Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

I grasp Jonah by the back of his shirt and drag him back into the church and thence into the vestry. He does not know it, but these walls have been soundproofed with great attention to detail. He could scream all day long and it would not interrupt the ladies and gentlemen feasting on scones and jam one bit.

He stares at me with all the arrogance he can muster,

“I break a rib of yours, and you come to a place of worship and act the fool? Behaving like a spoiled brat! Testing me? Do you like pain that much?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You were boring. I was bored. Had to do something or I was going to fucking scream.”

“You’re going to fucking scream anyway,” I growl.

Still he stares me down, daring to argue. “I didn’t want to go to church. Shouldn't have made me come. And if you think you’re going to break another bone, I will fucking tell the cops.”

He's so smug. So sure of himself. So certain that physical damage is all that can be done to him. He truly lacks both sense and imagination.

“Even you are not entirely past salvation, but in your case, pain will be your deliverance.”

“Fuck off,” he says, turning to leave only to realize that the door is locked.

“Let me out, weirdo.”

I have no intention of letting him out. In fact, I intend to do the complete opposite. I am going to draw him even further in and down, and subject him to a taste of the horror that awaits him if he continues to test me.

There’s a door in the back of the vestry that is usually hidden by cassocks. I shove them aside, open it, and drag Jonah into the darkness beyond, down several old stone stairs that are much older than the building above. If he has even a hint of his mother’s blood in him, he will feel what is about to happen to him.

“What is this?”

“It’s a crypt. It’s where we keep the special old bodies.”

He goes pale. Even more pale than usual. I think I see a flash of something in his eyes, something that laughs at me briefly and then is gone. The mist is getting to me. “Let me the fuck out of here.”

“You can stay down here until you decide that you don’t mind being upstairs in the church.

“Father! Please!”

I turn and look at him. He is much less cocky, but I’m not going to let him out of the consequences of his actions now. I go back up the stairs and take no small measure of satisfaction in closing him in. If only his rib weren’t broken, he might be able to fight his way out. As it is, the effort of trying to fight me causes him to cry out as I slam the door in his face, lock it, and walk away.

Another dash through the storm and I find Nina and Crichton standing awkwardly at the edge of the fray. As I join them, my presence draws many of the congregation to them. I have unwittingly brought the elder matrons of the parish to this sweet young thing, and they are looking at her with smiling but critical eyes, picking her apart from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. In their eyes, she is carnal competition for their daughters. They have no doubt already surmised that she warms my bed. If only that were true.

“And who is this young lady?” The question was inevitable. Perhaps I should have made the introductions already, but I’ve barely had a chance.

“The daughter of a friend. She is staying with me for a while, along with her brother.”

“Oh, how nice. She’s so pretty.” Mrs Murdoch speaks as if she’s not there.

Nina smiles in a fixed way. She is clearly uncomfortable, though no doubt much more comfortable than her brother at this point. I catch her glancing at me with increasing desperation. She is full of minx-like curiosity mixed with concern for her sibling.

The latter is easier to ask about than the former. The moment we socially extricate ourselves from the various members of the congregation, Nina is questioning me.

“What did you do to Jonah?”

“Jonah’s coming to terms with churchgoing.”

“Do you ever answer a question directly?” There’s a lack of patience in her tone. She’s trying her best to stay socially appropriate while obviously wanting to corner me and question me into oblivion. Not about Jonah, either. She cares about him, but not as much as she cares about the need I've ignited in her. There’s something smoldering inside this sweet angel. If she was honest with herself and me, she’d be asking when she’d find herself back on her knees or simply on her back with her legs splayed, that pretty dress rucked up around her waist, her ginger pussy on display for me, waiting to be impaled on my cock.