11. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Roman
A few lingering patrons, mostly the elderly and those with a bit too much free time during the weekdays, are scattered throughout the church, quietly immersed in their daily prayers. I save my over-the-top outfits for weekend Mass, opting instead for a more professional look today—a dark dress shirt neatly tucked into my overpriced slacks.
Father Kevin had been kind enough to leave behind the funds for a new wardrobe, not to mention the monthly salary was already extremely generous. Even for some of the more well-off congregations made up of mega-rich assholes, this salary seemed a bit outlandish.
Peering over at my office, I’m filled with a flurry of emotions. I’ve kept the door shut, unnerved by what I found on the computer and ashamed that I satiated my physical desires there earlier today after returning to the church from the coffee shop. The pressure in my throbbing cock wouldn’t subside after seeing Eden earlier at the coffee shop. I couldn’t stop thinking about that black dress that hugged her curves and how smooth her skin was. The smell of her pussy and mouth lingered on my fingers, and I wanted to think of her as I came.
At this point, I’ve got a one-way ticket straight to hell.
Glancing at my watch, twenty minutes are left till five. Eden hadn’t messaged me, but I don’t have any reason to think she won’t show up tonight for her service hours.
A small smile tries to pull across my lips as I think about our interaction at the coffee shop; the look of her so flustered by my words is indescribably satisfying.
Unable to avoid his image in my mind, I grow angry at the idea of Luca being there today.
Showing up to the coffee shop was idiotic.
Inserting myself into her conversation just to keep the man from being alone with her was damn right foolish.
He said maybe one sentence to her at that counter, and I reacted like that?
What the hell would I have done if he had touched her?
Why am I reacting like this?
I've been with women in the past.
For me, it's always been simple.
Sex was just sex. Nothing more.
So why the hell am I consumed by thoughts of having my cock buried deep inside Eden?
Why do I wonder what she would look like with her hands tied up, her knees bowed in prayer to me as she-
"Father Briar," David's unsettling voice pierces the quiet, pulling me away from my sick reveries of his daughter .
"David?" I question, glancing around, unsure when the man walked in. "I'm sorry, I was lost in thought," I admit, narrowing my eyes at the man.
"Did we have a meeting?"
He moves to stand in front of me, a portfolio tucked between his arm and side.
"No, not scheduled, but I did just talk to Kevin," He admits. "I spoke with him on the phone, and it would seem he was unaware how much you really knew about our... ideologies in this church. He didn't know you held the same beliefs that he and I share," David sighs, my mind still drawing blanks. "Your position was supposed to be temporary, correct?"
I nod my head. "Only a few months-"
"Kevin would like that to change," David snaps, taking a step closer. "It's not very often we find individuals who can be brought into our circle here, and given your age, you could be a great asset to this congregation for a good long while." David smiles, glancing toward the open doors leading into the confessional space.
"Kevin saw a login on his account. I assume it was you?"
No point in lying.
"Creative password," I smirk. "Inside joke?" I continue to play into whatever the hell is going on here.
"More like a dance with God," David smirks, lowering his voice.
"You saw the inventory, then?"
"Some expensive furniture," I shrug. "Any reason why?" I probe .
Anyone willing to pay any of those prices for old and outdated furniture is delusional.
"Our operation maintains Saint Michael’s opulence and keeps your paychecks coming. In exchange, we utilize the space for inventory.” He looks around the space. “It was one hell of a remodel our work funded," He smiles, tapping his foot on the floor. "Underground tunnels make for more discrete transportation.”
Laughing, I try to hide my confusion and suspicion.
"Can never have too much furniture, I suppose," I tease, winking at the man.
Giving me a casual nod, David glances at his watch.
"My daughter should be here soon," He sighs, grabbing my shoulder. "I meant what I said at my house. Eden is a sinner. I want her to feel God’s wrath through you. Her rebellious nature is blasphemous, and she must be set back on the path to God.”
