“You're safe, Tesoro.”
Tears run down her face as she drops to her knees. We move to the ground to comfort her, and she flashes us an ear-to-ear grin.
“We found him. We fucking found him, and now—he suffers.”
It’s really fucking annoying that this asshole was under our noses the entire time. Hiding in plain sight.
Chapter Forty-Five
THE HEATHEN
It’s an odd feeling when something you’ve wanted for so long is moments away from coming to fruition. I want it to be over and Jedediah to be dead already, but I’ll pace myself. He has to suffer the way I have. The way so many innocent children have. I want to fill him with uncontrollable fear and pain. We walk into the warehouse where everything has been set up for days. The only missing piece is Jedediah.
Psycho and Reaper drag him into the building kicking and screaming.
When he spots the tall wooden cross, he becomes silent as several of the men assist in chaining his arms and legs to it.
“You cannot kill the son of God. In three days prepare for my resurrection.”
Carter drags his hand down his face with a groan.
“Jesus Christ. First he’s a Prophet, and now he’s the son of God?”
He is far more surprised than I am. Jedediah is a delusional man. A monster that will say and do anything to control his victims.
Bones and Killian bring John Steve in. I can’t help but giggle when I see his wide, cartoon-like eyes. My mother sits chainedto the floor, unable to say a word since they’ve gagged her. She watches silently, but I can still hear her voice in my head. That’s the bitch about abuse. It continues in your mind long after you’re removed from it.
Bones nods to Killian.
“We will be outside. If you need anything, give me a shout. No rush. Take as much time as you need.”
I glance between the three people who hurt me more times than I can count. I’ve imagined this a million times, but I have no idea where to start. How do you decide who dies first?
Pointing my finger between the three of them I sing-song, “Eeny meenie, miny, moe.”
Once I make my decision, I ask Killian for help.
“Can you remove her gag?”
He walks over to my mother and yanks the material down to her neck. Her eyes follow me cautiously, her face turning a pale white as sweat forms on her brows. She’s been sitting here waiting for several days, likely imagining what will happen to her. The anticipation must have been agonizing. I hope so.
“Prophetress? Is that what we are calling you now? How did you decide to call yourself that? Walk me through the process.”
She shakes her head as if I’m an idiot.
“I didn’t decide anything. I was chosen by the Lord. You can not appoint yourself a prophet. Only God can grant such a privilege.”
Okay, great. Both of my parents are certifiably insane. I hope this isn’t genetic.
“Do you think it’s odd that God would choose you, of all women? A child abuser? A rapist? That’s weird, right?”
I stare at her, waiting for her response, as I take in so many features like mine. We have the same eyes, blonde hair, even the same cheekbones, but inside, we don’t match. I’ve spent a lot ofmy life wondering what was wrong with me. How could a mother have so much hatred for her own daughter?
“You were never abused. You’re a liar. Is it so you can con these men? Surely it’s the only way they’d stand by your side and watch you murder innocent people. Your own family.”
Nothing she says should matter, but it does. It’s like a gut punch so hard it robs me of my breath.
“I’m a liar? You never had sex with me? You never forced me to have sex with my own father? So many other men? I imagined all of it?”
