Page 139 of Forgive Me Father

I walk over to the couch, turning my back to Echo, and slyly grab the pistol, tucking it away where Echo can’t see.

Not even blinking an eye, Aiden knows my true objective.

“It’s my only goal.”

Leaving it at that, Echo and I step out.

Time to burn this church to the ground.

Judges 6:23: “But the Lord said to him, ‘Peace! Do not be afraid. You are not going to die.’”

Chapter 40

Roman

“Fucking hell. Isn’t this quite the fucking setup,” Echo whistles.

The venue is packed with expensive cars, all being parked by valet. We pull up to the front, greeted by a servant hired exclusively for this event.

“Your keys, sir,” The valet says with a practiced smile.

I’m ready to drag this man out and beat him senseless in the car, but Echo answers for me.

“Roger that, bud.”

Echo hands off the keys, his men stationed outside in tactical gear, poised to raid the place at Echo’s command.

As we exit the car, other couples glide into the church, dressed in their finest for the evening.

Echo pats the valet on the shoulder, nudging me forward.

“You can’t kill every single person involved in this. These workers probably think this is just a party,” Echo murmurs. “Keep your fucking shit together, Roman.”

We approach the front doors, greeted by another server.

“Name?” He asks, grinning as he scans the list on his clipboard.

“Roman Briar,” I snap.

The server’s eyes move to the top of the list, and he smiles.

“Ah, Father, welcome. And your guest’s name?” He inquires.

What’s Echo going to pull out of his ass for this one?

“Jacob Harkins,” Echo lies smoothly.

The server looks down the list, nodding with approval.

“Welcome, Mr. Harkins.”

He lets us both in, and I glance at Echo.

“He’s tied up in the van right now. My guys grabbed him before he could make it to his car. I’ve got his I.D. in my pocket,” Echo says, a satisfied grin on his face. “I told you, Roman, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

Inside, the space is crowded with dozens of people. New faces lock eyes with me, each one dressed to the nines.

The air is thick with the stench of money—Botox and facelifts, a testament to the wealth on display.