No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

“ P lease,” Gavin blubbers. His bottom lip trembles, already painted the crimson of his insides. His left eye is blackened and sealed shut but that’s the least of his wounds, the least of his worries. We both know he doesn’t have long. And I won’t have mercy. It’s not something I’m particularly well known for. “I didn’t know…”

“I think you did,” I respond nonchalantly. The bodies of his armed men, trained killers, litter the length of the room and surrounding hallway. They met their fates when they attempted to keep me from my target. “But what I think matters little. What matters is what Father thinks. And Father doesn’t take betrayal lightly.”

He sobs, fat tears dragging down his battered face, making skin-colored trails between the blood and dirt. “Killian, I promise. You know me. You’ve known me your entire life. You don’t have to do this. You could talk to Father. Convince him.”

“Why would I do that?” I ask, my voice soft. I lean in close so my nose is inches from his, the dark locks of my hair falling over his knees. He’s restrained, tied to a rickety wooden chair, unable to move. But even without the restraints, he’s immobile, a result of the potent paralytic I injected only moments ago into his bloodstream. “You betrayed Father.”

“No,” he pleads. “It was the men, not me. They skimmed off the top. If I had known, I would have gotten Father—”

I shake my head, tsking my lips. “You’ll serve your purpose here, Gavin. You’ll be the example the others need. For that, Father thanks you. You should be grateful.”

“No plea—”

But before he can get the words out, my knife plunges into his throat, slitting him from ear to ear. Blood pools out, staining his front like a waterfall. I take a moment to study it, my mind blank, my breathing steady. I watch him die, choking on his own blood and I feel nothing.

He betrayed Father. He deserves to die.

Reaching into my leather jacket, the one I always wear for kills, I retrieve a cloth and use it to clean my blade, before stashing them both away inside the band of my jeans. I don’t need to hide Gavin’s body, don’t need to leave a note. Don’t even need to clean up after myself. I’m always pristine and my kills never leave any trace. This will look just like another drug deal gone bad, a dealer killed by one of his many associates.

But on the inside, one look at this scene and everyone will know. This is Father sending a message.

Double-crossers will get no trial. They’ll be condemned and treated harshly. There is no justice for the damned.

As his executioner, I take no mercy. I perform my duty with pride and with impunity. I would do anything for Father, for my family.

So, with my mission successfully completed and the traitors rooted and snuffed out, I head back home. My 1980’s Harley Classic, Delilah, waits outside the front doors, all black and glinting in the low light of the descending evening. As I settle on the seat, I’m unafraid of being seen at the crime scene. The police will look the other way, especially when it comes to the murder of a low life like Gavin. Revving the engine, Delilah purrs to life under my fingertips. I don’t put on a helmet—don’t even own one. Because as I take off, the feel of the wind rippling through my long hair, shooting it behind me like a black bridal veil, sets me alight. Makes me feel free.

The streets of New Mason City are polluted and crime-ridden, littered with people and trash as far as the eye can see. The drug addicts and homeless intermingle with the businessmen on their way to fancy desk jobs and whores seeking patrons on street corners. As a child, when running errands for Father, I used to imagine I was Batman making my way through Gotham City. And all these people were at my disposal, at my mercy.

Now, at twenty-five, I know I’m no Batman. I’m not the hero. But I am a dark knight. Father’s dark avenger. My purpose is so much greater than some imaginary superhero’s could ever be. Because I serve Father. The man who adopted me, raised me as his own, molded me into who I am today. I’d be nothing without him. I owe him everything.

St. Paul’s is holding Mass when I pull up. Its turrets reach the darkening sky, spindly and pointed like they belong on a castle. As a child, that’s what I believed St. Paul’s to be. Though I have very few memories of my childhood, I do remember this: Abe and I running down the aisles, taking naps in the pews, playing in the cloisters and along the balconies. Father allowed it, always with a watchful eye to ensure we didn’t hurt ourselves. Even despite the Church’s age, Father never discouraged us from playing, never worried we’d cause damage. He loved seeing us there, in his holy place.

