The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

Once I’ve dressed, we limp down the stairs, and I let out a gallows laugh at what a mess we are.

“You packing?” I already tucked my usual Glock into my shoulder holster.

“Yep.” He opens the front door and a gust of wintery wind blows inside.

“Good.” I grab my black coat from the hall and follow him out. “We’re too fucking sorry to do it with our fists. Metal will have to suffice.”

We ride out to the front gate, numerous cars already parked around the sanctuary for the annual day-after-Christmas yard sale. Rows of tables have been lined up along the western side of the church, and members stack items for sale. All proceeds are supposed to go to the “Heavenly Missionaries Fund,” but the Prophet will pocket what little money the churchgoers make from selling last year’s toys, dusty knick-knacks, or whatever Christmas gifts they don’t want.

Everything Heavenly does is one hustle or another, but at this point, I wonder if the members would even care if they knew the truth. They already tithe ridiculous amounts to the Prophet. What’s a little more?

“Hmph.” Noah turns onto the highway that runs along one edge of the compound.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just saw a skateboard on a table back there that reminded me of…” He shrugs and lets the memory fade into the ether.

“I probably still have the moves, you know. Could do some sick tricks.”

He chuckles. “You didn’t have the moves when we were kids. There’s no way you’ve got them now.”

I rub my chin. There isn’t a scar from where I kissed the curb so long ago, but I don’t need raised skin to remind me of what was stripped away from us that day.

“Which way?” He slows as we approach the interstate that circles the southern half of Birmingham.

“North. He lives in that new development on the upper Cahaba.”

“Got it.” He flicks on the radio and turns it up.

“So, is there a plan?”

I can barely hear him over the music. He’s smart to suspect the car’s bugged.

I nod.

“What is it?”

“We have to do it during the Tuesday night ceremony. When he’s preoccupied with the Maidens at the Temple.”

He glances at me, his forehead wrinkled. “But he’s surrounded by Protectors.”

“I didn’t promise an easy plan. Just a plan.” It could be suicide, but with Delilah’s future on the line, I have to move fast. She’s supposed to be sold on Wednesday. So it’s Tuesday or not at all.

“Shit.” He passes several cars on the right, the speedometer needle hovering at 100. Not that it matters. No one around here would dare pull over a black Mercedes with a Heavenly tag.

“What about Mom?”

Every plan has kinks. “As soon as we’re done at the Temple, we’ll have to head to the house and surprise Castro and his team of fuckwads. We’ll get the drop on them and take them out before they even get her door unlocked.”

“How? One of the Protectors will surely warn them about what’s going down. There’s no way this can work.” He shakes his head.

“The Protectors can’t warn anyone if they’re dead, Noah.” I shoot him a smirk.

He pales a little and swallows hard. “So… so you’re saying we—”

“Kill them all.” There’s no other way to ensure Heavenly crumbles. “If we don’t destroy the power players, one of them will rise up and become the new Prophet. That means every Protector has to go down.”

“All of them.” He seems to be saying it more to himself than to me.

I respond anyway, “Every last one of those sons-of-bitches.”

“Right.” He nods a little too forcefully. “Right. That’s the way it has to be.”

Killing isn’t in his blood, not the way it’s in mine. But he’s going to have to get his hands dirty if we want to get out of this alive. Leaving even one snake alive would mean we’d have to be on alert for the rest of our lives. No. They all have to go.

He turns the music down and takes a right onto the exit for Cahaba Estates.

I switch gears smoothly. “We’re going to play it cool until we get in the door. I’ll take the lead from there on out. Just remember, keep your pistol handy since we’re fucked otherwise.”

“I got it.” He slows as the GPS leads us around a sharp curve and then into a new neighborhood with only ten of about fifty home-sites completed. “It’s this one.” He stops in front of a white Craftsman-style house with a nice front porch and brand new landscaping.

“Pretty nice digs for a guy who just got the boot from Heavenly.” I climb out of the car and use all my effort to keep my walk steady and normal despite the pain. “Did he already get another job?”

“Nope.” Noah joins me on the short sidewalk. “Dad blacklisted him. No law enforcement office in the state will hire him.”