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Back Surrender Your Sons Save as PDF
Chapters (43)
  1. Author’s Note with Content Warnings
  2. CHAPTER ONE
  3. CHAPTER TWO
  4. CHAPTER THREE
  5. CHAPTER FOUR
  6. CHAPTER FIVE
  7. CHAPTER SIX
  8. CHAPTER SEVEN
  9. CHAPTER EIGHT
  10. CHAPTER NINE
  11. CHAPTER TEN
  12. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  13. CHAPTER TWELVE
  14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  20. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  21. CHAPTER TWENTY
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  31. CHAPTER THIRTY
  32. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  41. CHAPTER FORTY
  42. EPILOGUE
  43. Acknowledgments

On a boom of thunder, rain finally breaks and smashes against the clinic’s corrugated metal roof. Its tinny racket makes me nervous to just be standing here; someone might come out to investigate. Beyond the counter, a slatted closet door creaks open on its own. I almost leap out of my clothes, but there’s nothing inside but a row of white lab coats. Still, a paralyzing thought grips my chest that I might not be alone.

Blood leaves my feet as the room begins to tilt. Someone is behind me.

The front door shuts softly, and I inhale a gasp as I spin…

Marcos. Doused in rain, the sweet-eyed boy trembles a foot above me. “You have to come back right now,” he hisses, petrified. “I followed you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I whisper, my heart slowing a beat. I want to be pissed off that the snitching, cutie-pie nerd followed me, but I’m just so relieved it wasn’t the Reverend.

“Let’s go.” Marcos clicks his fingers like castanets. “It’s totally not worth what’ll happen to you if Miss Manners catches you. What she did to Molly is NOTH—” Before Marcos’s tightening throat can form the “ing” in “nothing,” a door unlatches at the end of the hall. Marcos launches himself onto his tiptoes and gasps, “She’s coming!”

“In here!” I hiss.

I don’t waste a hummingbird’s heartbeat. I pull Marcos by his wrist toward the closet of lab coats. He mumbles about how I’m not supposed to touch him, but his heart isn’t in it. His fight/flight instinct has kicked in, which is a relief because if he was dead weight, I wouldn’t have a prayer of budging him. As I push Marcos through the hanging jumble of lab coats, his broad, surprisingly muscular back contours perfectly to my hand. The feel of his back spins my stomach with excitement bordering on electricity and, as usual, the touch of a man dissolves into nausea. I pull back my hand, resettling my stomach, and we vanish into the closet.

And no, the irony of us hiding in a closet to escape from violent zealots isn’t lost on me.

The closet reeks of stale, rotting cedar, and Marcos’s skin emanates wave after wave of heat, which sucks even more fresh air out of our hideaway. At the sound of footsteps, Marcos holds his breath, and I press my nose to the closet’s thin, slatted openings and observe.

“Stay in the room,” Miss Manners orders Molly as she stomps into the lobby. A half second later, Molly’s door shuts again, and Miss Manners surveys the lobby in tight circles like a roving security camera.

She smells a rat.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CLOSET BOYS