He gave her a slow, reassuring nod, then finally addressed us for real. “We are a house of God,” he intoned, each syllable ironclad. “We do not tolerate slander, nor violence, nor the peddling of falsehoods. I invite our guests—” He gave a perfect politician’s pause. “—to bring their accusations inside, where we can answer as Christians.”
Vin stepped forward, but I grabbed his arm. “That’s what he wants. We do it out here, in the sun.” I looked up at the cross, towering over us all. “Let him sweat.”
I turned back to the crowd, raising my voice for the first time. “This isn’t about faith, or family. It’s about the kids they’re locking in trailers behind that warehouse. It’s about the meth cooking under your noses. These flyers are real. The evidence is real.”
A woman up front, pearl necklace clutched so hard her knuckles were white, called out, “You’re liars! My son works for the church—he’d never—”
“He doesn’t even know,” I shot back, and her face crumbled. “That’s the genius of it. The Reverend’s got everyone so brainwashed, nobody asks what’s really going on. But I did. And I found out.”
Maple’s smile was gone now, replaced with a look of paternal disappointment. He stepped forward, hands raised in benediction. “My dear friends, I have served this community for twenty years. I have held your children, buried your parents, wept with you through every trial. Does anyone here believe, for a second, that I would let such evil take root in this church?”
He looked around, fishing for witnesses. “Have I not preached love? Have I not lived in service?”
He was good. Even I felt the tug of his words, and I hated his guts. Several people nodded, some even looked ashamed for listening to us at all. The fear was still there, but now it was mixed with the urge to defend their shepherd.
But Vin was better. He strode up the steps, two at a time, and planted himself in front of Maple. They were the same height, but Vin outweighed him by a hundred pounds of muscle and tattoos.
“You’re a fucking snake,” he said, voice low enough for only the front rows to hear but packed with enough venom to kill a horse. “And the only reason you’re still talking is that we want it in the open.”
He turned to the crowd, holding a flyer up like it was a holy text. “Don’t take my word for it. Go to the warehouse. Look in the trailers. Ask the Reverend why the kids in these pictures haven’t been seen since their families joined the church.”
Maple tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “If you think I’m afraid of a few malcontents—”
“Not afraid,” I cut in. “Just pissed you got caught.”
He leveled a look at me, a razor-sharp appraisal. “Ah, the infamous Axel. My daughter’s savior.”
I grinned. “That’s the plan.”
That got a reaction. Not just from him, but from Darla, whose face flashed panic at the exchange. She clutched the hymnal to her chest, the knuckles whitening even further, and I saw herlips form a silent “please.” Whether it was a plea for me to stop or for him to back off, I couldn’t say.
Maple locked eyes with me, all traces of warmth gone. “You’ve been deceived, son. My daughter is a child, easily led astray by sweet words and false promises. You’ve dragged her into something she can’t possibly understand.”
I saw Darla’s jaw tighten at that. She wasn’t a child, and he knew it.
Vin didn’t wait for another round of bullshit. He grabbed the church microphone from the outdoor pulpit and handed it to me. I took it, feeling the old stage fright spark in my chest. I hated speaking in public, but if this was my only shot, I’d make it count.
I scanned the faces—neighbors, old coaches, girls I’d fucked behind the McDonald’s dumpster, teachers who’d tried to get me into trade school. Every one of them was looking for a reason to believe it wasn’t true. I gave it to them straight.
“I grew up like you. I believed in what they told me. But sometimes faith isn’t enough. Sometimes you gotta look at the evidence and make your own decision.” I held up the stack of papers, waving them for the cameras. “Go to the address on these flyers. See for yourself. And if you find nothing, I’ll eat my colors right here in front of God and everybody.”
That set off another round of murmurs, louder now, edges of the crowd shifting as people started to doubt. I saw a few cell phones come out, snapping photos of the evidence, some even dialing numbers—maybe the warehouse, maybe the police.
Maple saw it too. For the first time, I saw a crack in his mask. His fingers clutched at his suit sleeves, hands steepling and un-steepling as he tried to recapture the narrative.
“Enough,” he said, soft but deadly. “This ends now.”
He signaled to someone behind the doors, and I saw the church’s private security—Bart and Sarge, with two other guys Ididn’t recognize—emerge in tactical formation, hands hidden in jackets, faces set to “violence imminent.” The crowd drew back, sensing the change.
Vin squared up, grinning. “Now it’s a party.”
I saw Darla, front row, mouth open, eyes tracking her father, then me, then the bruisers moving in from the sides. She looked like she wanted to run, or maybe scream, but she was frozen. I could see the outline of the ring under her dress, rising and falling with every panicked breath.
I dropped the mic. “Let’s finish it, then.”
***
Nobody ever told me how much a fistfight on church steps feels like a homecoming. The crowd parted, a human Red Sea, as Bart and Silas powered forward, shoulders squared, hands already flexing for violence. Behind them, a ragtag cluster of church deacons followed, half in business suits, half in football jackets, looking for all the world like they’d wandered into a gladiator movie and just now realized it was unscripted.
