Under His Rule
Clarissa Wild
Contents
Books by Clarissa Wild
Description
Lexicon
Music Playlist
Free Prequel
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Sneak Peek Next Book
More Books by Clarissa Wild
About Clarissa Wild
Under His Rule © 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.
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.
Books by Clarissa Wild
Dark Romance
Savage Men Series: Caged & Locked & Chased & Branded & Hanged
A Debt Owed & A Debt Repaid
The Company Series
Delirious Series
Wicked Bride Games & Dirty Wife Games
Father
New Adult
Cruel Boy
Ruin
Fierce Series
Blissful Series
Erotic Romance
Hotel O
The Billionaire’s Bet Series
Enflamed Series
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Description
His Family. His rules
Some people have loving homes.
Mine only has laws.
And she will learn to obey …
When I found Natalie alone and afraid, I knew she was the one.
She came to me looking for answers to her past.
But every dark desire has a price.
Now she’s here in my domain, locked in the dark, waiting for me ...
And I am more than ready to make her submit.
Under His Rule is an enticing new Dark Romance & Psychological Suspense novel by New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Clarissa Wild.
WARNING: This book includes scenes that may be disturbing to some readers.
Lexicon
Brothers – men of the Community
Sisters – women of the Community
Helper – Third rank, working class
Elder – second rank, second to lead should the Patriarchs fail to produce heirs
Patriarch – first rank, leaders of the Family
President – highest rank, ruler of the Family, part of the Patriarchs
Wife – A woman who belongs to a man after the Ceremony
Helper’s Wife – The Wife of a Helper
Elder’s Wife – The Wife of an Elder
Matriarch – the Wife of a Patriarch
Untouched – A virgin female
Captured – women taken from the real world into the Commune
Initiation – A rite of passage and state of being for women before they become Wives
Initiate – a woman of age who has not yet been taken as Wife during a Ceremony
Ceremony – The party where unions take place
Ritual (Of the Wife) – the sexual and marital union of a man and a woman
Blessing – An approval of the marriage by a Patriarch or President
Prayers – Praying and singing to God for favor, as well as performing blessings
The Holy Land – the land on which the Family has built their properties and Huts
The Commune – the community of the Family living together
Hut(s) – housing for Helpers & Elders
The Temple – The house in which the Patriarchs and the President live
Music Playlist
Listen to the Playlist on Youtube.
“Into The Fire” by These New Puritans
“Hunter” by RIAYA feat. John Mark McMillan
“Ktheju tokës” by Jonida Maliqi
“Anthracite Fields: IV. Flowers” by Julia Wolfe performed by Choir of Trinity Wall Street
“Music Box Song” by Ben Frost
“Ein Mensch - Ein Schmetterling” by Ben Frost
“Salt And The Sea” by The Lumineers
“My Cell” by The Lumineers
“Eternal Eclipse - Dawn of Faith” by Thomas-Adam Habuda
“Sleeping Inside” by Lilium
“I Know You Are, But What Am I?” by Mogwai
“L'aérogramme de Los Angeles (YVES SIMON COVER)” by Woodkid & Louis Garrel
“Lost in the Fire” by Gesaffelstein & The Weeknd
“Familiar” by Agnes Obel
“Planck's Constant” by Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein
“Touched” by VAST
“Do Not Go Gentle/First Step” by Hans Zimmer & Anthony Hopkins
“On The Nature Of Daylight” by Max Richter
“Paper or Plastic” by Brooke Candy
“Late Bloomer” by Ki:Theory
“May The Angels” by Alev Lenz
Free Prequel
Before His Choice is a free optional prequel to Under His Rule. Click here to download it!
Prologue
Natalie
I never realized how scary the darkness could be if you’re surrounded by it against your will.
My body lies frozen on the cold, hard floor, my clattering teeth the only sound I hear for hours.
I don’t know where I am. Or how I came here.
All I remember is him.
The man with a smile so cumbersome it made mine disappear.
Crack. Crack.
I lift my head. The door squeaks, and the lock unhinges. When daylight breaks through, a sliver of it blinds me, so I cover my eyes. The sun is so bright compared to the shadows I’ve lived in for hours on end.
