Page 24 of The Hitman's Prince

Jacob

Ifell asleep as soon as Orion left, then woke up with a start at three in the morning, covered in sweat and blood. He’d deliberately made my injuries worse during his stint as my nurse, and I didn’t know if that made him a saint or a devil. I wasn’t any closer to understanding the relationship between him and Vince, but I had made plenty of progress on understanding his relationship with me. Orion would have thrown me to the wolves if he’d even suspected it would put him into Vince’s favor again. I didn’t blame him, because it was a place that—for no discernible reason—I also wanted to be.

Getting involved with the head of the Angelini crime family wasn’t explicitly on the list of things I wasn’t supposed to do while in hiding, but probably because it should have been a given. I was supposed to lay low, be a good priest, and wait. That was what my father had toldme. Growing up Catholic had prepared me for one of those things, but the other two had never been my strongest qualities. With an aching groan, I felt all the way into my bones, I flung my legs over the side of the bed and headed through the office and back into the sanctuary.

Orion had done more than just clean me up; he’d also scrubbed my blood from the white marble, then made quite a show of laying the bloody whip across the top of the altar. I grabbed it quickly, even though there was no one around to see, and I tucked it under my arm for safekeeping. The bullet hole in the aisle—courtesy of Vince’s rage—would be harder to cover, but I’d save that for business hours when I could find some sort of filler or something.

I brought the whip back into my room and returned it to the small box of toys under the bed. It was far from the most painful implement I’d brought along from my past life, and as I knelt in front of the bed and danced my fingers across the well-loved and well-used leather and wood pieces, I wondered why I’d even bothered. I’d likely never see Vince and Orion again, at least not in the capacity I wanted. After all, it took a special kind of man to willingly make a priest bleed.

Even though I was no priest.

I played the part. With scripture and homily delivered to my email every Sunday morning, there was never a doubt over what I was meant to tell the parishioners at mass. I’d started with a script in the confessional, butnow I knew the rules by heart, often giving myself penance for the pleasure I derived from hearing everyone else’s sins.

I was desperate to hear Orion’s sins. They would have made a better salve that whatever drugstore ointment he’d used on me earlier.

I shoved the box under the bed and climbed back onto the uncomfortable mattress, stretching out so my toes hung over the end. I was too tall for the small frame, but comfort hadn’t been of anyone’s concern when the decision was made to move me out of the public eye. The ruse was only supposed to be temporary, but it had already been months and there was no end in sight.

Grabbing my cell phone, which had no texting and linked to only the email that was used to feed me priestly things, I read the scripture, read the message, committed as much of it to memory as I could, then I stared at the ceiling and waited for the sun to rise.

I made it through mass,placing wafers on tongues and offering wine to those who wanted. None of them knew I stood on the same place I’d previously kneeled. None of them even noticed the hole in the aisle beside the fifth pew. Locked safely in the secrecy of the confessional, I banged my head against the rich, fragrant wood, my fingers mindlessly toying with the rosary thathung from my belt.

It was all for show.

I was all for show.

The door slid open and wood creaked. Someone went to their knees, and their clothing rustled as they made the sign for the cross. It sounded like there was one too many steps involved, but I wasn’t sure because I wasn’t looking.

Sighing, I slid open the small window between us and asked, “How many days since your last confession?”

“I…I don’t think I ever have.”

I huffed, trying not to laugh. That made two of us.

“Don’t be ashamed of that,” I told the man.

“How does this work exactly?” he asked, voice soft and unsure. He sounded young. He sounded scared.

“You confess your sins, whatever is weighing on you, and I give you a penance and absolution.”

“What are those?” he asked.

“Penance is like a punishment.” I shivered, thinking again of Orion and Vince. “You give me your contrition—that’s your apology—and then you’re absolved. Made clean.”

Again, Orion…his thumb gouging into my shoulder blade.

“What if I’ve done something truly horrible?”

I rolled my eyes, closing them. “God is forgiving, my child.”

“Do you tell anyone?”

“Anything said here is between us and God,” I said.

He let out a trembling breath and didn’t say anything else.

“What do you have to confess?” I prompted. “You can say forgive me Father, for I have sinned, and then you tell me your sins.”

“You won’t call the cops?” he asked.