Now, the stained glass glows from the inside out, shining into the night. I step inside the foyer, quietly shutting the doors behind me so as not to distract any attention from the pulpit. The nave is filled with parishioners who look forward with wide eyes and attentive ears.

Father stands at the altar, all dressed in his ritualistic garb as he addresses the onlookers. There’s something truly awe-inspiring seeing him like this, in his most natural habitat. His bright blue eyes look out into the crowd, sparkling with intensity. He hasn’t aged since my first memories of him, still handsome, still undeniably charismatic. He still commands the entirety of the room with his mere presence. When Father speaks, the world listens.

I settle into the last pew, content to listen as he delivers his sermon. He’ll lead the congregation in Communion shortly and I’ll file along with the others, take it merely to feel his fingers on my lips. I’ve never been much for religion, but for Father, I’d do just about anything. He is my religion. He is my God. I’d worship at his feet just for a chance to be nearer to him. Nearer to him always. As if he hears my thoughts, Father’s eyes shine on me. A small smile plays on his full lips and he nods his head in my direction. It’s a subtle gesture, something most wouldn’t recognize. But I do. Father sees me. He knows I’m here.

“Deuteronomy 15:10 tells us, ‘You shall give to Him freely, and your heart shall not be grudging when you give to Him, because for this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake.’ The Lord calls us to give. To the Church, to those that guide you. Give of yourself, your good works, your profits and rewards. When you win, allow us to win with you. Allow the Church to reap the goodness you sow.” Father’s voice is pure and deep, commanding and full of a fervent, bubbling energy. His body moves with grace and absolute precision, like a finely-honed tool, his hands like the instruments of God himself. On one of his slim fingers shines a glint of silver, the only fine thing I’ve ever seen him wear, a ring he’s never without. The light bounces off of its shining surface like a beacon in the cacophonous space.

“Come, let us give thanks to the Lord for all He’s given us. Raise your voices in worship, fill this nave with joyful song.” Father gestures for the congregation to rise and begins to lead them in song as the sound of the pipe organ fills the space. I stand as well, watching Father’s mouth fall open and his eyes fall closed as he loses himself to the music. He’s an example to the people. They follow his lead. I can’t take my eyes off him.

The rest of his sermon passes much as it always does. His words ring out, begging for confession and devotion as the path to salvation. When Mass finishes, Father heads to the confessional to await the sins of his people. I can’t wait any longer to give him my good news.

I step up to the box and head inside, feeling myself wrapped up in the orange wood interior, the leather seats, the darkness. “Father,” I say. I hear him sigh softly on the other side.

“My son. You have news for me?”

“It’s done,” I reply.

“Any witnesses?”

“None.”

“And his men?”

“All taken care of.”

He chuckles. I can hear the smile in his voice. “You are a wonder, Killian.”

I bask in his praise, allowing it to wash over me like holy water. “Thank you, Father.”

“Stay after the others have left, will you? We have some other matters to discuss.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You’re my good boy, Killian,” he croons. “You always have been. A good boy deserves a just reward. I’ll see to it.”

I swallow hard. “Thank you, Father.”

And then I retreat, knowing I’ve been dismissed. I stand in the entryway of the Church, watching men and women filter in and out of the confessional. Occasionally, their eyes flicker to me and then quickly dart away. They know who I am. What I’m capable of. They fear me.

Good. Let them. Better they fear me and know what my presence means. I am Father’s enforcer. And Father’s word is law.

The rumblings and mutterings dissipate as the congregation either files through to confess their sins or turns to leave. They pass me on the way out, not saying anything.

A large, thickly muscled form slides against the doorway, its forearms brushing mine. Eli. His short blond hair is shorn at the nape, his features pointed and sharp as he surveys those who pass us by. I’m sure we look an imposing picture, one the slim and angelic assassin, the other a hulking warrior. Both at Father’s beck and call.

“It go well, then?” Eli asks me without looking my way.

I nod.

He chuckles. “He have anything to say for himself?”

