Page 53

Marcelo’s head falls forward as his shoulders sag, his hands once again sliding back to the base of the cross behind him.

“Marcelo!” I scream, running to him.

The cloaked figures haven’t moved since I’ve entered, and I’m half-convinced they may not even be real. But the moment I try to yank the nail pinning his feet free, the cloaks—as one—flick up.

“My sweet, darlin’ Junia,” a voice coos, and as my eyes track it, it comes from a hooded figure slowly rising in the center of the semi-circle.

“Daren,” I say, just as he slides his hood down and removes an all-white mask with the same symbol from the door painted on the forehead. “How long have you been worshipping demons? Did that happen before or after you met my mother?”

The bastard smiles. And it fills me with just enough rage to fully pull the nail free.

Marcelo’s legs fall free, the wounds bleeding immensely. Quickly, with my eyes still trained on Daren, and the rest of the circle, I slip out of Marcelo’s hood and wrap both sleeves around each of his feet. Hopefully, that’ll be enough for now.

Enough until he wakes up or until someone comes for him.

“I’ve never seen this side of you.” Daren licks his teeth, his eyes drifting to Marcelo’s slumped form before falling back on me. “I liked how submissive you were. How easily I could dominate you. It made me think, maybe when I finally fucked you, I could make you do whatever I wanted. I liked the idea of you suckin’ my cock with my hand around your throat or the idea of fucking you while I had your momma gagged in the corner, watching. I wanted to show her just what she was missin’ all these months. Bitch never put out.” His serpentine smile sent shivers down my spine as he slowly got closer, climbing up the steps to the altar toward me.

“But she was never the prize, so it didn’t really matter, anyway. I never wanted her. If I fucked her, it would’ve only made me want the younger, suppler model. Your momma’s all skin and bones, darlin’. But you? Fuck, look at you!”

I took a step back, flinching as Daren climbed the final step.

“I wanted you to be my little doll, Junia. I wanted to dress you up, fuck you silly, then leave you tied to my bed as I went out for a drink. I imagined you waiting, all hot and bothered and begging for me when I got home.”

I kept my eyes on Daren, even as my hand fell to my thigh. Even as my hand dips just under the hemline of my dress. Even as my fingers pull free the knife I have tucked between the seam of my undershorts and my thigh.

Daren steps closer, but I don’t move. I have one chance at this. One. And I need the fucker closer.

“But,” he grunts. “This fucker here took you from me. He had you before I could. I saw how flushed your face was as you stumbled out of the confessional. I know what he was doing to you in there.” Another step. “I was so fuckin’ jealous then, I nearly killed him.” Another step. “I could’ve, you know. Killed him. I could’ve summoned the demons to hold him down while I slit is filthy fuckin’ throat.” As he says the word, his hand darts out and wraps around my neck. He doesn’t squeeze hard, but I know his touch is meant to rattle me. I force another flinch, feeding his ego as he steps in.

“But you know what? Maybe this is for the best.” Daren closes the distance between us, and I thank God for the mask filtering out his hot, gross breath. “Now, I can fuck you as I make you watch him die. Now, I can beat that little brat out of you. It’ll be so much more fun to spank you when you misbehave than to spank you when you were just a pathetic little puppet to your whore of a mother.”

Just then, blood splatters on Daren’s face. The red jewels spat onto his sandy hair, his pale face.

There’s a chuckle above our heads. “You didn’t answer her question, fucker.” My eyes dart up to meet Marcelo’s. Blood drips down his face, his chin, but it doesn’t stop him from smirking at me. It doesn’t stop him from seeing the knife.

Daren scowls up at Marcelo, his face contorting into something almost demonic. He opens his mouth, ready to spew whatever venom he has left—but he doesn’t get the chance.

The moment his lips part, I thrust the knife up between us, stabbing it into the space behind his chin and up through his mouth. I watch as the blade pierces through his tongue, finally silencing him. Daren’s eyes fall to me, his mouth still gaped, and now I can’t tell if it’s from shock or from the blade pinning him there.

He staggers back, grasping for the blade. But he staggers too far and trips on his own feet—right over the few stone steps. Daren crashes to the floor, his body writhing as he gasps for breath, as he twitches and spasms, as the gurgles become the only thing I hear.

I straighten, readying myself for whatever comes next. Marcelo braces his feet on the cross behind me, still trying to lift himself off the nails after regaining consciousness, after he spit his own blood on Daren’s face.

Daren may be down, and while it’s satisfying as Hell, there still is no way out of here. Not with the rest of the faceless cult. Not with Marcelo still pinned to a cross too high for me to reach.

Not with a demon still waiting to reveal himself.

“Let Valac out,” I say, my shoulders back. “And be the coward you always have been.”

The room is silent save for the continued gurgling. I lost sight of Diablo a long time ago. And the faceless figures are still crouched in a semicircle—watching. Waiting.

A huff of breath breaks the silence like an earthquake as one lone figure rises.

“For the record,” it says as it walks forward, the other figures hurriedly scooting out of its way and dropping into even lower bows. “This piece of shit joined after he met your mother. He didn’t join until she brought him along to church one Sunday.”

My eyebrows furrow, and my entire body stiffens. I know this voice. I know this voice as comfort, as hope. I know this voice as guidance and teachings. I know this voice as love and sometimes solace.

“He didn’t join,” it continues, and I can practically see the warm smile spreading over the familiar face. All too suddenly, the air is pulled out of me as I race to catch up to what my mind has already realized. As my eyes process what I already knew I’d see. As the hood falls from his head, as the same mask Daren wore is pulled aside, Father Callum grins. “Until he met me.”