Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
He winces as if the curse word is the worst thing about my accusation. “There’s more evil coursing through you than ever, boy. Living with those people in the outside world has corrupted you beyond my wildest nightmares.”
“Don’t you dare say one fucking word about Boone and Em. They treated me more like a son than you ever did.” A fist of grief wraps around my throat, but I fight to keep my face blank. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing Boone and Emily are dead. He’ll see it as some sort of sign from God that he’s the righteous one. “You killed my brothers. Did you kill my mother too?”
He says nothing. His silence as good as a confirmation for me.
I tilt my head toward the stairs leading into the house. “All those other documents you have in the vault. All those disciples. I remember some of them. They didn’t ‘leave’ like you always told us, did they? The ones who ‘failed the Lord.’ They challenged you and you killed them, didn’t you?”
He glares at me with the confidence of man who thinks God will send his angels to swoop in and save him at the last minute. “I did what was right to protect my flock.”
That’s the only confirmation I’ll probably ever get from him. The rage and grief I’ve carried for so long collide, chilling me to the bone. “Where did you bury them?”
“They’re with the Devil now.” He closes his eyes as if he’s so meek and pious. “Paying for their sins.”
Tired. I’m so fucking tired of his twisted religious shit.
“I really hope Hell is real. That’s definitely where you’re going.” I pull the Glock from my side. “Any last prayers?”
His chin jerks upward, defiant. Still arrogant but a hint of fear shadows his eyes. “You’ll break God’s heart.”
As if he’s ever cared about anyone’s heart before. “Yeah, well, he never stopped you from tearing out mine over and over in his name, so I guess this will make us even.”
“You c-can’t,” he stutters. “You won’t get away with killing me. You’ll be locked up.”
A heavy ache settles in my chest, warning me not to give him too much information but needing to purge my soul. “I’ve felt imprisoned my whole life. By you, your god, memories of you, the scars on my back.” A bitter laugh catches in my throat. “If it ends up being official, I’m fine with it. As long as you’re no longer walking the planet.”
“God will welcome me with open arms.” He tries to wave his hands, his chains scraping and rattling against the stone.
“Doubt it.” I raise the Glock, leveling the barrel at his chest.
A glint of gold catches my eye.
I lower the gun.
His fearful expression shifts to relief. “I knew you’d see the light.”
But it’s not his life I want to spare.
It’s the ring on his pinky. A solid gold band—thick, severe, and heavy-looking. The years have dulled its shine and worn the edges smooth, but the symbol at its center is still clear. I remember it well—a sword driven through the spine of a serpent, its coiled body twisted beneath the blade. What he always claimed was a symbol of his dominance over sin.
As if sensing my intention, he curls his fingers into a fist. I pin his wrist to the wall and tug the ring free.
“This sin will haunt you for the rest of your miserable life,” he spits out.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of this. Every time you whipped me. Starved me. Made me bleed.” I pull the Glock out again and press the muzzle to his chest. “I promised myself I’d come back one day and show you real sin.”
I let that sink in. Watch it register. No one’s coming to save him.
“No.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “You’re finally reaping what you sowed all these years.”
Slowly, I squeeze the trigger, savoring the final moment—the one I’ve fantasized about for most of my life.
A single shot echoes violently around us, deafening in the still basement.
He slumps against the chains, the arrogance and false righteousness draining from his body.
The silence rings louder than the shot.
My hands tremble as I stuff the Glock into its holster.
Breathe. Just breathe.
There’s still so much more work to do.
Time’s tight. Anyone could come down here and see what I’ve done. Sure, they’re more likely to drop to their knees and start praying than call the cops but I’d rather not test out that theory.
There’s a slop sink down here and a barrel of lye out back just waiting for—fuck.
I glance at the slop sink. Old steel and rusted seams—useless. Lye would eat through it in minutes, spilling him out onto the floor before the skin’s even melted off of his carcass.
A slight ringing in my ears remains from the gunshot. But no guilt or remorse weighs me down. No, I can’t stop seeing Jezzie’s small body fighting under my father’s hand. How long has he been using drowning as punishment? Was that the first time he did that to her? The tenth? Hundredth?