Free Through a Glass, Darkly (Assassins of Youth MC #1) by Layla Wolfe

buildings. Seems construction workers would be at a premium.”
    “I know, right? Instead of offing them all—” Choking on her words, Mahalia glanced around to make sure no one had overheard. She looked submissively down at the table. “I don’t know you very well. I shouldn’t be saying things like this to you.”
    “You’ll know me much better if I have any say in it. And just because I’m working for Chiles doesn’t mean I agree with his ways, his methods. I think his methods are pretty fucking unsound, to be honest. But I’m doing my Prez a solid by accommodating Chiles. That includes business, not abuse toward women.”
    She sniffed. She looked lovelier than ever with her eyes all misted over, although of course I loathed what Chiles was doing to her. It was sick. It was twisted. It was pimpery of the worst sort. “Do you? Think it’s abuse, I mean?”
    Skippy brought her drink. He also brought my warm glass of Bud and Mahalia sort of sneered at it, so I didn’t touch it.
    “Well of course it is. It’s emotional abuse, and physical abuse by proxy. You can’t just order someone to marry someone. It’s not natural.”
    “But it’s the Lord’s will, not Allred’s. That’s how he makes it make sense. It’s our calling, such as teaching youth, or running the Relief Society is. We have to take a leap in the dark, to take action with very little hard evidence to urge us on. That’s what faith is, belief in things you can’t see.”
    “But do you ever come to terms with it? Accept the guy in your bed, even when you find him repellant?”
    She cocked her head, and really seemed to be thinking. “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “I mean, I still haven’t fully accepted Allred. I hate it when it’s my—my turn. But I think most, if not all, of his other wives have accepted him. If nothing else, they’re proud to be sealed to The Prophet. How we act when we’re summoned to faith reveals a lot about who we are, our character. I know Vonda is of the highest order of character, yet when I told her what had to happen, she almost ran away from home.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    “She screamed and cried and told me I was the worst mother ever. The worst mother, can you imagine, Gideon?”
    Warmth flooded my chest that she remembered my name. I put my hand over hers again. “I’m not a parent. Never even been married, or come close. But I’m familiar with teens. I know they can rip your fucking heart out and stomp on it and make you feel two inches tall. Hormones is what it is. Everything is life or death with them. Not that this isn’t. But take what she says to you with a grain of salt.”
    She nodded through her tears. “Yes. But I want to give her the choice , and he’s taking that away from her. Only then will her true nature be revealed, when she’s given a choice . She says she wants to be a fashion designer, not someone’s third wife. By taking this away from her, we’re removing her chance to act on her own, without doubt shadowing everything. Then her fear of failure, of wrongdoing will be bigger than her love of free will.”
    I shook my head. “Is there any way in hell you can say no?”
    She looked at me as if I were a dish of broccoli she hadn’t ordered. “Excuse me?”
    “Let me rephrase that. Is there any way you can take Vonda away from there, to live on your own? Do you have family? Someone said you’re from Salt Lake.”
    “Provo,” she choked out, filled with tears again. She snatched her hand from mine to hold the paper napkin to her nose. “I have two sisters up there, but they can’t afford to take us in. I’m broken, Gideon. I was born dead. I can’t believe I’m even unloading my troubles on a stranger like you.”
    “I’m no stranger,” I insisted.
    “I’m so sad every day. I have to force myself just to get out of bed and brush my teeth. I remind myself of Vonda, that I need to do it for her. But I find no joy in a flower, or a gem, or even any of the