“The Servants of Christ is not a church. It’s a fucking cult. Every man who has ever taken a bride will die. You can’t all protect him. Not forever.”
Grabbing his chin, I force his head back, exposing his throat to me, and slash his flesh with my metal cross before plunging it upside down into his chest. He stares at me with wide eyes as he gurgles his final breath. Why he looked surprised, I’m not sure.Since I escaped from the insane asylum, I’ve been killing every man inThe Servants of Christwho has taken a wife under the age of eighteen, which is all of them. I was twelve years old when I was forced to marry my father, the man they call the Prophet. They know he’s my ultimate goal, so they’re hiding him. He is the one who started the so-called church. My family has forty-one girls under the age of six. They are why I’ll dismantle this repulsive organization with my own bloodied hands.
I leave his body for them to find and walk out of the pathetic excuse for a church. The building is nothing more than a house with a white cross added to the outside.
The property is expansive but not luxurious. The weeds surrounding the various sheds are high to conceal anything that the Prophet doesn't want authorities to spot, mainly the graves. There aren’t any headstones because it’s not a real cemetery. When someone dies from the beatings inflicted on everyone here, the young men are tasked with digging graves to bury what he calls the ‘Ungodly’. Anyone who challenges the messages from God he preaches falls into that category. The most frequent punishment is one of the two wooden paddles. They are nearly identical. They both say, ‘The Wicked Shall Repent’. One has sharp nails on one side, while the other does not. I’ve long believed the one with nails is used on people not meant to survive. Jedediah always says it’sGod’s willwhen someone doesn’t live through the brutal attacks. That’s his answer for everything. An eight-year-old boy dies, and it was God’s will. A man in my family takes a young bride, also God’s will. It’s nauseating.
I cross the field, and walk to the other side of the highway, when I feel someone grab the back of my bloodied ponytail. He yanks hard, and I spin quickly to see one of my many brothers, Abraham, with a pocket knife in his hand.
“The Prophet is right about you. You’re pure evil. And now you’ll die and be damned to hell where you belong.”
“Wait. I made something for you,” I say as he comes closer with the little knife in his hand.
He stops and stares at me, as if he thinks I might actually have a gift for him.
I pull a cross out of my pocket, wrap my fingers around the top and hold it up, ready to strike him in the side of the throat.
Lowering his head, he hisses at me.
“Rot in hell, evil one.”
I seize the moment, with his throat exactly where I need it to be, and plunge the sharp part of the cross into his flesh, his blood squirting from his wound and covering my face. I spot something hurtling toward him in the air, but before I have a chance to figure out what it is, it hits him square in the forehead. His eyes widen with obvious shock, as he slumps to the ground.
I turn around and spot the man from the forest. He’s dangerously attractive, but I don’t know his name. His lips turn up into a smirk as I stare at him, holding a bow. Everything in me screams to run, but I’m frozen with fear. He just killed Abraham, and I’m guessing I’m next.
Three seconds later it’s my turn, as an arrow flies toward me, puncturing me in the leg. I fall to the ground with a scream.
“You fucking asshole!” I yell from the ground.
He steps closer to me with heated eyes. He’s the hunter, and I’m the prey. Somehow I have to survive him.
I’m not done righting the wrongs of my family.
Dizziness sets in, as I hear my father's voice once again: “The Wicked shall be punished. The words spoken by the Prophet have come from God. Ignoring him is ignoring God, and the penalty is severe. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Punish the child, please God.”
Glancing down at myself, I reach down and pull the arrow from my leg.
“You’re mine now, Little Heathen.”
Who the fuck is this man? I attempt to rise to my feet, and run from this crazy bastard, when my vision becomes spotty before it turns dark, and my body hits the ground with a thud.
CHAPTER SIX
KNOX
I’m in our office going over incoming vehicles when all hell breaks loose. Killian's voice booms, traveling down the long hallway.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Carter? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
I grab my stack of paperwork and put it back in the safe before heading towards the sound of my brother's furious voice.
The moment I walk into Carter’s bedroom, I know what Killian is pissed about. I can’t help the smile on my face when I spot the gorgeous little blonde lying in Carter’s bed. That only seems to enrage Killian further.
“This is not fucking funny, Knox. It’s a goddamn disaster waiting to happen. Bringing her into our home is dangerous. What’s going to happen when the cops look for her, and find her here? They’ll snoop around and find out our legit business is not exactlyfucking legit!”
My brother worries too damn much, but he’s always been this way. When we were teenagers, he took on the role of head of the family. He isn’t older by much. A whopping forty-nine seconds. He still occasionally says he’s the oldest, even thoughwe’re triplets. He came first, then came Carter, and I was the last one out. We haven’t had a father in our lives since Killian and I were too young to remember. Unfortunately, Carter has scars so deep, he’ll never be able to forget. Killian naturally assumed the role when we started getting into trouble. The fact is, he gets so wrapped up in protecting us, he doesn’t see that we are all missing out on life.
He’s missing out on life.
