The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“Do it, coward.” I close my eyes and wait.

Maybe I’ll see Faith again. I’d give anything to hold her one more time, to tell her how much I love her. Even with that happy thought of reunion, regret stings in my chest at what I’m about to lose. Goodbye Emily. Her white dress flutters away from me, gone beyond my reach.

A thunk and a groan pull me back into the now.

Gray lies face down on the hard earth, not moving.

A woman stands next to him, a pistol in her hand. “He’s out, but he’ll live.” She’s wearing a black mask, but her voice is familiar.

“I know you.”

“No shit.” She motions toward the trees and two more women—also in masks—run out with a wooden ladder.

“He’ll kill you for this.” I can’t tell if this is real or I’m already dead. But if I were dead, wouldn’t I be seeing Faith instead of these masked people?

They steady the ladder against the wood and the first one climbs up. She brandishes a hammer, the claw end pointed toward my right hand. “This is going to hurt.”

“Pain? That’s a new one. Changing it up a bit for me. I like your sty—” My words cut off on a yell as she hooks the nail in my hand and yanks it free.

“One down.” She drops the nail to the ground and climbs another step, leaning out so she can reach my other hand.

“Don’t.” I can’t see through the gloomy streaks in my vision.

“I have to. I’m sorry.” She grips my wrist and uses the claw hammer again.

I can’t breathe through the agony, and I don’t understand why I’m still conscious. Bad luck.

She saws through the leather straps at my arms. I can’t stand, can’t even feel my feet. Maybe I’m floating, Jesus come back to earth on a trash heap of pain instead of a cloud of glory. That has to be it.

With a grunt, she leans my body against her. Everything hurts.

“I need help.” Her words are strained. “He’s like a bag of fucking bricks.”

“Lower him.” The other two women stand beneath me, their hands up.

I don’t know how she manages not to drop me. Her muscles shake as she slides me down her body toward the women below. At the last moment, the ladder gives, sliding sideways. I fall, the women catching me roughly, my back scraping against the hard earth as I slip from their grasp.

“Fuck!” She leaps off the tumbling ladder and lands on her ass.

“You okay?” one of the women calls to her.

“Good. Just going to have a sore tail for a while.”

“So, the usual.” The third woman kneels in front of me and inspects my body. “Shit. Look at these toes.”

“The Prophet will kill all of you.” I turn and stare at the first woman, her eyes black dots in the holes of her ski mask, though I know from memory that her irises are a deep green. “This won’t go unpunished. Why are you doing this?”

She huffs out a sigh, her breath a white plume in the cold night, then pulls off her mask. “I can assure you this wasn’t my idea, but you’re valuable.” Jez rolls her eyes at me, no love lost between us. “Apparently.”

Chapter 7

Noah

I sit in my father’s office even though my thoughts are about a mile away in the punishment circle where Adam remains. It’s already dark, and Adam won’t last long in the dropping temperatures. I have to talk Dad into bringing him down. Fuck, I want another drink, or maybe more than just one.

Castro sidles in, his rifle slung across his shoulder like he’s some sort of GI Joe wannabe. I flex my fists. Taking him down wouldn’t be hard if we were just man to man. But there’s no point in me being pissed at him. He’s just a tool in every sense of the word.

“Noah, I have business to attend to, so make it quick.” Dad walks in, his steps unhurried despite his words.

“Adam.”

He sits behind his desk and peers at me. “What about him?”

“He has to come down. Now.”

“No.” He pins me with a glare. “Adam made his choice, and now I’ve made mine.”

“Dad.” I lean forward, trying to find some connection between us. “Please. It’s Adam. He’ll die—”

“He knew the consequences of what he did with that Maiden.” Dad speaks about killing his firstborn with an air of easy acceptance. “He has to pay for his sins, just like we all do.”

I shake my head. “But, Dad—”

“He disobeyed his Prophet.” He drums his fingers on the desk. “I am an emissary of the Lord, of the Father of Fire. To disobey me is to disobey them. That can’t go unpunished.”

“He’s been punished!” I stand.

Castro fidgets on the couch, his hands going to the rifle.

“You’ve left him up there all day. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t lose any fingers or toes to frostbite. Dad, please. He’s had enough.”