The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“She’s been hurt. Just like us.” I can’t tell her how badly Jez is injured, can’t speak about Chastity. Not yet. But I know the loss I feel is even deeper in Jez. The love they had defied this place, overcame the hell of the Prophet.

“They started without us.” Hannah turns onto the road leading to the punishment circle. A group of women form a barrier around the center of the ring, and I can guess who’s in the middle.

The Prophet’s scream is thick, as if he’s gargling blood. She pulls up next to a row of cars and golf carts.

She hops off, but leaves the key in the ignition. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t. I have another—”

“You can’t miss this.” She takes my hand and pulls me with her.

I don’t have time for this, but I let her lead me to the edge. She lets go and dives into the fray, hugging one of the women from the Chapel. The crowd opens enough for me to see the Prophet. He’s been stripped and staked to the ground, his legs spread. The gag is gone, and Jez twirls one of the Spinners’ black batons in her hand.

“Oh, Prophet, where is your Father of Fire now?” She swings, nailing him in the knee.

He howls, his bloody face contorting in even more pain. The women raided the Cloister’s training room. All of them hold whips, batons, floggers—and from the looks of the Prophet’s body, they haven’t been holding back.

He spits blood. “If you release me now, the Lord will forgive you for—”

One of the Chapel women aims a kick to his side. He screeches, and she kneels down next to him. “Remember when you told me that I was a good girl if I didn’t cry?” She pulls her shirt down to show scars along the tops of her breasts, as if someone cut her with a straight blade. “I remember every time you cut me. Every time you raped me. Every time you told me I was a good girl.”

The women chant “punish him.” I join in, the power flowing through all of us, connecting us in a sisterhood of vengeance.

She pulls a knife from her pocket and flips it open. “Now be a good boy for me.” Dragging the blade across his chest, she leaves a deep crimson line.

Another woman kneels next to him, a gruesome story of torture and rape falling from her lips as she wraps a whip around her fist.

“No, please—”

“This is my perfect obedience.” She punches him hard in the face, his lip splitting again and blood spurting from his nose.

I back away. Because I have somewhere to be… And also because I’m enjoying this so much it scares me.

“Emily,” Jez points at me. “You’re up.”

The women whoop and I’m jostled forward, wincing against the pain in my back and hand.

I should go. They’re handling what needs to be done. But I don’t go. I can’t. My soul breaks a little more when I accept that I have to do this, that the darkness the Prophet has created inside me means that I need this. To end some part of my own torment, I have to cause him pain. And what’s worse, I want to.

I kneel down, looking at the man who seemed so large, so powerful. But he’s neither of those things. He’s only a man, stripped bare, and staring over the precipice at his death.

Looking him in the eye, I take a breath. “Remember when you told me I was a whore who ruined your son?” The words come easy from my lips as he shivers on the cold ground. I hold my hand out, waiting for someone to give me a weapon. Any will do. The hilt of a knife slides into my palm.

“Delilah, Adam wouldn’t want you to—”

“Shh.” I shake my head. “Remember my friend Sarah? You do. She was kind and strong, two things you hate. So you made your son cut her throat. I remember. You do, too.” I start over his heart, carving an ‘s’ as he screams and thrashes his head. Carving flesh is easy, far easier than I thought. The rest of Sarah’s name materializes in blood, and I sit back. “You remember her now?”

“Yes!” he yells. “I remember. Please don’t—”

“You hurt her, killed her, and did so much more. I’m sure you remember all of it. What you did to me, my friends, Adam, my mother, my sister.” I stand and walk between his spread legs.

His eyes go even wider, the right one blotchy with blood. “D-Delilah.”

“You named me well, did you know?”

The women around me start chanting “punish him,” their voices low and strong.

“Deli—”

“In the Bible, Delilah takes Samson’s strength, but God gives it back to him, and with it, he’s able to destroy his enemies.” I line up, my right foot back. “Our story is like that, but even better. I brought Adam to his knees, and together, we rose up and defeated you. All of us tore down your temple.”