Chapter 5 #2
He points his weapon at the priest and glares at the people aiming their guns at him.
The priest backs up from the pulpit, which is when I notice the frightened eyes of a young woman who went missing about a year ago.
No one missed her, but I noticed when Eva disappeared; we’d become friendly after she offered me her services and I declined by paying her to keep her hands off me.
We weren’t besties or anything, but we conversed a few times a month before she disappeared.
Damn. The priest—I assume he’s the one who abducted her—has been starving her; she’s basically skin and bones, but a year ago, my girl was thicc .
The haunted look in her eyes and the fact that she doesn’t scramble out from under the pulpit as soon as she sees me makes my heart ache for her.
She must’ve been living in hell since she disappeared.
Before I can process much beyond heartache and the stirrings of anger toward the priest, Fox gets to work.
Gunshots echo in the church, but very quickly limbs start flying every which way, most no longer attached to their owners.
I’ve paid attention to Fox when he’s killing loads of people since the first massacre, but now that I literally have a front row seat, I see what I missed before as I watch the man move .
My future husband is fast ! Not faster than bullets, obviously, but he moves faster than his enemies think, that’s for sure.
He fights with the confidence born of competence, and I think that throws people off.
They’re not used to anyone standing on the danger end of the gun and acting like they’re not worried.
His attitude and skill throw them off their game to their own detriment.
Sure, some of them remember to actually fire their guns, but when a cacophony of gunfire doesn’t slow down the guy they’re aiming for, the individuals and the group as a whole get nervous, shaky, and sloppy.
Fox can bring a sword to a gunfight and win because all the people with guns lose their nerve in the face of his superiority. It’s not swagger—the man doesn’t have an inflated sense of self—it’s skill. And it’s sexy as fuck.
I’m embarrassed to admit, watching him cut down the people protecting the priest (who is totally running away, and no I’m not going to stop him.
I’ve done my job, thank you very much), that I have a chubby from seeing my man murder people so efficiently.
In a church. God, if ever there was a time for a deity to smite me with lightning…
Since I’m not struck down or given the plague or anything, I take my continued living as a pretty solid argument for my atheism or at least against organized religion.
I mean, the priest kidnapping and holding captive my prostitute friend is also a pretty solid argument against organized religion, but since I happen to know some very nice monks who like me and occasionally feed me, I’m going to sit the vote out on whether deities exist and if religion is an appropriate response.
Once Fox finishes with the protectors, he chases the priest down, jogging past and leaving me with a traumatized Eva and a bunch of dead bodies. I wave at her, inviting her out of her prison with a curl of my fingers.
She flinches at the movement, but then a shadow of the woman who used to work the streets with confidence and sass comes into her eyes and she shakily crawls out from under the pulpit.
I make a crackly noise in my mouth and move my hand across my throat and point at where the priest ran off.
She basically crumbles to the floor in stark relief.
Figuring I don’t need to stay in my seat now, I get on the floor with her, pull her head into my lap, and watch her breathe until Fox returns with the head of the priest skewered on his sword.
He stabs the pointy end into the pulpit with a loud bang, causing Eva to whimper and curl in on herself at the noise.
He looks down at the woman and then at me with a silent question, so I type out an answer and send it to his phone.
Me: Do you know anyone who deals with the victims of trafficking crimes?
Fox reads the message, nods once, and lifts his phone to his ear waiting a moment before speaking. “St. Stephen’s church. One in the sanctuary. There may be more stashed in other places.”
He ends the call and puts his phone away, looking down at Eva. “Someone is coming to help you. It’s in your best interest to let them, but if you’re not here when they arrive they aren’t going to go looking for you. Your life is in your own hands.”
Eva looks up at me, begging with her eyes for something, but as good as I am at reading people, I have no idea what she wants from me.
Gently petting her greasy hair, I exaggerate a sympathetic frown and tip my head to the side to question her for clarification.
“Who’s coming for me?” she whispers, darting her eyes toward Fox and widening them.
I pat her shoulder and reach up for Fox’s bloody hand, understanding her fear now. He follows my lead and lets me pull him close enough I can kiss the back of his hand. Then I smile up at the man of my dreams and turn that expression down for Eva to see, displaying my affection for him.
She sighs and closes her eyes, accepting that I trust my man. I sure hope whoever he called doesn’t break Eva’s trust in me.
I continue to hold Fox’s hand and pet Eva’s hair until three women walk into the church and over to us, completely ignoring the bodies all over the place.
“Fox,” the three women say in unison as they come to a stop behind me.
One of them leans over my shoulder, catching Eva’s attention. “I’m Gretchen, these are my sisters, Geraldine and Gertie. We run a shelter, and we’re here to invite you to come stay with us if you would like to.”
Eva swallows her fear, looks at me for a few long moments, and then nods to Gretchen. “I’ll come,” she whispers, throat raspy from possible dehydration and misuse or disuse; could be either, could be both. Depends on how cruel the priest was and how broken my friend is.
Gretchen makes a happy sound and the next few minutes fly by in a flurry of high energy women taking care of someone in desperate need of their attention. Fox and I walk them out to their van, and then it’s just me and him on the street and it’s almost midnight.
I look up at him and mime sleep, wondering if he has more plans for the night or if I can go home.
He nods and hails a cab, helping me into the car and following me inside.
He gives the cabbie an address in one of the brownstone neighborhoods, and I almost try to cuddle up to him before remembering he’s covered in blood and I don’t want to stain my nice new suit, so I lean back in my seat and close my eyes until we reach the place we’re heading.