The Cult (Cult 1)

I pressed my fingers hard against my lips, my shoulders so tight it hurt.

“We have an understanding?”

I had to focus on what mattered—getting my daughter back. I had to let go of my anger. I had to let go of my revenge. I had to spend my time helping Claire rehabilitate after the shit she experienced. I had to be grateful to have her in my arms again…and let the rest go. “Yes.”

The ride in the chopper took an hour.

This place was truly in the wilderness, truly in the middle of nowhere, a sea of trees visible through the windows, deep green because the rain had fallen hard this season. The Alps became larger the farther we traveled, already covered in snow because winter was early this year.

Bartholomew sat across from me, his headset on, his eyes out the window most of the time, wearing his black combat boots and a long-sleeved black shirt, the ink of his tattoos barely visible at the edge of his sleeve.

My heart had never beat this hard in my life.

We started to touch down, landing in a wide-open field. There were three other Chasseurs with us, armed with AK-47s even though it was supposed to be a peaceful transfer.

“What did you promise in return?”

He switched his gaze from the window to me, the two of us on a private channel so the rest of the crew couldn’t hear. “Contacts.”

“For?”

“Their LSD operation.”

All I could offer was money—and that wasn’t what they wanted. Without Bartholomew, I would have nothing to bargain with. I was just a contractor in Paris—a nobody. I’d left the Chasseurs to keep my daughter safe, but in the end, it was that connection that would get her back.

Ironic.

We touched down on the ground and waited until the propellers went idle. We were in the middle of a large plain, at the edge of a forest. When I stepped out of the chopper and looked into the trees, I could distinguish the signs of civilization, of cabins and buildings, of men walking around in cattle skulls.

My heart started to pound harder—disgusted that my daughter was there.

With these fucking freaks.

The pilot remained in the chopper, and the five of us walked the long stretch across the plain to the forest. The camp became more distinct as we approached, and I could see the men dressed in black with the skulls, scattered through the establishment, still and gruesome.

I felt sick.

We came closer and closer, seeing a man waiting for us at the very edge, the only one who didn’t cover his face. The sun was descending over the horizon, splashing the sky with the colors of a spectacular sunset. Torches lit throughout the camp were visible, illuminating the statues of angels and demons.

The man stood with his hands together in front of his waist, surrounded by the men who wore the skulls, all evenly spaced out in formation. When we came close, he smiled…and it was the most disturbing smile I’d ever seen.

It was wide and stretched, like he used every muscle in his face and neck to pull his lips back, showing every single white tooth that looked as clean as fresh bones. He was motionless like the men around him, not blinking, not reacting.

We stopped several feet back, our guards keeping their guns pointed to the ground.

Imminent danger never raised my heart rate. Never made me take an extra breath. But this was different, because I was there for Claire, but I couldn’t see her. She wasn’t there waiting for me. Neither was Beatrice.

Bartholomew had wanted to handle this deal alone, but I refused to sit at home and wait. I wanted my daughter in my arms as quickly as possible, to wrap her in my protectiveness so she wouldn’t feel scared ever again.

My hands were squeezed tightly into fists, and my jaw was clenched until my teeth ground together. I wanted to pull my dagger out of my pocket and cut that fucking smile off his face, burn it. I wanted to make my demands, but I was told to stay silent because I wasn’t a Chasseur anymore. I had no right to speak or represent the organization any longer. So, I had to just stand there and wait.

Bartholomew stepped forward. “You have your contacts for expanded distribution. I’ve facilitated those relationships successfully. Now it’s your turn to fulfill your word, Forneus.” He stood in the lead, one foot planted forward with his arms by his sides.

But Forneus continued to stare at me, absorbing my look with that smile on his face. Seconds passed until half a minute came and went. The smile slowly faded, and he turned his attention to Bartholomew. “Yes. Your de-liv-er-y was s-spectacular.”

The second I heard his voice, my hatred increased to maximum heights. It was a blood lust that couldn’t be tamed, and my hand ached to grab the dagger in my pocket and shove the blade in his throat, up through his face, and into his skull.