#hank 'traq' loza fic

[the-hinky-panda]

The Preacher's Wife: Escape (Part II)

TW: Spousal abuse: physical, metal, emotional, and sexual

Maggie pushes her food around on her plate, making designs in the teriyaki sauce from the grilled salmon. She lines up her asparagus in a tic-tac-toe grid and uses the small red potatoes to fill in the spaces. She glances up at the clock. Eight fifteen. It’s Thursday night, and Hank is probably washing the dishes from dinner with his mom. Consuela is probably sitting in front of the TV, watching whatever sitcom is on, crocheting. 

God, how she wishes she was with them at the moment. 

“Margaret?” 

Her eyes snap up to her husband, Simon Peters. Named for the occupation he has pursued, pastor of a megachurch, the shepherd of souls who love God.. Dressed impeccably in a dress shirt and designer jeans, his hair perfectly groomed in the latest style, seated at the head of the table. The master of his house. “Yes?” 

His cold blue eyes narrow slightly. “Are you alright? You’re very quiet.” 

She hears the veiled threat under his polite, concerned tone. Pay attention. Make me look good. Don’t embarrass me. She forces a smile and straightens her back. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.” She looks over at the young, newlywed couple that are their dinner guests this evening. “Lydia and Asher wanted me to play in the pool with them today. I guess it took more out of me than I thought.” 

The young woman, Heather, takes her husband’s hand. “I can’t wait to have my own children.” 

Maggie glances over at Simon and gives a forced smile herself. “Children can be a blessing. I do wish I had spent more time learning how to be a wife before becoming a mother though.” Instead, she had married at nineteen and had Lydia ten months later. She had been so naive, believing that she was fulfilling her life plan. Growing up, she had been told that fulfillment was found in family: husband and children. And while she loved both Lydia and Asher, she had also come to realize that joy is found in a variety of things. To keep it constrained to a spouse and children was stifling. 

“God’s timing is perfect though. Lydia arrived exactly when she should have.” Simon picks up his wine glass. “And people who have been married for fifty years or more are still learning how to be the best spouses they can.” 

“And what’s the secret?” the husband, Carter, asks. “You and Mrs. Peters make it look so easy.” 

Maggie feels like she’s going to throw up. She wants to tell this young couple to run as far and as fast as they can from this house. It’s all fake. There’s no love here, no warmth. Her chest physically aches from the longing of wanting that home, that love. That hope. 

“Well, the secret is simple,” Simon says. “Draw closer to God, draw closer to each other. That’s it.” 

Maggie takes a healthy sip of her own wine and swallows down a follow up question of her own concerning the leather restraints and gag that are sitting in the bedside drawer right now. The restraints that she said she did not want to use only to find them wrapped around her wrists when she woke up in the middle of the night. Was that drawing closer to each other? She certainly didn’t think so. 

“And speaking of drawing closer to God,” Simon slips into his preacher’s voice, “this brings me to the reason why Carter and Heather are joining us here this evening.” 

That phrase, the reason why, makes Maggie’s hair stand on end. She becomes hypervigilant, taking in everything in the room. The tightening of the couple’s hands, the embarrassed blush staining Heather’s cheeks. The subtle slide of her eyes over to Simon, who gives her a small nod. How does Carter not see that, see that secretive look? Maybe he doesn’t know, doesn’t have enough experience with infidelity to recognize it. But then Carter looks over at Maggie, his eyes intent as they focus on her face, her lips…her breasts. Maggie pushes her chair back, her desire to flee prompting the motion, when Simon clears his throat. 

“Heather, sadly, is unable to conceive a child on her own.” Simon stands and slowly makes his way over to Maggie. “She and Carter came to me last week asking for prayers and guidance on what the next step should be. So I took the weekend and went into the wilderness and asked God for an answer. This is what He told me.” 

Maggie sways in her chair, feeling sick and lightheaded. Simon steadies her by digging his fingers into her shoulders. 

“God told me that the answer lies in the Old Testament story of the trials of Abraham and Sarah. When Sarah couldn’t conceive, she gave her maid to Abraham and Abraham was able to have a son. So, I give my wife to you so that you may achieve this blessed, and wonderful experience of parenthood.”

He gives her to them, like she’s a possession. Something to be borrowed and returned. She knows better from his phrasing and example, that a clinic for in vitro fertilization was not going to be considered. And if that wasn’t enough, then the leering look that Carter is giving her from across the table is enough to solidify her worst fears. Her stomach roils and she twists her way out of Simon’s grip. 

“Excuse me,” she mutters, running towards the bathroom. 

She locks the door because she can hear Simon’s footsteps behind her. She vomits what little dinner she managed to eat and then sits on the bathroom floor, her back against the wall. She wipes the tears from her eyes with shaking hands. 

“Margaret? Are you okay?” 

The fake sincerity drips from his words. Maggie pulls out her phone from her back pocket and opens her text messages. She needs help. She needs to get out. The door knob moves as Simon tries to open the door. She selects Morgan’s name and manages to type okay, it’s time and sends it off. 

“Margaret.” 

