The Cult (Cult 1)

“Are you going to feed him?”

He shook his head.

Budweiser started to munch on the grass below his hooves, his tail flicking from time to time. He stayed close to the fence but knew the rubs were over.

“That’s the biggest horse I’ve ever seen. Do you ride him?”

His eyes remained on the beast. “No.”

“Then why do you keep him?”

“So, he’s not slaughtered for meat.”

“Oh…”

“An associate was about to sell him off, but I offered a higher price.” His blue eyes took in the horse with a hint of reverence. It was different from the way he looked at Claire, like the Clydesdale was more of a trophy than a loving pet. But it was still a drastic change from his usual look of emptiness.

“He’s beautiful.”

“He is.”

“The other horses here…is it because you saved them?”

“No. But some of them are donations. Horses too old for riding or racing. I had room, so I took them.”

“Then this is your place?”

He straightened, suddenly enormous beside me like he was a Clydesdale himself. “Yes.”

“It’s beautiful. Why don’t you live here?”

“We do in the summer. Get away from all the tourists. But her school is down the street from the apartment, and my work is in Paris.” His hands gripped the edge of the fence, his knuckles callused and distinct.

“Constance!”

I turned around to see Claire holding an armful of apples.

“Strawberry is full. Let’s go feed Bubblegum next.”

She was the cutest damn thing in the world. “Alright, I’m coming.” I turned to Benton.

He gave a sigh before he released the fence. “Like I could ever say no to her…”

24

Benton

Claire was asleep, but I went to say goodbye anyway.

I cracked the door silently and then looked at the beautiful blond hair all over the pillow. But there was also brown hair—because Constance was asleep beside her. Together in the twin bed, they slept side by side, Claire’s arm on top of hers, the blankets hogged to her side.

With my hand on the door, I stared.

They both had fair cheeks like fresh snow, and their lips were parted with the peace that only came from sleep. Their unspoken bond traversed everything, and sometimes the resentment made my anger burn, because Beatrice never even tried to have that depth of connection with her own daughter.

But with Constance, it was effortless.

I didn’t know why Constance had crawled into her bed. I didn’t know if she’d done it before…or did it all the time.

I stared a while longer before I shut the door and left the house.

The ship was docked a mile off the coast.

Lights were killed.

Nothing but darkness.

The approaching ship was just as dark, with the exception of a glimmer of the light from a phone, from a flashlight off the scope of the gun. Red lasers swept across the docked ship then went black when they didn’t find anything.

Bartholomew was beside me, basked in darkness, his shadow his presence. He gripped the rail and waited, his intelligent eyes watching the scene unfold in front of him exactly as we planned.

Our smaller boat was in the distance, blacked-out in complete darkness. We bobbed on the waves.

The men used their ropes to pull themselves up the hull of the docked ship and onto the deck, guns drawn, ready to kill off everyone in sight. They spread out, some taking the stairs to the hull, others moving to the tower.

Minutes later, they returned to the deck of the ship, obviously confused.

It was a ghost ship.

He held up the remote with the button in the center. “The honor is yours, Benton.”

When you were on top, everyone watched. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie. When that answer was no, they decided to take it. It always ended in the same way. Just like this.

I took the remote and watched them scuttle across the ship like ants. In just a few moments, they would realize this was staged, that they hadn’t outsmarted us—but it was the other way around.

Shouts erupted.

The men found the explosives in the hull.

Bartholomew’s rare smile made an appearance. Wide. Beaming. Maniacal.

I hit the button.

Each section of the ship exploded out, rising from one level to the next, debris flying into the air as the inferno rose like a cloud to the sky. It roared like a beast, shattered their eardrums before their skin was consumed as fuel in the flames. The screams were just an instant in time before they were swallowed by death.

Just a few men managed to make it overboard and swim back to their ship that had remained unscathed. A few were still on, throwing out lines to get the men out. After they crawled into their boat, the engine kicked on, and they sped away.

I turned the dial and hit the button.

The red flames of the explosion contrasted against the blackness of the water. A singe of heat carried on the wind and hit us in the face, along with the scent of burned flesh. Their ship was small, so it quickly sank beneath the waves, gone.