Chapter 6 Jace
Jace
Elior looked like a cherub. Those round cheeks, little heart-shaped lips, big innocent eyes, and blonde hair that glowed in the sun.
It had only been a week since my arrival at the compound, but I was already mostly convinced that he had no idea that his father was a fucked-up, sadistic con-artist. Either he was innocent of his father’s crimes, or he was deserving of an Oscar.
I was betting on option one. Hard.
He didn’t have the posture of a liar or the nervous tells of someone keeping a secret. He was the opposite—so naively open and desperate for conversation.
And fuck if that didn’t do something to me.
Something I knew I probably shouldn’t let it do.
Most of the guys I’d gone home with in the past were the loud ones.
Flashy smiles, skin-tight clothes, club lighting gleaming off sweaty, sometimes glittery, skin.
They flirted like it was a sport, hands on my waist before I even had my second drink, leaning in with that playful little dare in their eyes.
They were easy. Fun. Disposable, in a way. No strings, no complications. If you asked me for their names, I’d have to laugh.
Elior, on the other hand…
He didn’t even know how to flirt, and it was honestly the hottest thing I’d seen in a long time.
Every emotion he had was written right there across his face—poor kid didn’t stand a chance at hiding anything.
Like the way he tried not to look at me during prayers, but always did, and the way his cheeks went pink when I smiled at him. The way his hands fidgeted in his robe sleeves when I asked him a question.
He wasn’t subtle. Not even close.
And I planned to take full advantage of that.
I didn’t feel guilty about it—this was the job. He was the closest thing to a weak point in Malachi’s armor I’d found so far. The Inner Circle was tight, and although they seemed interested in me as a potential future member, I definitely needed much more time to earn their trust.
The rest of the followers weren’t going to give me anything groundbreaking either.
Sure, I’d started to grow some surface-level friendships with some of the guys, but most were still either suspicious or scared of me.
The women of the Covenant outright ignored me, so that was a no-go.
I might glean something useful from the children, but I also didn’t want to gain a reputation for trying to get kids alone. Just no.
So, I’d started taking Elior’s morning walks with him.
At first, he practically jumped out of his skin every time I appeared. Eyes wide, voice small and unsure, glancing around like he expected his father to materialize out of thin air and scold him.
But after a few days, after I kept showing up, kept talking to him like he was a person rather than something to pray to, he started to loosen up.
He told me small things, like which chores he liked and which parts of the fields were the quietest. He told me that he used to like drawing when he was younger, before Father said it distracted him too much.
I also learned that his favorite food was strawberries and that he’d never had any of my favorite candies because they weren’t allowed on the compound.
And the entire time, he’d sneak these little glances at me—quick, fleeting, and almost guilty-looking—like he didn’t think he was allowed to even look at me.
I’d smirk back at him sometimes, just to watch him turn bright red and look away.
Yeah. I was one hundred percent exploiting his crush.
And he was one hundred percent giving me every tool I needed without even knowing it.
But somewhere, buried under my objective, there was a small part of me that liked it—liked him.
Liked the way his steps slowed when he knew I was about to catch up, and the way he said my name like it was a delicate thing he wasn’t used to touching.
It was dangerous, and I kept reminding myself that I was only using him. I would find enough evidence to bring this place to the ground, then leave him to either get arrested, or put in witness protection, or whatever ended up happening.
Even if I wanted under that dumb robe of his, it just wasn’t going to happen. He’d never let me fuck him, and I really didn’t need his dad kicking me out or killing me for defiling his little angel.
This couldn’t go any further than indulging his infatuation.
The next morning, when Elior slipped out of the chapel after prayers, heading toward the edge of the fields, I waited maybe ten seconds before following—long enough not to seem like I’d been hovering, but not so long that I’d lose him.
He was already halfway down the path when I caught up.
“Morning, Elior.”
He startled—he always did—but then relaxed when he realized it was me. His shoulders softened, the tension draining out of him like he’d been holding his breath.
“Oh. Brother Jace. Good morning,” he replied softly, looking up at me with warmth in his pretty eyes.
We fell into step, our sandals brushing dust off the packed earth. He kept glancing at me, tiny flickers of attention.
I pretended not to notice. (But I noticed. I definitely noticed.)
After a minute, I said casually, “So… the Light keeps you pretty busy around here.”
Elior brightened, nodding quickly. “Yes. There is always much to do. Father says that stillness invites doubt.”
I bit down on a smile. “Your father sounds like he runs a tight ship.”
“He does,” Elior said with a kind of earnest pride that was almost painful. “He ensures everything remains pure.”
Pure. Right. Sure.
I let a few steps pass before asking, “So what does that actually look like? Day-to-day, I mean.”
Elior didn’t hesitate, a small smile on his face as he hummed, then answered, “Well… Father organizes the work rotations. Most of us have assigned roles. Some work the fields, some in the kitchens, some clean the chapel. Others sew or help with the livestock.”
“And who decides all that?”
“Father does,” he said. “He knows everyone’s strengths. And the Inner Circle helps him when he makes decisions that affect all of us.”
I bit back the praise I wanted to give him for answering how I’d wanted him to. “Inner Circle?” I echoed lightly, as if I hadn’t memorized every word of their organization chart from NIAC briefings.
He nodded, brushing a strand of blond hair from his face. “Uh-huh. You met Brother Gabriel, and then there’s Sister Catherine, Sister Jane, Brother Paul, and Brother James.” He counted them on his fingers as he went through them.
“All pretty important people, huh?”
“Oh, yes.” His voice dipped reverently. “They’re the ones Father trusts most. They help with decisions when the Covenant is facing change or hardship. They make sure the congregation stays unified.”
“Sounds like a big responsibility.”