Smiling, I pat his shoulder.
"Of course, David. I plan to fulfill your wishes in the name of the Lord to the best of my ability."
It’s becoming more obvious as the days go by that David Faulkner is not someone to fuck with. So, if I have to feed into his extremist religious ideologies in order to avoid whatever psychotic brand of retribution he’s dishing out, so be it.
I’m not sure how Kevin managed it here for so long. He seemed like a decent man.
"You know, Roman, I was unsure about you at first," David points out. "I had my men look into you at the DA’s office. We never want any sticky fingers in our work here. You served before you took seminary?" He questions, clawing at the grave of my past.
"A few tours," I shrug. "Saw enough that even God has struggled to steer me away from the bottle," I admit, torturous screams trying to force their way into the back of my mind.
Shut it out.
Don't let it in.
"A background like that could be very useful to us," He smiles, extending the portfolio out to me, shaking it in front of me like it’s my birthday present.
"Kevin and the others gave me the green light to show you this. We’re excited to welcome you into the real brotherhood of this congregation," He pats me on the back as I take the portfolio from him. "I'll leave you to it," He turns, dipping his finger in the holy water, saying a silent prayer.
"Our first meeting is after Mass this Sunday," David exclaims. "That's where you can place your preference on inventory before the buyers do."
"Meeting?" I look down at the portfolio, turning it over in my hand.
"Here, at ten. Doors lock at nine-thirty," He smirks. "Have a good night, Father," He waves. "Oh. And mind certain areas of Eden's skin. She should have known when to shut her mouth."
Mind Eden's skin.
What the fuck does that mean?
The doors shut behind David, those lingering in the pews for their own worship outside of Mass leave, and the only face in sight is my reflection in the pool of holy water .
Setting the portfolio on the rim of the stoup, I flip it open, wondering if there’s still any scotch left in my –
Backing away from the binder, my heart beats out of my chest, my stomach rolling, ready to throw up that shitty overpriced coffee Eden's friend made me. Clutching my cross, I take a shaky breath, filled to the brim with feral rage, my vision going fuzzy, clouded with adrenaline.
Like I’m back in the pits of war, violence tugs at my heart, the bloodthirsty need to rip someone apart escalating with every image touching my vision.
The descriptions.
They weren’t descriptions and pricing details for furniture. They were for fucking children .
I flip page after page, each child dirtied and petrified, some holding up their hands, squinting at the flash from the camera.
Item: Leather Futon
Age: Seven Years
Description: Brown with blue accents and decorative fringe.
Status: New
Price: $10,000.000
Name: Molly Jackson
Age: Seven Years
Description: Female, Brown hair, blue eyes
Status: Virgin
Price: $10,000.00
There are twenty children, all matching the twenty pieces of furniture I’d seen listed in the email saved on Father Kevin’s computer yesterday. Invoices, paid in full, were attached to each image, all except one on the last page of the portfolio.
Name: X
Age: Twenty Years
Description: X
Status: Non-Virgin (ideal for breeding)
Price: $50,000.00
No name. No face. The highest listing price.
"What the fuck," I whisper, reflecting on what David had said.
What Aiden told me back at his house.
His father is hurting him.
His father is hurting so many others too.
And now, he thinks I’m just like him.
I slam the portfolio shut, suffocating on the oppressive air in the cathedral. I need to get out of here.
The police.
I have to take this to the police-
"I had my men look into you at the DA’s office. Never want any sticky fingers in our work here."
They already know.
This whole God’s damned town is run by these sick fucks.
And I’m at the center of all of it.
Every violent memory that I’ve kept suppressed comes rushing in, my hands shaking as I try to take a deep breath.
Reload.
He's bleeding out, Briar !
Kill them.
Fucking shoot him.
"Father?"
Slowly looking up, I see a boy with light brown hair and bloodshot eyes headed towards me. The stench of pot hits my nostrils.