“Wh-who’s there?” My voice breaks when I speak. My throat is so dry I can barely utter the words.
I try to peek into the light where a tall figure stands, clutching the doorway. I swallow away the lump in my throat. What are they going to do with me? Is it a man or a woman? Alone or with many? So many questions … and zero answers.
Someone steps forward, and I instinctively crawl away, fearing them.
That’s what this place does to you. No matter how much time you spend in the darkness, it always manages to turn you into an animal. Raw. Rudimenta
ry.
“Hello, Natalie.”
It’s a man, his voice dark and low, as though to command respect.
How does he know my name?
“Who are you?” I ask.
“That’s not important right now. What’s important for you to know is that I want you to stay strong and survive.”
What is this?
“Survive what?” I mutter. “Please … let me out.”
The man stands there watching me for what feels like minutes, though I’m sure it’s only a few seconds. The lack of light is causing my brain to play tricks on me. I’ve lost all awareness of time.
They want me to lose my mind.
“Please …” I beg again, but the figure ignores me and turns around.
As he walks back to the door, he pauses for a moment. “Submit … and it’ll be over quickly.”
Submit? To what? This is insane.
I crawl across the floor as fast as I can, toward the door, toward freedom. But when I get close, it’s slammed shut right in front of me.
“No,” I whimper, my voice escaping me. My forehead lowers to the cold, concrete floor while tears travel down my face.
If only I hadn’t seen his name in the newspaper. If only I hadn’t been so curious and gone to see him speak. If only he hadn’t laid his eyes on me.
Layers and layers of secrets are hidden behind those eyes. Secrets I shouldn’t want or need to know.
But I did. And now I’m here.
Stuck in perpetuating darkness, surrounded by nothing but concrete walls and floors.
Caught by the devil.
Taken by his henchmen.
Just to become … his.
Chapter 1
Natalie
Before
Everyone has their own personal hell.
Mine is a door.
A door might seem simple, but it never really is.
It’s a gateway into a place filled with memories, but it can also be a place that still echoes with screams.
They say the walls of a house hear everything, that they keep our memories safe. But I’ve never wished for anything more than for these walls to erase what happened inside them.
I wish that door—that single door I’m staring at right now—didn’t exist.
An inkling of courage settles in my veins. My feet move closer instinctively, my hand rising to grab the door handle, but the closer I get, the more my fingers shake. Until my entire body starts to tremble uncontrollably.
No. I can’t do this. I can’t face this. Not today.
So I turn around and walk away, blowing out a breath of air.
A breath of defeat.
Going into the bathroom, I peel off my clothes layer by layer, throwing them all in the basket until nothing’s left but me and myself and this mirror right in front of me staring straight into my soul. Here, everything is laid bare. There are no secrets. There’s no shame.
Just me … and my ugly, soul-crushing scar.
How can I look myself in the eyes if I can’t even enter a simple door?
I sigh and stare at the judgmental person in the mirror. The one who knows me best.
My finger slides along the line that sits on my belly. My skin no longer feels the pain, but my heart bleeds so badly the tears flow without me wanting them to, and I look away before I let things go too far.
I step under the shower and rinse away whatever emotions just came out of me, pushing back the memories further and further until they no longer exist. Because that’s what people do when they’re trying to protect themselves. When they’re trying to survive.
You bury yourself in denial until you can smile again.
No more crying. That’s a promise I made to myself, and I have to stick to it. Girl the fuck up.
So that’s what I do as I wash and then dry myself, refusing to look in the mirror while doing so. But when I leave the bathroom, that same door is right in front of me. The same door that always makes me stop in my tracks and stops the air from leaving my lungs for a second or two.
No. Look away, Natalie.
Closing my eyes, I walk to my bedroom, where I put on some fresh clothes, brush my hair, apply my makeup, and produce a fake smile. And with my head held high, I grab my bag and march out the door.
“Here you go, Ron! Hope it tastes amazing,” I say as I hand him his supper.
Ron’s here at the shelter every day. Mostly, he plays chess with one of his friends who’s always sitting by himself in the corner of the hall. For some reason, Ron can make that guy talk when none of us here behind the counter can. But I don’t mind because when I see those two smile at each other as they sit down to eat a meal, it brightens my day and warms my heart.