“It is,” he said, without a hint of sarcasm. “But they’re very devoted. I think they’re the wisest of us.”
We walked a few more steps. He swung his hands slightly at his sides.
I went in a little deeper. “And you? Do you sit in on any of that?”
He blinked at me. “Me?”
“Yeah. You’re his son. I figured you’d be in the room. Not to mention you’re the Vessel. I figure you’d be involved.”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head quickly. “The Vessel doesn’t interfere with leadership matters. My purpose is different.”
“Different how?”
He hesitated, but not out of suspicion. It was more like he was embarrassed, self-conscious of his role.
“Well… I’m supposed to remain focused on channeling the Light.
Father says it’s the most important job of all.
Even more important than his.” He glanced toward the cornfields, his voice softening. “I’ve done it since I was little.”
I kept my expression carefully neutral. “That’s a lot to carry, isn’t it?”
“It’s an honor,” he said sincerely.
We walked in silence for a bit. His robe swayed gently with each step.
Then I went for something a little riskier. “So… what kind of decisions does the Inner Circle make? Just scheduling? Or… bigger things?”
Elior lifted a hand to tug absently at his sleeve—his nervous habit. “Bigger things, sometimes. Where the tithes go. Who needs guidance. When we accept someone new.” He paused, then added, innocent as sunlight, “Even the discipline sometimes.”
My pulse sharpened. “Discipline?”
He nodded, the tiniest of frowns on his face. “When someone strays. Or doubts. Or… or speaks against Father. It usually happens after confessions, but it just depends.”
My jaw clenched before I could stop it. “And what happens to them?”
Elior looked up at me with such pure trust it almost hurt. “They’re corrected,” he said, a hint of sadness in his tone. “For their own good.”
Corrected.
I exhaled slowly. “And you’re not part of that?”
His eyes widened. “Oh, no! Well—” he paused, eyebrows drooping, “I have to tell Father of any sins that are confessed to me. But—but I don’t punish them. Father does that, or sometimes Brother Gabriel or Paul…”
I nodded, even though anger burned in my throat like a lit match.
We walked a bit further in tense silence. At the far corner of the compound, he slowed. “This is where I usually turn back,” he murmured.
I gave him a soft, easy smile. “Mind if I walk with you again tomorrow?”
The blush hit him instantly, blooming on his cheeks and turning his ears pink.
“I… I don’t mind,” he whispered.
Of course, he didn’t.
I waited until I was back in my room with the door locked before pulling out my phone.
The line clicked, then Patel’s voice came through, crisp and low. “Status.”
“I’m fine,” I said, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “Still keeping cover. I’ve got an in with the son. He’s talking. Everything’s going fine.”
Patel exhaled, the sound of someone carefully managing relief. “Good. No sign they’re onto you?”
“None.” I glanced at the door, out of habit. No footsteps. “He trusts me.”
“Keep it steady. Don’t push too fast.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know the drill.”
Another pause. “Call tomorrow. Same time.”
I turned the phone off, then tucked it back into its hidden spot under the bed, taped to the frame.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, thinking about what Elior had said during our walk.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to reset my head, but the thought lodged deeper: if I understood how “discipline” actually worked here—who administered it, who watched, what it was for—I might start to understand the fear behind the people’s eyes.
And, witnessing the abuse of his followers would be another nail in Malachi’s coffin.
I stood and crossed the room, stripping out of my robe, and pacing slowly as I pieced it together. Discipline wasn’t a private thing here. It couldn’t be. A control system only works if everyone knows about it and sees it.
Which meant there were procedures. Schedules. Witnesses.
There had to be a way to see it firsthand, or at least to get Elior to talk more about it. Gently. The kid folded open like a flower with even the slightest warmth; it wouldn’t take much to get him to keep explaining.
And he would think he was helping me along my own spiritual path. Sweet, earnest thing that he was.
I caught my reflection in the small mirror bolted to the wall and huffed a half-laugh.
Jesus. I was getting turned on by a boy who blushed when he asked if I’d eaten breakfast.
“Get it together, Jace,” I muttered. “You cannot fuck the cult leader’s son.”
No matter how much my dick throbbed from imagining him on his knees, mouth open wide, eyes both a little scared and a little excited. I bet he’d do anything to please me. Maybe even take me down his throat once I’d trained him a bit.
“Fuck,” I grunted, cupping myself through my underwear. I hissed at the pressure, continuing to grind my palm against my thick bulge as I kept up the fantasy.
Urges that I thought had been suppressed years ago came to the surface. Maybe I could tie him to the bed, cut off his robe and anything underneath, watch him cry and squirm as I played with his body.
I pulled my briefs down, groaning as I fisted my cock.
I took a second to spit in my hand, then used that to ease the glide.
A drop of precum beaded at the tip, and as I rubbed my thumb against it, I pictured how Elior would look if I fed the salty liquid to him.
Would he like the taste? Would his eyelids flutter shut in bliss as I pushed my finger into his mouth?
Or would he struggle—need me to grip his chin and force his jaw open?
I pumped my dick faster, feeling the pressure rise in my balls.
Would his nipples and cock be just as rosy as his cheeks? What about his hole?
I knew it had to be untouched, unless Elior himself had played with it, and I had a feeling he didn’t. Fucking hell, it’d be so tight around me as I broke him in.
“Fuck, oh fuck—take it, baby,” I moaned, my abs clenching as I imagined fucking into him and drawing out breathy little moans from his lips, the pleasure rising higher and higher.
I bit my cheek as my dick jerked and sprayed my load onto my hand and abdomen, wishing like hell I was filling his ass instead. I kept pumping for just a little longer, riding the aftershocks until I was sated.
Once my balls were empty, I fell back on the bed, breathing heavily.
I flung my clean hand over my eyes and groaned.
Dammit.