Chapter 6
Sebastian
When I asked Lucian to set me up with an apprenticeship at his shop, I assumed most of my days would be spent piercing ears or organizing jewelry. And—for the most part—that was true. But I was also the shop bitch.
“Sebastian, go take out the trash. Sebastian, clean the bathroom. Sebastian, we’re thirsty–go get coffee.” I changed my voice to mock them as I pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from my pocket.
It had everyone's orders scribbled down like I was some underpaid waitstaff. I had a Ph.D., for Christ’s sake. I used to kill people for a living, and now I was fetching four iced coffees from Loaves of Love like a glorified intern.
I should spit in Lucian’s.
At least if I embraced my title as the prophet of the Sons of Christ, I wouldn’t have to do this shit. But then I’d have... other problems. So maybe getting Sera’s overly sweetened latte wouldn’t kill me. Not today, at least.
With that in mind, I leaned on the glass-topped counter and read off the list to the pink-haired barista. I made sure to add two pumps of caramel syrup to Lucian’s black coffee because I knew he’d hate it.
Again, he’d be lucky if I didn’t spit in it.
He’d sent me with the company card, but money wasn’t much of an issue these days. The total popped up on the screen, but the girl didn’t even blink.
“Free of charge,” she said with a carefree smile. One that instantly soured with her next words.“Anything for God’s chosen son.”
I winced, unsure if I’d ever get used to that nickname. Still, I forced a tight-lipped smile and stepped to the side. This morning had already been rough—two hours of parroting everything Dale whispered in my ear. And as much as I hated to admit it, part of me liked the adoration.
For most of my life, I hadn’t even been liked, let alone worshipped. If I didn’t know what was really going on, I might’ve come to enjoy it.
Maybe I owed Cameron an apology for ever thinking he was stupid for falling into the cult.
I glanced up at the shiplap ceiling and tilted my head side to side, mulling it over. Before I could land on a verdict, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I drew in a sharp breath and pulled it out without even checking the notification. Which, honestly, would’ve saved me a lot of stress.
It was a photo of the back of my head.
My pulse spiked. I looked left, then right, scanning the café for one of Dale’s lackeys, or someone from the church.
Then my rational brain finally kicked in, and I checked the sender.
My shoulders dropped.
Mason.
Sure enough, she was tucked into the corner booth. Her face lit up when I spotted her, and she gave a little wave. I returned it without thinking, already walking toward her, ready to ask what she was doing here and to steal a kiss.
Then I saw she wasn’t alone.
My steps slowed.
Short-cropped hair. Broad shoulders.
I pointed and mouthed, Who’s that?, not wanting to interrupt if this was a work thing.
Her smile widened, glowing like a fucking diamond. And I kept walking, happy just to bask in her light.
Ignoring the other person entirely, I bent down to kiss Mason. Her lips were sticky with a gloss that carried a faint citrus flavor. When I pulled away, I grabbed the lemonade sitting beside her and took a sip.
Sharing drinks had become one of those silent, habitual things between us. At first, I hated it, especially when she sipped from my coffee despite having one of her own. But now? There was something undeniably sweet about it. Begrudgingly, I’d grown to cherish it.
Finally, social norms forced me to acknowledge the other person at the table.
But instead of towering over her like a weirdo, I scooted Mason over and slid into the booth beside her. For the last few months, I’d been working on being more... approachable. Or at least less like I thought I was better than everyone else.
Even if I was.
But whatever cool confidence I’d managed to fake vanished the second I registered who I was sitting across from.
Short, slicked-back hair. Dark eyes. Foxlike features. Hard to forget, especially when I’d been face-to-face with her earlier this very morning.
The newcomer at the church. The one who looked me dead in the eye, despite Dale’s orders not to.
My stomach turned to stone. I hid the shake in my hands by folding them in my lap.
“Sebastian, this is Mattie,” Mason said, gesturing to the person beside her.
Mattie extended a hand. I stared at it, then at the mismatched tattoos cobbled into a chaotic sleeve on her arm.
Her narrow lips curled into a crooked smile, and I looked at her outstretched hand like touching it might spark a second pandemic.
Mason nudged me—probably to remind me I was being rude. Unfortunately for her, I didn’t care.
Her safety came before her—
I paused, brow furrowing as I gave Mattie another once-over.
“How do you know Mason?” I asked flatly.
She didn’t flinch. Her hand dropped to her thigh like she’d expected this reaction.
“We met at the gym. I’m her personal trainer,” she replied smoothly.
Mason shot her a vaguely offended look, and all that arrogance Mattie carried deflated like a popped balloon. I could’ve sworn I saw a faint blush creep into her cheeks.
