I’d been young and stupid, a manwhore who slept with every guy I came across who would stick his ass in the air for me. I’d been lucky our family was modern regarding sexuality; there were a few in our family who were gay or bi. But the old me was driven by violence and sex. I’d craved it.
Until the accident I should’ve died in.
God reached out to me while I lay unconscious in a hospital bed. He’d asked me to repent and that was what I’d done. I hadn’t touched a man since the day the car crashed and the hookup I was with died while I lived.
So, even though I left the organization, I wasn’t trulyoutlike Ric claimed. I’d be stuck forever as a chess piece he could move whenever he wanted.
“What do I have to do to stop you from demanding these favors?” I asked, my voice small. Ric wouldn’t kill a man of God, especially not in a church, but he had people who would. He relied on men like his brother, Toma, who claimed to be an atheist, a scandalous shock to our entire family—far more than me enjoying men.
“You know the drill.” His hold on my shoulder tightened and pain shot through my body in spikes of sizzling hot agony. This was one of his power moves to show who was in charge.
“Fine, I’ll siphon your money through the church. Once I have a large enough stash, we’ll pay your company to do repairs we don’t need. I’ll try to think up a few things you can do to make it seem justifiable to have the vans here.”
“I knew you’d come around, Gian.” He laughed, and I squeezed my eyes closed. “I’ll get Toma to bring a few bags over tomorrow.”
I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Tommaso’s not seen the inside of a church in a long time.”
He snorted the way he usually did when I mentioned Toma and God in the same breath. Toma only stepped foot anywhere near holy ground when Ric needed him to do an errand.
“Just don’t try to convert him.” Ric raised his eyebrows. “Do you remember what happened last time?”
“Yes.”Vividly.I’d gotten a bruised eye and broken nose and had to figure out a lie to tell the other priest here at St. Michael’s.
“Toma will be here sometime in the morning.” Ric stood and raised his hand toward one of the men at the rear of the church. His soldier came rushing forward with a familiar bottle in his hand, and my throat tightened when he passed it to Ric.
Ric’s smile was downright wicked as he shoved the “gift” into my hands. The warmth of thick glass against my palms made my chest ache in the worst possible way, and the clear vodka teased my senses as it shimmered in the glint of the candlelight from the by-altar. Lightning flashed in the stained glass windows and for a brief shining moment the bottle appeared to be a multihued joy. Hunger drew out the evil part of me, the one I’d promised to leave behind. Vodka had been the reason for my accident in the first place.
Alcoholic—that was what my vision from God had told me. I’d always drunk too much, partied too hard, sinned with men in my bed. Now I’d turned over a new leaf, found our Father, and this was another test, even if it was one of Ric’s calculated mindfucks. As if I didn’t know who was in charge already.
“Here’s a present as a thank-you.” Ric grinned wider, flashing me his perfect teeth. “I know how much you love drinking.”
“Loved.” I gripped the bottle tighter in my hands. “You know I gave up drinking.”
“Did I? I must’ve forgotten.” Ric laughed, eyes twinkling knowingly. “Keep it anyway. You might need a drink.” He patted me on the cheek hard enough for it to hurt and winked. “It’s good to have you in this church, Gian.”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond, striding down the aisle as though he owned it. In a way, he did. When he controlled the leader of a church, he controlled the building. There was no way I was getting out of his grasp. I was his until the day I died.
The men left with him, and when I was finally alone, I stood and stared down at the bottle in my hands. The liquid tempted me as need swirled low in my stomach, a reminder of a demon I still fought. When I walked home, I avoided the streets with the liquor stores, and when I saw someone drinking, I kept my eyes on the sidewalk. I still fought against my thirst every day. And now this....
I sighed. Ric was sending his message—I was his. We might be cousins, but I was nothing more than another one of his soldiers doing his bidding.
My fingers twitched where they held the neck of the bottle, and I spun, stalking through the door to the hallway on the left, then into my office, where I dragged open the bottom desk drawer and shoved the bottle inside. With the vodka out of sight I could breathe easier. I tugged on the collar of my black robes, which I’d worn to conduct an evening funeral service, and cursed my father for the addiction he’d passed on to me. Alcohol had killed him in the end, leaving our large family to grieve him. I wasn’t going to let it happen to me.
I wobbled a little and grabbed the desk to steady myself. The voice in my head taunted me—a taste won’t hurt, one sip—but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
My gaze wandered above my desk to the mural on the wall of Jesus with his arms open as he welcomed his children home in his white robes and red sash. Our savior.
I sucked in a deep breath and left my office, walking into the nave—the main public area of the church—and past the pews where the parishioners usually sat. The nave was still empty after Ric’s departure, not a soul in sight, which wasn’t unusual for nine at night. Only the truly devout who needed guidance came in looking to pray at this time, and as the years went on, there became fewer who sought solace.
I didn’t like to lock the church, but robberies were becoming more prevalent, even in places of worship, and I didn’t want to tempt the criminals to do damage. The poorer people grew, the rowdier the streets became. Once I reached the front doors, I opened the one on the right to check outside like I usually did in case there were last-minute stragglers.
What I saw made me freeze.
On the top step, huddled in a ball underneath a thin blanket, was a slim body. I couldn’t tell whether they were male or a female, or even how old they were, but their shoulders shook hard. They were huffing, and even though it didn’t get too cold in Louisiana, rain battered the sidewalks and the stairs that led up to the church, barely missing the person wrapped in their blanket.
I shoved the door open wider and rushed out, nearly slipping on the wet concrete as I came to crouch beside the person. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question to ask, but my heart thumped loudly in my ears as I tugged down the blanket to get a look at the face beneath.
This was a man, and aprettyone at that. His right eye was the color of topaz—bright, deep, and vibrant—while the left was the same green as jade. Heterochromia. I’d heard about people with it, but I’d never met anyone. Until now. He had a round but gaunt face, high cheekbones, and plump pink lips that seemed paler than what they should be. Who knew how long he’d been out in the rain? His shoulder-length brown hair was drenched and stuck to his cheeks and pale skin.
