Chapter 1
Morgan
“Because we love Jesus, don’t we?” I say.
The crowd roars, “Amen!” I hold up my hands, palms out, and flash a big smile.
The stage lights glare down, illuminating the first few rows while the crowd beyond blurs into a dark, shifting mass.
“Yes, we do! WeloveJesus!” I clap and wave as the collection plates glide down the aisles. “God gave his only begotten son. Think about that sacrifice. What will you give to spread his word?”
Front row, I spot Gabe, our youth minister. He’s fresh out of ministry college. I wink and give a knowing smile.
He grins back, blushing slightly.
He should.
I blew himlast night.
Those words still don’t sound real in my head. Like they belong to another girl... someone reckless and unrecognizable.
The act itself wasn’t as scary as I’d thought it’d be. Didn’t take him long to orgasm, either. Wish it took me such little time. When he returned the favor, I couldn’t, so I faked it. I am polite.
I am also weak, having fallen to temptations of the flesh.
Guilt knots my stomach. If this congregation knew, the shame it would bring my family—
My shoulder is patted. Big Daddy. His hand is heavy, rings pressing through the thin fabric of my sleeve. He smells like expensive cologne, the same scent that lingers in every hallway he walks through. He speaks into the mic, his deep voice carrying a bold quality.
“Thank you, Morgan Leigh Montgomery, my sweet daughter. A gift. She will be livestreaming afterward. Stop by and share your weekly highlight.”
“Hallelujah,” I say theatrically, clutching my chest, just as I was trained to do.
Because the bigger I am, the bigger the tithing. The bigger the tithing, the bigger the church. This is a mini-megachurch, but God wants my family in the largest church possible so we can reach more people.
More.
To save more souls.
The service ends and I step over to do the livestream. A phone waits on its tripod beside the organ, our post-service ritual. It’s a special hour of interviews with the congregation,who are already lining up. I welcome over the first churchgoer, a young man.
He jogs up the steps and—
Oh, no.He tripped.
Quickly, I help him up and pretend it didn’t happen.
“What’s your name, hun?” I say sweetly.
“Noel,” he replies. His cheeks are flushed bright red, freckles scattered beneath the color. Light brown hair sticks up in uneven tufts like he ran his hands through it too many times. He wears a hoodie and oversized jeans with a belt to keep them up. He adds softly, “I’m your biggest fan.”
“Well bless you, Noel.” I reply with my Southern twang. “Tell the world what you did this week to be closer to our Lord and Savior?”
“I work at theCenter for Special Hearts. My older brother and I run it. We help people with Down syndrome live full and productive lives.”
“Oh, my.” I flutter my lashes, impressed. “Good for you. That is somethin’ special, indeed.”
He nods fast, his soft cheeks flushing again. “Yes ma’am, we would love for you to come visit Wednesday for our new weekly bible study. Four o’clock. You can see the work we do.”
