Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men 6)

Tabby blinked owlishly. “What? I haven’t seen anyone. One minute, I was getting into my car, and the next, I’m here with you. But why would he take us? I thought he only took sinners.”

“Well, I’ve been dating a man in The Fallen MC. At this point, it’s fairly obvious they’re antithesis to the killer’s beliefs, so he probably thinks it was a sin for me to sleep with him. He’s obsessed with this idea of making me his spiritual wife…. He’s clearly delusional. He took you to get to me.”

Tabby blinked again. She had wide eyes the colour of soft clay, malleable, I’d always thought, very much like her people-pleasing personality. She ducked her head, tucking a lock of bloody hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. I-I was just leaving church when someone jumped on me from the shadows. I was so scared, but then everything went black. I remember thinking Seth would be so worried when I didn’t come home.”

“I only spoke to him on the phone briefly,” I told her, remembering the quick call I’d made to him while Priest and I drove to the scene of the exchange. “But he’s strong. He’ll pray for you.”

Tabby sucked in a ragged breath and turned her teary eyes to me. “He’s so much better than I am. I never deserved to be with someone like him.”

I frowned. “I didn’t know you felt that way about him. To me, you always seemed so perfectly matched.”

A little grin curled her mouth, but there was a manic light in her eyes that set my teeth on edge. “Oh well, thanks. I definitely try to be good for him. Better for him.”

“Okay… Well, why don’t we see if we can get the hell out of here?” I suggested as I stood, moving to offer her my hand before I remembered how badly burned it was. “I don’t know how long we’ve been here for, and that lunatic could come back any minute.”

“Did you say you’ve been sleeping with a man from The Fallen?” Tabby asked as she worked her way slowly to her knees. “They’re all completely uncivilized, Bea. I know your sister made the decision to marry one, but I thought you knew them for what they were. Criminals and animals.”

I ground my teeth to keep from gnashing at her, trying to remember that the context of Tabby’s life was so much narrower than my own. She judged because she was afraid of the unknown, and The Fallen were impossible to predict.

“Let’s talk about the finer details of crime and sin when we get out of here, okay?” I recommended, already moving toward the entrance to examine the chains looped through the cut-out crosses on either side of the double doors. “I think this wood is flimsy enough to break down. If you help me with that light, I think we could use it to…”

I trailed off as the chains started to rattle, backing away slowly as they slid with an ominous hiss through the carved wood and disappeared into the darkness on the other side.

Then nothing.

I waited, breath suspended, heart stuttering in my chest.

But nothing happened.

I looked over my shoulder at Tabby who was still on her knees, hands held aloft as if in prayer, terror transforming her face into something grotesque.

Tentatively, I took a step closer to peer out the black cross-shaped wedge of space in the greying oak door, but only darkness met my gaze. I pressed my shaking right hand to the wood and started to press it open.

Crack.

The doors exploded inward, the panel hitting me square in the forehead, sending me careening backward. My ankle twisted as I tried to catch my footing so I went down badly, head crashing into the back of the church bench.

Black spots riddled my vision as I blinked through the pain and the rush of sudden tears, desperate to see who stood in the open doorway looming over me.

“Beatrice Lafayette,” a cold voice intoned from above. “You are not going anywhere until you atone for your myriad of sins.”

Tabby scrambled forward and knelt beside me to help me into a seated position. The scent of her sugary perfume was a comfort as I fought through my disorientation. There was no doubt I had a concussion, my second in three months, and it was hard to focus through the dizzying pain.

I blinked hard, then looked up at the man who’d caused so much pain. He wore all black with a deep hood pulled up over his head, concealing his features.

For one dark, terrifying moment, he looked exactly like Priest. Elation and sickness surged through me because I knew it wasn’t my psychopath who came to save me even though he cut the same reassuring figure. It was on purpose, I was sure. This man was a psychopath who enjoyed playing games. He had a different collection of traits from the psychopathy metre than my Priest. They shared the same lack of empathy, desensitization to violence and death, and the shocking ability to fit with the norm when it suited them, but this man was also clearly self-aggrandizing, dramatic, and narcissistic. He thought he was cleverer than everyone else, more powerful, a total authoritarian.