The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“Fuck you.” She spits on the polished wood floor.

“Dad, you don’t have to do this.” Noah stands and runs a hand through his hair. “Send her to the Rectory. Or maybe you could—”

“Noah, I didn’t ask for your input.” The Prophet’s voice goes chilly in an instant.

“I know, but you can’t do this.” He steps toward his father.

The Prophet whirls on him. “I can’t? Have you forgotten I have been chosen by God to lead the faithful?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything, but Chastity doesn’t deserve to die.” He puts so much faith into his words, as if they aren’t falling on the deaf ears of a madman, as if he thinks his plea for mercy might work.

Some of me hopes right along with him, but most of me despairs.

“I decide what people deserve, son. Not you.” The Prophet turns his head toward the hallway and yells, “Zion!”

“Dad, don’t.” Noah shakes his head. “Don’t do this.”

One of the Protectors walks in, his assault rifle in his hands.

“Zion, please escort my son to the church for morning service.”

The Protector’s eyes pinball from Chastity to me to the Prophet, but he does as he’s told. “Come on.” He points the gun at Noah.

“Dad—”

“Go!” The Prophet bellows.

“Move.” Zion walks around to Noah’s back and presses the barrel into him. “You heard him. Get going. Now.”

“No.” Noah’s voice is strong. “I won’t let you do it.” He brings his fists up, his only weapons.

“I thought you might betray me like this.” The Prophet scowls and jerks his chin at Zion, who turns his gun and brings the butt down hard on the back of Noah’s head. Noah groans and crumples into a heap at his father’s feet, unconscious.

“No!” I yell, helpless in my captor’s arms. Hot, angry tears form, and my hate roars inside me. For the Prophet. For Castro. For the man who holds me captive and allows this horror show to continue.

“Drag Noah to the sitting room.” The Prophet waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll get him in line later.”

“Yes, sir.” Zion shoulders his gun and grabs Noah’s feet, pulling him out of the room.

“Now.” The Prophet turns back to Chastity. “Where were we?”

“I was telling you to go fuck yourself,” she grits out.

I freeze, Evan’s arms holding me tighter as the scene plays out to its inevitable end. Stop, please stop.

The Prophet grabs her face, squeezing viciously. “Still defiant. Even after everything I let Castro do to you.”

She laughs, the sound hard. “I couldn’t even tell when he was inside. That’s how big of a man Castro is.”

“Puta!” Castro shakes her, her arms flying like a rag doll. One of them moves too much, as if it’s broken in several places.

No. I can’t sit here and let this happen. I won’t. Noah took a stand, and now I have to do the same.

The Prophet approaches her, the blade in his right hand. “And don’t worry about your other conspirators. I have men out looking for them. It’s only a matter of time. They’ll be rounded up and taken care of. Jez especially. I’ll give her a little extra lesson in pleasing men before stringing her up like the witch she is. She and her handful of whores will hang in the punishment circle, a meal for the crows and whatever other beasts will lower themselves to partake.”

“Let go.” I struggle against Evan’s hold, kicking his legs and trying to push out of his lap. “Let me go.”

The Prophet shoots me an amused look. “You sure you can handle that one, Senator?”

“I’ll do just fine, thank you.” Evan yanks me against his chest, one arm around my waist as his hand claps over my mouth. “You have to get through it, darling,” he whispers in my ear. “The rules are different here on the Prophet’s turf.”

I scratch at his hand, and scream, desperate to get to Chastity.

She turns to me, her light eyes clear. “Light it up, Firefly. Don’t let them get away with it any longer. For Georgia. For me. For Sarah. For all of us. Light. It. Up.”

“That’s enough silly talk. The Father of Fire is waiting. You aren’t pure, but he’ll take you. Use you. Burn you from the inside out.” The Prophet directs Castro, “Hold her good. I don’t want to get any on my suit.”

I fight against Evan’s arms, but I get nowhere. And when the Prophet’s blade opens Chastity’s neck, a crimson river flowing to the floor, I scream and scream and scream.

Chapter 26

Adam

Keeping my hoodie up, I dissolve into the crowd that hovers in the entry to the sanctuary. The Prophet smiles down from enlarged photos posted along the walls, his gaze always on the congregation, counting his minions.

I ease past a couple talking about their daughter’s grades in school—they find them too high in math. The murmuring jumble of souls has molded themselves to fit my father’s edicts. The women’s dresses almost brush the floor, and several of them have thick makeup to cover bruises. The children are still jubilant, running and giggling with each other, but they’ll be broken soon enough. Once their parents move them into Monroeville, there will be no escape. Their childhoods will end as abruptly as mine did, and with just as much grief.