The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)
“I’m not Prophet material.”
“Neither is your puta brother, but it is what it is.” He shrugs. “That’s what she wants, and I’m going to give it to her.”
“When is all this supposed to go down?”
His gaze shifts away. “Soon.”
“Like tomorrow soon or next week soon?”
“Soon. Your mother has it all well in hand, and I’ll be there beside her taking care of business.”
“Why? I mean, why are you backing her?” I stare at him. Castro is maybe forty, dark hair, fit build. I can’t say he’s attractive—mainly because I’m almost certain I hate his guts—but he could find a woman, settle down, maybe have some kids that take after him and turn into total assholes. Mom isn’t ugly or anything, but the two of them together doesn’t make sense to me.
He takes another long drag, though he keeps his eyes on me. “For years, I’ve served your father. For years, he doesn’t make me a Protector. When he promoted Zion, that should have been my time. When that fucker Newell got popped, that was definitely the time. He should have done it then. Instead, he promotes that piece of shit Trey. Not me. Not the one who’s been there day in and day out for years.”
“So, you’re jealous of Zion and Trey.”
He flicks the cigarette. “Sometimes I think you’re just as dumb as your brother.”
“Douche.” It’s a reflex.
He shakes his head. “Jealous? No. I’m righteous. Your mother knows I’m worthy. She treats me with the respect I deserve. She doesn’t hold this against me.” He gestures to his face. “Doesn’t care where I come from or who my parents were.”
It clicks when he says that. For years, my father has been privately teaching what Adam calls “white supremacy for dummies.” It’s not the in-your-face pointy hats and cross-burning, but there’s a reason why all the Maidens are white. Even when we opened a Heavenly branch in the poorer section of Birmingham, it was just for appearances. Nothing more. My father wanted to stop the influx of all people of color to the main Heavenly campus. “Build them their own church, collect their tithes, and that’s it,” he’d said. “Problem solved.”
“You aren’t better than me. Your pendejo brother is certainly not better than me. Your mother knows that. She sees that I can lead.” He straightens, his chest puffing a bit. “That’s what this is about.”
I scratch my jaw. “Okay, then. I get it now. So you’re jealous and mad that Dad discriminates.”
He throws his hands up and launches into a litany of curses in Spanish, then opens the back door, walks in, and slams it behind him.
For the first time in a while, a genuine smile pulls at my lips. No wonder Adam likes fucking with that guy. It’s easy and way too fun.
Chapter 13
Delilah
I look up when the door opens and Noah walks in. So different from Adam. He doesn’t seem inclined to make me kneel, to dominate me in all the animal ways that Adam thrives on. I wonder for the millionth time where Adam is and if he’s okay.
“Hey.” Noah walks over to the bed and sits down beside me. “How was your, um, day?”
I would laugh at the banality of his question, but I can’t. I can’t laugh or smile or seem to do anything other than endure. “I’ve had better.”
“You and me both.” He leans back and spreads out on my bed, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. “Lie next to me.”
I clutch my dress, my body unwilling to move. Not for him.
“Come on, Maiden. I’m here to work on your obedience.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Do it or we’ll both be fucked in the ass.”
Point made. I scoot next to him, lying on my back. My ass still stings, but Abigail came by earlier to check on me. “Healing,” she’d said. “Seems like you’re always healing these days.”
Noah is a big man like his brother, but he keeps to his side of the bed, the only encroachment from his elbow on my side of the pillow.
“What did you and Grace get up to today?”
Small talk. Is this small talk?
“She showed me—” A bunch of depraved photos taken by my fiancé. I try again. “She showed me some information on the senator. Things I’ll need to know to be a good wife to him.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
“What?”
The smirk in his voice is biting. “Be a good wife?”
“Yes.”
“How will you please him?”
“I’ll be in perfect obedience.”
He turns to look at me, his blue eyes searing despite his nonchalant tone. “I mean how will you fuck him? How will you use your mouth, your hands, your pussy?”
His words are like physical blows, and I cringe away from him.
“Not so fast.” He reaches out and grabs me, wrestling me until I’m astride him, my dress tight and twisted around my right hip, the marks on my backside stinging.