
“Enough!” My instructor said, throwing out her hands when I offered to help dab up the splattered yolks. “Just go sit down. I need a minute. This is...much harder than I expected.”
I didn't argue, just turned and went to the table where we'd eaten dinner last night. Daddy had beaten me plenty of times on the rare occasions when I served him burned crap. I thought I was used to punishment and disappointment.
Being chastised by this stranger with a thin temper was something else. They'd taken me, given me a simple job to do, and I'd completely screwed it up.
It wasn't all my fault, though. I smelled liquor on her breath since she woke me up – the same sharp stink I knew on Daddy. My gag reflex always tried to override my brain when it went up my nose.
I sat the table like a scolded child, listening to Izzy curse and mutter to herself, cleaning up the mess I'd created. Evan was a distant dot beyond the large glass door next to the kitchen. My hosts owned some serious land, a rolling network of gardens surrounded by high trees where the forest started.
I absently wondered what brought a gourmet chef and a mercenary to this God forsaken place. Their careers were out of the question. We couldn't be that far from Beacon Grove, and the congregation was no man's land.
“Cassie! I'm all set. Let's try this again,” Izzy called, growing irritation in her voice.
It's okay. I'll do it right this time, I thought, rounding up my battered confidence. You're not stupid. You can learn. You've just never had the chance.
She had a large mixing bowl waiting on the counter. Flour and rich fudge syrup kissed my nose, drawing me closer to the mixture.
“Here. I want you to take this, push it in, and go all the way around the edges. Surely, you've done this before?” Izzy held up something that looked like two short whisks attached to a plastic box. It was electric. A cord ran to the wall.
I looked her in the eye. I was afraid for what would happen if I said no. I'd already exposed myself as a redneck who'd never set foot in a modern kitchen.