Brother Malone inches closer. “Prophet’s Doctrine requires a blue moon. That’s at month’s end.”
“What the fuck is a blue moon?” one of the enforcers behind Jefe asks.
“It’s the second full moon in a single month. Today is the first. There’s another on the thirtieth,” Prophet explains, the words spilling from his lips faster and faster. “Nova was supposed to be upstairs when you arrived. You were…early.”
Jefe answers with his fist. Blood spatters as Prophet hits the dirt next to me. “So you knew. And you hid her. Victor—end her. Now.”
“No!” Prophet scrambles up, his eyes wild. “I will perform the sacrifice tonight.”
Marvin leans in to whisper in Jefe’s ear. I can’t bring myself to move. Hours. I only have hours left to live. How could I have gone from such intense hope to…this…so quickly?
“You may have your ritual,” Jefe says. “But once she’s dead, Marvin will dispose of the body. He can dump her over the border on the Sandoval Cartel’s land. When her corpse is found—if it’s found—her husband will assume she was caught up in Sandoval’s flesh trade. Marvin will help sell the story. Get one of his CIs to reach out with some damning information the Ranger chief can’t ignore. Maybe it’ll even keep him off our backs for a few months.”
The biting wind cools the tears as they hit my cheeks. AJ will believe him. Marvin is…a friend. Or at least we always thought he was.
“You won’t regret this. Once you see how the flock responds to her death, you’ll understand. You’ll…believe,” Prophet says.
His elation sickens me. I thought I was immune to it. To feeling anything at all after almost three years in this place. But one fleeting moment of hope was all it took.
Prophet snaps his fingers. “Brother Malone!”
“Yes, Prophet?” Brother Malone says, suddenly right behind me.
“Take her upstairs to prepare.”
Through deep, choking sobs, I look up at Marvin. “We’ve known you for years. AJ…he’s your friend. I thought you were a good man.”
He shrugs, shoves his .45 back in the holster, and adjusts his belt buckle like it’s tied directly to his dick. “You thought wrong.”
Brother Malone grabs a fistful of my hair. “Get up, Nova. Now.”
I don’t fight him. There’s no point. I just hope the end is quick.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace
Outside the window, tiny snowflakes swirl in the light from dozens of lanterns surrounding the altar.
Did Prophet do this on purpose? Give me a room where I’m forced to see the spot I’ll die?
Probably. He’s just that demented.
The adults gather around the altar—a few at a time—all wearing heavy coats, scarves, and gloves, while I shiver in the thin, white silk dress Prophet delivered in a fancy box not long after he brought me dinner.
He threatened to strip me himself if I didn’t put it on. So, I did. But now I regret not fighting harder.
The plate of chicken and rice sits untouched on the desk. Every time I’ve even looked at the food, I’ve wanted to throw up.
For hours after Brother Malone locked me in here, I beat my fists against the door, screaming for someone—anyone—to help me. My fingers are swollen and bruised, my voice almost gone.
Now, I can’t step away from the window. Can’t pull my gaze from the altar. The last time it was this cold on a full moon, I passed out before Prophet finished ranting about my divine purpose. Will the knife hurt much? Or by the time he plunges it into my side, will I be unable to feel anything at all?
The click of the lock might as well be a gunshot, yet I don’t flinch.
“It’s time, Nova,” Prophet says as I turn around.
He and Brother Malone are both dressed in their best black wool coats. Figures. They’ll be warm and cozy as I turn into a sacrificial popsicle. They each take one of my arms and march me out of the room and down the stairs.
