“Recognize us?” I ask mildly as we form a circle around him.
“Where’s your wife, Prophet?” Silas asks, making Moore flinch.
“I—I’m not a Prophet anymore,” Moore stutters. “And Mary’s visiting her sister. We didn’t think it was safe for her here.”
Logan leans down so he’s in Moore’s face. “Only person it isn’t safe for is you, Prophet.”
“Stop calling me that,” Ezekiel snaps, his face turning red.
“There he is,” I drawl. “This meek thing you had going on? A bad cover.”
He puffs himself up. Pretty funny for a man in a sleepshirt. “Leave. Leave right now, and I won’t call the police.”
Even Jonah’s deep laugh joins ours, filling the bedroom like ghosts of the past.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to make any commands, Prophet Moore.” I nod at my brothers. “You’ll be coming with us now. We have a very special trailer in our carnival for sinners like you.”
“You’re the sinners!” Moore sputters. “You were abominations as children, and you’re abominations now. Threatening a godly man in the middle of the nightin his own home.”
Silas gives him a slow clap. “Very passionate. A plus for the drama,” he adds before tilting his head. “But I don’t think you’re appealing to the right audience.”
“Yeah, weknowyou, Prophet,” Cole says, practically bouncing on his toes with eagerness. I know he’s already imagining his knives cutting into Moore’s sagging flesh.
“You don’t know anything!” Moore hisses, spittle flying. “Rich, powerful people will?—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Logan says, grabbing Moore by the throat and ending his tirade. “I’m done listening to this crap here, where I can’t make him burn.”
“We’ll all get a turn,” I say, already turning on my heels as Jonah steps forward to knock Moore out.
“Even your reporter,” Silas adds.
I clench my teeth. “Yes, Si. I think you’re underestimating my jewel. She has a darkness inside her.”
Once we’re outside, I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh pre-dawn air.
“I think you see what you want to see, Elias,” my brother says quietly as we watch Jonah unceremoniously dump Moore in the back of our van.
I slap his back. “One day, you’ll meet a woman who makesyou want to chase her. I’ll remind you of this conversation then.”
Silas snorts, though at least his shoulders ease a bit.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Never say never,” I hum. “Come on. Let’s get the Prophet settled in his new abode.”
21
JULES
Ispend two hours poring over Elias’s files, my eyes blinking closed from lack of sleep now that the adrenaline has mostly worn off. I’m afraid to count how many times I’ve used his fancy coffee machine to make myself a new cup.
The things I read about this Sanctum of Ash cult are horrific. So much abuse of women and children—it turns my stomach. Rape, rituals, cannibalism. Coffee sloshes in my empty stomach when I open an envelope full of photos detailing the depravity. When I pick up one showing a baby being cut out of a dead woman, I drop it and run to the bathroom. I barely manage to drop to my knees before the toilet when vomit forces its way out of my mouth.
I don’t hear Elias’s return until he places a hand on my back and reaches up to flush the toilet with the other. He leaves my side for a moment to hand me a wet washcloth, then kneels beside me.
“You need a shower. Food, sleep. Rest,” he says after a minute of rubbing circles over my back.
I’m still only wearing his jacket. I’ve gotten so used tobeing naked, and I didn’t want to get my clothes sticky. Leather’s unforgiving enough as it is.