Simon’s patience has run out so she pushes herself up the wall. She turns the water on, more to drown out anything they will say to each other, and she unlocks the door. He’s through it immediately, slamming the door behind him. Maggie prays for deliverance. 

“Pull yourself together,” he demands. “This is happening tonight.” 

“Simon-” 

“And every Saturday night until they get what they want.” 

Anger is replacing the shock. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just fuck her during one of your ‘counseling’ sessions and leave me out of it?” 

“Do you know who they are? They are Silicon Valley royalty, the both of them. That’s about 4 billion dollars worth of income sitting at our dining room table and all they want is a kid. Do you know what that kind of money could do for us?” 

“Oh, draining them of their money makes a wife swap so much more tolerable.” Maggie crossed her arms. “I’m not doing this.” 

Simon gives her a wicked smile. “Oh, I think you will. Holly Singer.” 

Maggie feels her blood run cold. “What?” 

“Oh yeah, I know about your books, Holly. So this is how it’s going to go. You’re going to go back out there, do whatever that man tells you to do. And if you’re finding it hard to get in the mood, just pretend you’re one of the sluts you love to write about in your filthy little novels.” 

Well, if God isn’t going to deliver her, then she’ll have to deliver herself. She starts looking for anything to fight back against Simon so she can get out of the bathroom, but all the decorations are too flimsy to inflict any damage. But then, from the other side of the door, comes a tiny little voice. 

“Mommy?” 

Asher, her little three-year-old savior. “Yes, baby?�� 

“I don’t feel good.” 

Bless him and whatever it is that roused him from his sleep. Simon’s jaw is tensed, his back teeth practically cracking as he grinds them together. He can’t force anything on her now if one of the kids needs her. Maggie steps around him and opens the door. Asher is standing there, his blonde hair sticking up in every direction, as he holds a small hand over his right ear. 

“What’s the matter, honey?” she asks, picking him up. 

“My ear hurts and I can’t sleep.”

Maggie gives a pointed look at Simon. “Please tell Heather and Carter that I’m sorry I won’t be back out there tonight as my son needs me.” 

She knows he’s going to make her pay for that later but she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it. She puts ear drops in Asher’s ear, gently massaging the side of his little neck to help alleviate the discomfort. She hums “Annie’s Song” twice through and soon, he’s back to sleep in his own bed. She checks her phone before leaving the safety of his room and sees that Morgan has responded already. 

When?

Tomorrow? Is that even possible?

I will make it happen. And I’ll be bringing back-up. I’ll let you know when we’re in the area.

Thank you. She doesn’t need to ask who the back-up is going to be. Morgan had told her she’s put the entire MC on alert so that as many as can come will make the ride up to La Jolla to move her and the kids to safety. Maggie erases the messages from her phone so Simon won’t find them. She already has bags packed for the kids and herself. Clothes, documents, jewelry, cash, all packed up in suitcases and backpacks, stored away in the crawlspace in Asher’s closet. All she needs to do is grab them and the kids and run. She slips the phone back into her pants pocket as she closes Asher’s door quietly behind her. When she turns around, something strikes her across her face, knocking her against the wall.. 

Simon. 

She smooths her hair back from her face and covers her stinging cheek with her hand. He’s standing just a couple feet away from her, a scowl on his classically handsome features. 

“Don’t you ever embarrass me like that again.” He rolls up his shirt sleeves. “They’ll be back tomorrow evening and you will have that child for them.” 

Knowing the calvary is coming tomorrow has made her brave. “And what if she’s not the problem? What if it’s him? Guess you’ll have to be the one to knock her up. What a shame.” 

She moves away from him but he grabs her arm, pushing her back against the wall again. This time, it’s not a slap. Stars erupt behind her eyes when his fist connects with her face and the back of her head hits the wall. His hand rests at the base of her throat, just enough pressure to hold her upright.“Or I just knock you up again. We both know how easy that is.” 

Maggie’s stomach drops at the memories of waking up, drowsy and disoriented, finding Simon on top of her. Too weak to fight him off, too out of it to properly register what was going on. It started happening when she was sleeping in one of the guestrooms, after waking up with her hands restrained in the leather cuffs that one time. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she started waking up with bruises on her wrists and thighs, the sheets and her skin smelling like Simon. She tried to deny it was happening, spending hours scrubbing herself clean in the shower, but then she became pregnant with Asher. She couldn’t deny the abuse at that point. 

That was when she started planning her escape, stashing money, moving assets around, letting Morgan in on what her life was like, albeit a more PG-13 version than the full blown truth. She survived six years in this gilded prison and tomorrow was going to be her day to break free. She knows if she gets too cocky, too confident, then Simon is going to know something is up. So she ducks her head and meekly nods her head. She shows him that she is the epitome of defeat of submission.

“Alright, Simon. Tomorrow night.” She nods in resolution to her fate. “I will follow God’s path for my life.” 

“That’s my sweet, obedient wife,” he presses a kiss against her cheek. “Now, let’s get some sleep so you’re well rested for tomorrow evening.” 

“Okay.” 

She glances at her watch. It’s almost midnight. Just a few more hours until Morgan and the Mayans MC show up to rescue her.