The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

Can I grab Castro’s gun before he pulls the trigger? Would I be able to kill him, then my father without drawing any other Protectors? My mind works and works, desperate to solve the equation as my mother flinches. The smell of her scorching skin taints the air as my father marks her again and again. Noah white-knuckles the arms of his chair, and I can do nothing but watch.

I’ve known for years that I’d kill my father. But I didn’t know how close that time was. The last time he tortured my mother, I was too young, too shocked to do anything about it. She still bears the limp from an untreated break. And when he destroyed Faith, I was too lost in grief to turn my rage outward. But this time is different. Now I know what I have to do—for my mother, for Noah, for Faith, and for Delilah.

And I will do it soon.

The Rectory is dark, and there’s a guard stationed outside with an assault rifle. I prowl around in the nearby trees, all my senses attuned to that one dark building where Delilah suffers. Three days and nights of torment. Fuck.

I lean against an old pine as something skitters through the underbrush about ten yards away. The moon peeks from behind fast-moving clouds, then disappears again, taking its light with it.

Saving her isn’t an option. Not with armed guards and everyone on high alert. The escape attempt—though not the first—was the only one that came so close to being successful. More men patrol the compound, and the Cloister is monitored even more heavily. There will be no more late night dashes for freedom. My father’s fist is closing around this place, choking everyone inside under the love and guidance of the Prophet.

Headlights cut through the night, and I shift around the tree to remain hidden. A white Range Rover passes, then stops next to the Rectory. My father gets out and strides toward the entrance, the guard hurrying to open the door for him.

I can’t be sure what my father does while he’s here, but I can guess. More mind fucks, more drugs, more promises rolling off his tongue. I told Delilah not to break, but as I stare at the windowless cinderblock building, I wonder if she has any chance of staying whole. She’s strong, but torture can crush anyone.

“Hey.”

I turn and reach for my pistol.

“It’s me.” Noah creeps among the trees until he leans against a twisted oak to my right. “I figured you’d be out here somewhere.”

Sliding my hand off my pistol grip, I return my gaze to the Rectory. “What are you doing here?” A memory of the last time we talked glides through my mind—how I was cruel to him because he still believed in our father.

“I just figured—” He sighs quietly. “I don’t know. You seem sort of drawn to this Maiden. So I thought maybe you needed—”

“Thanks.” I can’t tell him that what I need most is to kill our father. But Noah’s presence is welcome, if unexpected. “About what I said the other day—”

“Don’t worry about it. And maybe you’re right. After what he did to Mom, I don’t know.” His voice drops even lower. “I can still smell her skin burning.”

“Me too.” I bury the memory of her pain, but I remember the spot like a dog with a treasured bone. I’ll dig it up later and use it to inflict damage on those who deserve it.

He peeks around his tree. “Is Dad in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

The wind is still, the crystalline air stagnant and silent. Long minutes pass as we wait—for what, I don’t know. She isn’t coming out. Not until she’s “ready,” according to my father. I grind my teeth.

“Maybe they just do the regular sort of stuff in there?” Noah sounds far from certain.

“You mean light torture with a side of brainwashing?”

“Yeah, that.” He shrugs.

“I don’t think so.”

He knows as well as I do that what happens in the Rectory makes the Cloister look like a Disney vacation.

“You think he’s going to…” He swallows audibly.

“Claim her?” I want to say no, that he wouldn’t do that because maybe he can still use her. Maybe she won’t be sent to the Chapel or the Cathedral. She still has value as long as her body isn’t too broken. I snort a dark laugh. Her body can’t be broken—that would kill her value. But her mind must be utterly shattered, then put back together with the glue of my father’s lies.

Noah shrugs. “He’s only claimed one. Maybe he’s going to be a little more careful this time.”

“And not fuck them before sending them off to their assignments?” I pat my jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes that hasn’t been there for about five years. “He can’t help himself. No way he’ll let one go without sampling her.”