“Mason is my girlfriend,” Mattie added. “We’ve been seeing each other for two months... you knew that, right?”
I blew an unsteady breath through my nose and looked at Mason.
I wanted to cause a scene. Tell her under no circumstances could this continue.
But she looked happy. Tired, but happy.
And she’d followed all the rules. She asked us first. Never hid anything. I, on the other hand, had plenty to hide.
So, while I could raise hell later... Now wasn’t the time.
Not in front of Mason.
Mattie was a cultist; that much was obvious. But she did have at least one redeeming trait: she cared about Mason.
While we waited for the drinks, I noticed Mason looked pale. Not just tired—off. She wasn’t as talkative as usual. Even accounting for her usual demure nature, this behavior set off alarms.
When I asked, she brushed it off. Said she was fine, just tired.
Mattie said otherwise. Apparently, Mason had passed out at the gym.
If I wasn’t ready to argue before, I was now.
Fortunately, my job came with some flexibility. As long as I clocked my apprenticeship hours eventually, I could come and go. So no one batted an eye when I said I needed to leave.
Mason was supposed to pick up the kids, but we’d all agreed: no fighting in front of them.
So the argument had to wait.
I blew out a slow breath, white-knuckling the steering wheel as I drove.
Our conversation might not happen at all, given that Mason was asleep in the passenger seat, and the kids were out cold in the back. We'd been a few minutes late to pick up, which meant we'd interrupted nap time for all three of them.
Jasper and Juniper didn’t even stir when I buckled them in. Rosie babbled for a bit, but the minivan's stillness eventually knocked her out too.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, just to look at her. My chest ached at her utter perfection.
Chubby cheeks flushed from sleep. Hands wrapped tight around a stuffed moose. One of its antlers was soaked in drool—I made a mental note to wash it tonight.
Then I turned my gaze toward Mason. She and Rosie even snored the same. The only difference?
Mason only snored when she wasn’t feeling well.
I reached over and rested a hand on her shoulder. She made a soft, contented sound and leaned into me without waking up.
Just like that, the fire in my chest cooled.
God damn it.
I used to be a contract killer. Now I was chauffeuring a minivan with three kids in the back and my partner curled against my side like I was her whole world.
I was twenty-three. I should’ve had ten more years before I went soft.
But I didn’t care.
Not really.
I stole another glance at Mason, savoring the way her ebony hair stuck out in every direction. No matter how long she worked on it, it always looked unbrushed.
Despite our physical size difference, she never felt small to me. She was larger than life. No matter where we went, her presence always filled a room like sunshine. She was too…brilliant.
But, right now, my girl looked fragile.
Mattie said Mason had passed out.
Not just a dizzy spell.
Passed out.
As concerned as I was about Mattie's ties to Saint Samael’s, I couldn’t ignore the truth: Mason had minimized her symptoms.
Again.
If Mattie weren’t connected to the church, I might’ve thanked her. Instead, I was caught in a standoff between suspicion and reluctant gratitude.
Relief washed over me as the farmhouse came into view. Cameron stood on the porch, freshly showered.
Good.
I parked beside his truck and shot him a text letting him know the kids were asleep.
He looked up and then over at the van like he’d just noticed us. A moment later, he walked over, looking me up and down like I was a teenager skipping school.
“Thought you were supposed to be at work,” he drawled.
“I’ve decided to forgo my apprenticeship in favor of my true calling: Stay-At-Home Dad,” I deadpanned.
Cameron squinted. “Really?”
“No.” I unbuckled and stepped out. “Mason wasn’t feeling well. Right place, right time. Can you help me carry the babies?”
He didn’t ask questions. He never did.
“Which one’s heavier?” he asked, looking between the twins.
“Jas. He finally passed up Juni. Maybe now she’ll stop bossing him around.”
Cameron snorted as he scooped Jasper up. I grabbed Juniper, and together we carried them inside and tucked them into bed.
When we came back out, he gestured toward the van. “Want me to carry Mason?”
“No. Her room’s in the basement. That makes you uncomfortable.”
Cameron once said it reminded him too much of the family he’d lost before Dale kidnapped him, and I didn’t push the issue. Ever.
He hesitated. “I was gonna put her in my bed.”
“She sleeps better in her room.”
I shifted her in my arms, adjusting her hands around my neck.
“That the only reason?” he asked.
I stopped cold. What kind of question was that?
“She’s not feeling well. And I love her. She needs to rest,” I said sharply.
The basement made the most sense.
No cats. No kids. No partners stomping around.
Cameron smirked. “What?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You’ve matured a lot since Rosie.”
I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.
So I said the obvious: “Being a dad does that to a person.”