“What do you want?” My voice comes out flat, defeated.
“Nothing. Yet.” Diane’s smile widens. “Consider this a courtesy warning, baby girl. Your secret is safe with me. For now. But secrets have a way of becoming expensive to keep, don’t they?”
She walks away, her heels clicking against the tile floor, leaving me standing in the kitchen with ice flooding my veins.
The ticking time bomb of her knowledge sits heavy in my chest, and I know it’s only a matter of time before she decides to detonate it.
That evening, I find the men in Adrian’s office, their faces grim as they discuss Tommy’s latest threat.
I interrupt without apology, my voice urgent as I tell them about Diane’s discovery.
The temperature in the room drops.
“We need leverage of our own,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice despite the fear clawing at my throat. “Elijah, have you found anything yet?”
Adrian’s gray eyes meet mine, and I see the conflict there—the priest who wants to turn the other cheek warring with the man who will do anything to protect what’s his.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, tracing the curve of my neck visible above my cardigan.
I watch his jaw clench, see his hands curl into fists at his sides.
Elijah shakes his head, his crystalline blue eyes tracking my movements as I cross to stand beside Marcus. “Not yet. But I’m close. I’m following real trails now.”
We work late into the night, the four of us gathered around Adrian’s desk like conspirators.
Marcus uses old connections to run background checks on Pastor Whitmore.
Elijah keeps searching for contacts, someone who can leak the evidence we need.
Adrian reluctantly agrees to attend a Victory Life service as reconnaissance, though the idea of stepping into enemy territory makes his jaw clench so hard I hear his teeth grind.
The information we gather is damning.
Hints of financial irregularities that suggest embezzlement.
Whispers of complaints of NDAs signed by former staff, all women, all paid off to keep quiet about affairs.
Questions about how their expensive cars were purchased.
We meet in the church basement to talk more about our findings, the stone walls offering privacy we desperately need.
The single bare bulb swings overhead, casting dancing shadows across our faces as we huddle around the old table.
“He’s worse than we thought,” Adrian says, his voice rough as he studies the notes spread before us. His cassock is rumpled, his salt-and-pepper hair disheveled from running his hands through it. Even exhausted and stressed, he’s beautiful in that severe, untouchable way that makes my stomach flip.
“He’s also more dangerous,” Elijah adds, pacing the small space. His lean body moves with that fluid grace that makes everything look like choreography, and I watch the muscles shift beneath his thin shirt. “Men like Whitmore don’t go down quietly.”
I sit close to Marcus, drawing comfort from his solid presence.
His tattooed arm rests on the table beside mine, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not quite touching.
The saints and sinners inked into his olive skin seem to writhe in the dim light, and I remember tracing those lines with my fingers, my tongue, learning the story written on his body.
“We just need more hard evidence,” Marcus says, his dark eyes burning with barely restrained fury. “Then the question is whether we use it.”
For a moment, we’re united in purpose, a team fighting a common enemy. But the victory feels hollow when I remember Diane’sknowing smile, the ticking time bomb of her knowledge that could explode at any moment.
The meeting breaks up slowly, exhaustion weighing on all of us. Adrian and Elijah head upstairs, but Marcus lingers, his gaze finding mine in the shadows.
