Page 31 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

NOAH

Timothy doesn’t hear me as I tiptoe down the stairs into the makeshift prison.

Doesn’t notice me as I approach. He steps away from the cell.

A stunned look twists across his face as he finally sees me.

Slowly, he raises his hands above his head and turns to face me.

Looks straight down the barrel of my pistol.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he says, voice trembling.

“Unfortunately for you, I’ve learned to dance with the Devil on my back.” I cock the gun. “I’ve killed three men. I’m not worried about one more death burdening my soul.”

I breathe those words into existence so surely that I almost believe them.

The truth is, the weight of the blood I’ve shed is a heavy burden.

Each soul taken is another anchor dragging me deeper into an abyss of uncertainty, the chains locked to the anchors snaking around my changing heart.

I want to be better. I want to heal. Everything in this life just makes it so fucking hard.

“Look man, I don’t want to die,” he pleads. Quivering and weak, or just smarter than the rest.

“I’m giving you one chance to prove you’re telling me the truth.” I squat and grab the discarded ring of keys while keeping my aim fixed on him. I toss them to the scared man. “Unlock the gate, walk inside, throw the keys back, and stand with your face against the wall.”

His breath is hitched, lips shaking. It takes multiple attempts to twist the key into the lock. The gate creaks open, dragging over the uneven floor.

My finger swipes back and forth over the trigger. It would be so much easier to pull it. Would be the safest option. Hell, the sound of gunfire might be enough to draw enough attention away from the ritual that it’d even the odds for Seven.

He drops the keys on the stone floor and kicks them over to me. Does as he’s told, shuts the gate behind him, and steps over Rory’s unconscious body to stand looking straight at the back wall.

I shove the gun back into the loop of my belt and lock the gate. “Finally, someone with common sense.”

He cocks his head to the side, defying my orders. “What did you do to Rory?”

“He lacked common sense and paid the price.”

“We’re not bad people.”

“Children are going to die. You were willing to watch it happen. If that doesn’t make you a bad guy, then what does it make you?”

“A coward.” He shuffles against the wall, rotating to meet me eye-to-eye. Swollen, red, and wetting at the corners. “What about you? Aren’t you a bad guy? Heard you killed some friends of mine.”

“Hurt people hurt people,” I say, echoing Seven’s words. “After tonight, I’m getting off this merry-go-round of swords. Nobody comes out clean. I am covered in the blood of my enemies and the innocent alike.”

He stares off into the distance, choking on the words that come next, “God’s not real, is he?”

“I don’t know. That’s a journey you can walk alone. But what’s happening out there? That’s no will of god’s.”

“And the Feds? They’re not coming, are they?”

That gets my attention. “What are you talking about?”

“Silas said it was us against the world. Told stories of the outside world looking in, despising what we stood for. Said the end was coming, not in hellfire but in handcuffs.”

There it is. The reason for the acceleration to Ascension.

Silas caught wind the feds were coming and instead of rotting in a prison cell, he’s opting for mass suicide.

“I hate to break it to you, but nobody on the outside knows this place exists. Whatever Silas has told you is a lie. Yeah, maybe the feds are on their way. Maybe they’re not.

That’s the reason this is happening, by the way.

Your grand fucking leader would rather you all die than to go down for his sins.

But you already know that, right? That’s why you hesitated getting out of your chair before you came here.

You weren’t so sure you were doing the right thing. ”

“Like I said,” he whispers, “I don’t want to die.”

“If there are any survivors, just holler loud enough and someone will come find you.” I toss the keys onto the floor in front of Seven’s old cell and back away from the man.

“And if everybody out there dies, you better hope the Feds really are on their way, because otherwise, you’ll rot in this cage the way you should be rotting in prison. ”

I walk away with clarity, a sense of purpose, and a load taken off my soul.

“Hey,” he yells. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

I look over my shoulder.

“So uhh… Are you Seven’s boy—” He can’t even say the word. “You his friend?”

I just nod and turn away, leaving him to live or die. Doesn’t matter which. The only thing that matters is I won’t be the one deciding his fate.

“He drives a black sedan.” I mumble, mimicking Seven’s exact words he said to me about which car Silas drove.

There are at least twenty black sedans. Most are beaten and old, relics of the past. The ones that aren’t black appear as if they are because there is not a single source of light in this field of grass.

I’m on alert, to the point of paranoia, as I approach each car.

Only when I’m standing right in front of one can I tell if’s black or if it’s a darker shade of another color.

Where the fuck is the moon when I need it?

I manage to find a black car and it’s unlocked.

These cultist fucks don’t even bother to lock their doors.

I guess that’s how much they trust each other.

Trust each other to not lie, steal, cheat, lead them into temptation, or mass suicide.

I used to believe trust was a characteristic best left to fools.

I trust Seven, even with every reason in the world not to.

That makes me a fool, then.

A blind fool poking around in the darkness. I lean into the car and try the key, but it doesn’t fit. I slam the door and check the next car, and then the next. When I reach the end of the field and there are no more cars to search, I turn back around. Try to figure out what I missed.

I make my way through the parking lot in a hurry, straining my neck as I search both directions at once. To the left, there’s a line of trees that bleeds into the parking lot. Around the corner, there are two cars.

One black .

One white.

I rip open the door of the black one.

Smoke rises in the distance, lit only by a soft orange fire beneath.

“Jesus Christ,” I huff. “My boy did something stupid, didn’t he?”

I jump into the driver's seat. Turn the key. The engine sputters to life—and immediately dies. Right car. Bad alternator. I twist the key again, revving just as the engine chokes. The car roars to life, but in a lion cub kind of way. I flick off the headlights and tear through the damp grass field.