The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“Who?”

I step toward her and glower down into her face. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

She snorts a laugh and turns her back to me, showing the cigarette burns that run down her spine in a neat line. “More than Daddy did?” The look she throws over her shoulder is a mix of mocking and sultry, and I want to strangle her.

“Hand him over. Now.”

“Nothing but girls here, baby.” She twirls her index finger in a circular motion. “This is a cathouse. No boys allowed unless they’re paying.”

I push past her and peer inside her bedroom. Nothing there. Nowhere to hide a grown man, anyway. When I turn, I see another one of the Chapel girls lounging on one of the gold chairs. Babylon, I think is her name.

“She wasn’t there before.” I point at her. “You. Where’d you come from?”

“I’ve been here the whole time.” She spreads her legs, the tiny scrap of lace meant to cover her pussy revealing everything except the spot where the baby comes out. “Want to see more of me?”

“No, I want to know where my brother is.” I look up at the leaves, two colorful birds staring back down at me, silent as always.

“We don’t know.” Jez grabs a short robe from the rack of clothes just inside her bedroom and throws it on. “Haven’t seen him. Guards have already searched us twice.”

I hear a quiet thump, and sharply turn my head toward the wide stained glass window at the back of the church.

Babylon kicks one of her feet down to the floor, making a similar sound. “Let’s go out to my room. Get a few other girls.” She stands and struts to me, her hands grasping the front of my shirt. “We can have a good time.”

Another thump, this one definitely coming from the baptistry.

“Lay off.” I push past her and walk around the edge of the wide planter, the dark dirt covered with trailing vines and lush greenery. “You have him here. Somewhere.” Peering down, I see a smaller concrete planter that is slightly off-kilter.

“I told you. We’ve been searched already.” Jez approaches, tension rolling off her.

“No.” I hold up a hand. “Stay back.” Grabbing the planter, I yank it away. Dirt spills over the side, and some of it cascades down the blue-green stairs that lead down into a narrow well—what’s left of the old baptistry.

“Noah, come on.” Jez’s voice has risen an octave. “There’s nothing back there but fertilizer for the plants. Let us show you—”

“Fuck off.” I drop down the stairs and feel along the back of the wooden structure that supports the garden above. A pile of goodies lies to the side, all sorts of contraband that would result in a one-way ticket to the punishment circle. “Naughty girls.” I cluck my tongue and pull on one of the wooden cross slats. It comes away with ease and reveals a pine box hidden behind it.

“Noah, I’m warning you.” Jez has disappeared, her voice coming from the main sitting area.

“If you’re going for a gun, I hope you’ve got a silencer for it. Otherwise, if you fire a shot, the guard will be on you faster than a chigger on a nut-sack.”

“Faster than a what?” Babylon mutters.

I grab one end of the box and yank.

“Fuck!” Definitely Adam’s voice, though it’s muffled.

A wound-up coil of tension lets go inside me, and I feel like I can finally take a deep breath for the first time in days. My brother is alive. I can’t stop the grin that spreads over my face and seems to reach all the way down to my toes. With another yank, I have the box far enough out that I can open the lid.

I pull it up and slide it back. “Morning, sunshine.”

“It’s about fucking time.” He blinks up at me, looking beat up, worn out, a little pissed off and a lot relieved.

“Nice to see you, too.”

He sits up with a grimace. His hands are wrapped with clean, white bandages. But there’s something wrong with his foot.

“What’s that about?” I jerk my chin at the bandaged foot.

“Lost some toes. Frostbite.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t joke about losing appendages.”

The sheer ridiculousness of his words hits me right in the funny bone, and I snort. He smiles, too, and I pull him to me in a hard hug.

I’m not crying. That’s not what I’d do. Ever. Happy tears aren’t a thing for me. But my eyes are tingling, and I can’t seem to stop squeezing the shit out of him.

“It’s all right.” He pats me on the back awkwardly with his injured hands. “I’m okay, Noah.”

I take a deep breath, though it hitches a few times, and let him go. After a quick swipe at my (super dry) eyes, I give him another once-over. “You able to walk?”