16. Chapter 16
Sebastian
I paced the dimly lit space in front of Dale’s desk, bracing myself for service today.
Thursdays were always terrible, but I had an excuse, therapy. Imaginary therapy. I veiled my cult duties behind a believable facade of mental health maintenance.
But Sundays?
Sundays felt like I was one wrong move away from blowing my fucking cover. It was a miracle no one had connected my weekly two-to-three-hour “run” with the service at Saint Samael’s.
But today was going to be worse than normal. Because after service, I couldn’t just shove the guilt down and pretend I wasn’t part of the cult that destroyed Cameron’s life and was now slowly devouring mine.
Nope.
Today, I got to stand at the back of the altar like some fucking holy relic and then immediately go home and deal with Mattie.
At family dinner.
I pressed my palms into my eyes so hard that colors exploded behind my lids. How the hell was I supposed to tell Mason her girlfriend was in a cult without admitting I was also in that cult?
Trick question. I couldn’t.
My stomach twisted into a knot: a tight, relentless, overcomplicated thing. Like a rope in the hands of an overzealous Boy Scout trying to tie a bowline.
Which is to say: it twisted in on itself a thousand times, and all I could do was clutch the edge of Dale’s desk and try not to hurl.
Bitter bile crept up the back of my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes squeezed shut.
Every week was a test.
A trial.
How long can I juggle this lie?
And every week, I felt closer and closer to time running out.
And it killed me.
Still, I couldn’t just come clean. Because while Cameron might understand the reach of Dale and the Sons of Christ, he’d never understand how I fell into it. More than that, he’d never forgive me.
And I loved him too much to risk losing him.
I blew out a shaky breath, and the door behind me banged open, too large for its frame. Like it belonged to a tomb that didn’t want to be disturbed.
In flooded the heavy, cloying scent of frankincense. The smoke was so thick it looked like it pooled on the floor, rolling in intangible waves, curling around my ankles like fog and anchoring me in place.
“Good morning, Father Castillo.” Dale’s drawl hit me like a bucket of slime.
It oozed down my skin, clinging to every inch of me like cold sweat—though realistically, that’s exactly what it was.
I winced and tilted my head to the side.
“Just Sebastian,” I whispered.
“Well then, Sebastian,” Dale said, his shoes echoing on the hardwood as he stepped inside, each footfall softening as he crossed the rug beneath the desk.
A liver-spotted hand appeared on my shoulder, its weight featherlight and with all the warmth of a corpse.
True to his story, Dale’s health had begun to fail over the past few months. But while I prayed for his death every day, deep down I wasn’t sure even that would be enough to end the Sons of Christ.
“Do you have any good news for the congregation today, son?” His grip tightened to the point of pain, but I muscled through it.
He wanted a reaction, and that was the one thing I’d never give him. Well, that, and the second coming he so craved.
Slowly, I shook my head.
“I told you on Thursday, nothing.” And that was what I’d cling to.
Nothing had changed between then and now… well, other than an almost incurable case of baby fever. Never in my life had I yearned for a child like this, but ever since Sophia brought it up… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Mason with a bump, Rosie in hand, and another baby on her hip. Fuck, I wanted that. I wanted that level of domestic bliss so badly it hurt, and I wondered if this was how Cameron felt for the two decades he’d been denied his happily ever after.
“I’m well aware of what you told me, son.” Dale let go before circling around the desk and sinking into the high back chair.
He looked up at me, hands steepled on the desk.
“Why don’t you take a seat? You look pale.” He gestured toward the metal chairs beside me.
“I’m always pale. It’s just my complexion.”
His lips fell into the slightest frown.
“You should allow your hair to go back to blonde,” he said, gesturing toward my shitty dye job.
“It’s more fitting for a man of your stature.
” Dale leaned back, eyes warm and predatory.
“God built you in the image of Michael, one of his finest archangels, because he knew your life would serve a greater purpose.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Dale nodded, satisfied, and I made a mental note to grab another box of black hair dye on my way home.
“Continuing on,” he said, voice smooth, “I’m aware of what was said. But children are such marvelous things. As is life, on the whole.”
He tilted his head slightly, gaze drifting upward.
“One moment, nothing. And the next—” his expression shifted, eyes bright with something euphoric “—things change. Miracles happen. And everything shifts... in the best way possible.”
My breathing halted as his toxic-gaze swept over me.
Saliva pooled in my mouth, but I forced it down.
The paranoid part of me said he knew something I didn’t, while the logical part reminded me that Dale wanted a reaction.
He wanted to confirm or deny that I was hiding something from him based on how I responded.
“Truth,” he said, “has a way of revealing itself in shadows first. You think you’re walking in the dark, but it’s only the shape of something waiting to be seen.”
My eyes anchored on his, refusing to look away or show any semblance of fear.
“Your role is not to question what is unfolding,” Dale added, leaning in just enough to make the desk creak. “It’s to remain steadfast. Obedient. You are obedient, right?”
“Yes, Reverend Cole.” The words came automatically, but they left my chest hollow.
Dale exhaled, and folded his hands in his lap. “Beautiful. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
Then—just as quickly—all warmth vanished from his face.
“It would be a shame if you were to lie to me,” he said, voice calm. “And an even bigger tragedy if something were to happen to that beautiful family you’ve found.”
My eyes slipped shut. I nodded once.
“That’s why I’ll never lie to you, Reverend.”
And there it was, the core of why I’d never dare to leave the Sons of Christ. Dale Cole was a man who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
He’d hurt people, kill people, in service of his twisted ideals.
Of course, I had killed plenty of people; I had even convinced myself to take pleasure in the act.
I knew firsthand how dangerous a self-righteous killer could be.
This feeling was too familiar; I was caught dead center in the very same web I used to spin.
And, for the safety of my family, I’d play along. I was willing to do just about anything to have my life back. Anything as long as it didn’t risk them.