That’s why I do it; the kindness people show each other at this shelter is amazing, and I feel humbled to have a job here. At least for now. I don’t know if I’m going to be doing this forever, but it pays some bills, and it keeps my head above water, so I’m grateful.
When my shift ends, I grab my stuff and say bye to my coworkers for the day. On the way home, I check my cell. Nothing.
I sigh and lick my lips.
Why do I even expect anything less?
I look through my previous messages from Steve on WhatsApp, getting more and more annoyed with myself that I keep caring while he’s already forgotten about me.
“Asshole,” I mumble to myself on the way home. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I wished I’d never checked.
When I finally get home to my tiny apartment, I throw my keys on the counter and put my bag on the floor. I’m so ready to pop open a wine bottle and chill on the couch. So I grab a glass, pop a new bottle, and pour it in, just for me. Then I settle in my little corner, and I open my laptop. As I’m scrolling through the local news as I normally do when I get home from work, something catches my eye.
I stop scrolling and glare at the picture in front of me with the headline “The Family seen in town.” But it’s not the headline that boggles my mind.
It’s the picture of a few men … and one of them, the one hiding all the way in the back, has a tattoo of a symbol on his hand.
My heart briefly stops as I stare at the tattoo.
I recognize that symbol.
I know it by heart.
Scooting my chair back, I jump up and rush to my closet, throwing out every piece of clothing until I get to the bottom where I keep the old trunk I brought with me from the orphanage. The one I never touched since I came out of there.
Opening it, I take out the scarf that’s inside.
I rush back to my laptop, leaving everything a mess. My eyes study the tattoo on his hand while holding the scarf close to my body. The scarf I’ve known as the only remnant of my childhood.
A scarf with a symbol just like his. A circle and within it a tree with long roots.
The Family.
Who are they?
What does the symbol mean?
I read the text below the headline. Something about members of the Family being in town to gain new followers for their religious cult.
Cult.
Cult.
Cult.
The word plays over and over in my mind.
They promise happiness, favorable work, free housing, and plenty of love and support. They coax people to join using a variety of methods, including speeches … and rituals of sexual nature.
I scoot back my chair as if to create distance between me and the words. Me and the man in front of me with that same symbol on my scarf.
Why do I have something with this symbol on it? Is it a coincidence? It has to be.
My eyes go from the screen to the scarf and back to the screen multiple times before I chuck it into the living room and stare it down as though it’s a beast come to eat me alive.
This last thing I have that once belonged to me is cursed.
It can’t be true.
It can’t.
I refuse to believe it.
But my eyes can’t stop
searching for more, more clues, more information. Who is this man? What is this cult? Who are they looking for? What is their purpose?
Is this where I came from?
A shiver runs up and down my spine.
For my entire life, I’ve known nothing but solitude. No immediate family. Brought up in an orphanage because no one would take me. I was too old, not a baby anymore, so I grew out of the system, but the system never left me. I’m still that frail little girl I once was who had very few memories of who she was before, who hungered for a family.
And there it is. Right in front of me.
But this can’t be what I’m looking for.
These people are religious fanatics. They don’t just try to spread their religion; they invade people’s minds. They consume them and convert them until nothing’s left of their identity or who they once were.
I don’t want to be a part of that.
Yet I can’t help but search for more.
Where are they now? Are they holding another meeting? Are they inviting new people? Can I look and watch without being found?
So many questions run through my head because all I’ve ever wondered is where that scarf came from. Was it given to me by a member of the Family?
I swallow away the lump in my throat.
I won’t get any answers sitting here behind my computer.
I have to find out for myself.
So I get up, then grab my keys, bag, and the scarf, and I storm out the door.
With my phone in my hand, I find my way to the underground bar where they were supposed to be. But as I tread down the steps, my whole body starts to shiver, and I meet a closed door. I pull at the handle, but it doesn’t budge.
“Password?”
Password? I don’t know. I don’t have one. What am I supposed to say?
“I … I …”
I search through my phone, trying to find clues or anything I can use, and see an ad that has their name on it as well as several messages on a forum board. Somewhere on the bottom, there’s a guy who mentions their slogan. God’s Love Is Life.