The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

“She’s rare. The way she looks like a ghost, that weird hair and eyes. Senator Roberts took a shine to her right off. He’s already made an offer.”

One more step. I take it, the paperweight in my palm.

My hands go cold, lethal. I can see the pulse in his leathery neck. This is it.

“I won’t accept it, of course. It’s not good enough. And she needs more time at The Cloister.” He shrugs, completely unaware of the viper at his back.

I raise my hand. I’ll bludgeon him, wrestle him to the floor, then squeeze the life out of him. Hide his body, rush upstairs, grab Mom, then over to Noah’s place, then to the Cloister. I’ll kill whoever I have to if it means our freedom.

It’s all right there, within my grasp.

The door opens.

Castro steps in and reaches for the piece in his chest holster.

My heart thumps out of rhythm, and I replace the paperweight, then step back and lean against the desk.

Castro narrows his eyes. “What were you doing?” His hand is on the butt of his pistol.

“Watching a little bit of action, thanks to—” My father turns, and his eyes widen when he finds me right next to him. He blanches, then stumbles backwards.

“What?” I smirk, enjoying the fear that paints his face. He needs to be scared more often, needs to realize that no one’s life is eternal, not even his.

“You have the look of death about you. You were going to—”

“Kill you with a house full of politicians and law enforcement?” Yes I was. “Not a chance.”

“Step away, asshole.” Castro pulls his gun.

I hold my hands up and walk around the desk, then sink into a chair. “Why so jumpy?”

My father swallows hard, then swipes a hand across his face. “Nest of rattlesnakes.” He scowls at me.

In the video, I pull Delilah upright so she’s sitting on my cock as I pound inside her. “Can I get a copy of this?”

Castro holsters his pistol and stares. I don’t even want to think about him popping wood while watching Delilah. My blood demands vengeance. I lean my head back on the chair, the picture of ease while my thoughts race. I was so close, so fucking close. Did I hesitate?

“Never alone, Castro. Not with him.” My father points at me. “You know better.”

“Sorry.” Castro bows his head. “I had to take a piss.”

“Take a piss on your own fucking time!” My father’s voice shakes, likely cutting through the “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful” playing in the rest of the house.

“You’re afraid?” I cock my head to the side as if I’m surprised. “Why on earth would you be afraid of your own son?”

“Don’t play games with me, boy.” He slams the controller, pausing the recording right when I shoot my load all over Delilah’s perfect ass. I really do want the video.

“No games. Was there something you wanted besides this?” I point to the screen.

My father sits and yanks open his drawer. It’s powder time.

“I wanted to double-check the preparations. The Father of Fire is expecting an extravagant tribute.”

“Everything’s in order.” I’ve triple-checked everything with Grace. If a single bow of fucking holly is out of place, I’ll be shocked as hell.

“It better be.” He snorts a line, then pinches the powder off his nostrils. “If anything goes wrong, I’m inclined to sacrifice you to the Father of Fire in payment.”

“Do what you have to do.” I inspect my nails. “But everything is set. The Maidens will look like whores. The whores will look like whores. Alcohol and drugs once the congregants leave. And everyone will have a good time.”

He sits back, his beady eyes focused on me. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I hate to break my disappointment streak, but tonight, you’ll be happy with me.”

He waves an annoyed hand at me. I’m dismissed.

I rise and walk to the doors. When I touch the handles, he says, “Don’t think I don’t know what’s in your heart, Adam.” He uses the gentle voice, the one steeped in a coercion so soft it feels like silk. “The Lord has warned me about you. He’s also promised me that I won’t die by your hand. So whatever plans you have, you may as well abandon them, son. They won’t come to fruition.”

“Good to know.” I open the door and stalk out, slamming it behind me.

A few heads turn, but most of them go back to their drinks and their chatter. I don’t have time for niceties.

Grace beelines toward me, her ridiculous black habit blowing behind her. I turn and head down the stairs. She follows.

“What?” I stop at the bar and pour myself a stiff one, not offering her a single drop.

“I just wanted to tell you all the girls are ready.” She casts a glance toward the far side of the basement, towards the door with the bar leaning against the wall next to it.