Zack.
Fucking Hell.
Is God testing me again?
"I just came by to drop off my stuff before my buddy's party," He sighs, holding up a worn old robe. "I figured I'd be able to use the washing machine to get it ready before Mass..." He trails off, my chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.
"Are you alright?"
I see Eden standing in the rain, her expression of pain and sorrow.
David has hurt her.
Zack has hurt her.
"Come here, Zack," I calmly coax him forward. "You forgot to bless yourself before entering the Lord's house," I hiss.
Swallowing nervously, Zack sets his things down, taking a cautious step toward me.
"Is something wrong, Father Briar?”
"Bless yourself, Zack," I snap, "And then we can speak."
Nodding his head, he creeps closer to the pool of holy water, peering down at our reflections in the large basin.
Reaching his hand toward the water, he taps his middle finger against its surface.
"Now, Zack, don't be shy," I smile, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand a little further down. "You didn't hold back when you stripped Eden and left her on the side of the road, so why show restraint now?”
His eyes snap to my face. "How did you-"
"God knows all," I seethe.
"I meant to confess-"
"Well, I'm listening now. Here’s how you can repent.”
Motivated by feral rage, I grab the back of his head, shoving it into the water and forcing it to the bottom of the bowl. His arms flare, and I tighten my grip. His muffled screams bubble up to the surface of the water as I hold him there for a few seconds before yanking him back up. His head falls back, and his mouth hangs open as he sucks in air.
"How does it feel to be defenseless, Zack?" I yell, my teeth nearly snapping like a rabid dog. "Repent!"
"Forgive me, Father-" His voice trembles as he gets the words out, and I’m satisfied by the way he trembles against my chest.
I drive his head back into the water one more time for good measure, clawing his scalp as I drag him back up once I’m convinced he’s spent enough time breathless at the bottom of the bowl.
"If you ever fucking touch her again," I yell, slamming his head into the concrete rim of the basin. A deep gash forms across his forehead from the impact, dripping blood down the holy relic. "I will fucking send your ass straight to Hell. Swear to God you will never touch her again!"
Curling in on himself, he starts to sob like a small child, snot oozing from his nostrils down onto his lips before reaching his chin. His eyes are wide with fear.
Good. He should fear me .
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply as I recite Luke 10:19 to myself.
I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you.
And that’s what Zack is –a snake.
"Swear to him," I command, my mouth gravitating to his ear. "Swear to me."
"I s-swear, Lord," He sobs. "I swear, Father-"
I look down to see his blood on the hand I have fisted into the neckline of his shirt. A familiar feeling threatens to bring my past to life. I take another deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Shoving him to the floor, I take a step back, grabbing the portfolio that had fallen to the ground a few feet away.
"Get the fuck out of this cathedral, and take your dirty ass clothes with you. I'll be seeing you on Sunday. Open your mouth about any of this, and I'll say you attacked me first. I'm sure your track record will make that story pretty fucking believable."
Clutching his bloodied head, Zack stumbles to his feet, bending over to grab his clothes and backpack without saying anything else.
As he straightens his back and turns to face me, his whole body freezes. The muscles in his face go taut. "E-Eden."
Shit.
Turning around, I see her standing in a white robe in the doorway to the altar room. Her fists are clenched around the rope at her waist. Her hair spills over her shoulders and down her back, a few locks falling in front of the eyes that are currently locked on the two of us .
Lowering his head, Zack pushes past her, brushing her shoulder on the way out. I can still hear him sobbing as he makes his way down the corridor.
Eden remains in the doorway, shaking as she surveys the room, the blood on the floor, and the portfolio under my arm.
She creeps closer, her skin flushed with a fierce, uneven heat, patches of red blooming across her face and neck, while a cold sweat clung to her brow.
Words caught in my throat as she stood before me.
I watch as she dips her finger delicately into the holy water.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," She whispers, nudging past me without another word.