Eli never liked Gavin. Always suspected him of foul play. Then again, Eli suspects everyone. “He denied it. Said it was his men,” I say, and he nods.

“Of course he did.”

I can detect his eyes on me. I don’t turn my head to meet them as Eli assesses me, roving the length of me, taking in the black leather I’m swathed in, the long black hair that hangs low, past my ass. He stares at that too. I don’t comment.

“That what you wore tonight? Or is this just what you changed into after ?”

I cringe. “There was no seduction involved. Father knew Gavin was guilty.”

“No need to needle it out of him then?” Eli cocks a brow. I see it out of the corner of my eye.

I snort disdainfully, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Eli’s sense of self-importance is an irritation I don’t intend to give merit to. He’s served Father faithfully, but still, his presence grates at me.

He doesn’t seem to notice my annoyance, however, sidling closer so his breath, hot with whiskey, flits over the shell of my ear. “You work so hard, Kill. If you ever need to take the edge off, you know I’m here for you.”

I huff out a breath, a sardonic laugh I can’t contain. That he thinks I’d ever be interested…

“Oh come on, I doubt Father would care. He knows you need to relax just as much as the rest of us. Probably more than the rest of us.”

I do turn to look at him then, my eyes wide and brows hiked. He smiles to see he’s broken through. I don’t return that smile.

“No. Thank you.”

He chuckles, clearly not thrown off by the warning in my tone. “Too bad. I could make you feel real good, baby. All you have to do is ask.”

At that, I lose my patience, whipping around to slam him against the church door, hand against his neck, squeezing hard. He chokes, shock and awe plastered over his dumb face. His mouth falls open and his eyes dart to my face as his hands come up to grip the slim wrist that holds him in place.

We’ve attracted the attention of several churchgoers, some peering over quickly before glancing away while others watch with blatant stares. I don’t acknowledge them, my cold glare only for Eli.

“I said no, thank you .”

Then I release him and he takes in a deep breath, slumping back with a laugh.

“Jesus,” he whispers, rubbing his neck. He’s undeterred, I can see that. I suppose I should have anticipated his proclivities toward masochism.

In irritation, I walk away, choosing instead to sit at an empty pew to await Father’s presence in silence. I ignore everything around me, closing my eyes and seeking refuge in my own mind. Sometimes that’s the only place I can go to find shelter—when the opinions and stares of others become too much, when the way they look at me makes me feel naked, exposed, vulnerable. I simply go back to that place, when as a child with Abe at my side, I’d spend hours wrapped up in books, telling stories and just being. Lately, those memories seem so far away.

Then, in a flash, I see the woods from my dream last night. Flickers of remembrance wash over me. How good it felt to dance, to smile, to laugh. I’d almost forgotten all about it. How could I have forgotten?

I see an image in my mind, a face covered by a hood. A smile that stretches to reveal perfect white teeth, sharp incisors.

“Killian.” My eyes snap open at Father’s voice. He stands before me in the nave, just the two of us in the emptied space. Even Eli is gone and for that I’m thankful.

“Father.”

“What did you think of Mass tonight?”

I swallow, willing my mind back to the present, to Father’s sermon only an hour ago. “It was well-spoken and well-heard. The congregation seemed riveted.”

“Indeed.” Father nods and sits in the pew next to me so our shoulders touch. He slips a hand in mine, his ring shining and surprisingly warm against my skin. “I didn’t see Sebastian in attendance.”

Sebastian, one of his dealers. Owner of Club Orpheus, a local nightclub that serves as one of the most lucrative bases for Father’s Operation. The Drug is passed around like candy, at higher prices and in higher doses. In their drunken, inebriated states, people are more willing to pay, more desperate to get their hands on it.

I haven’t seen Sebastian in weeks. I shake my head and Father’s lips purse in contemplation.

“You understand why I’m concerned.”

I do. If Sebastian decides to go out on his own, keeping some of his profits from Father, it would be a huge loss. Worse, it could threaten the entire Operation. If we lose Sebastian’s allegiance, we lose the men loyal to him, his clients. His profits.

“You suspect his loyalty is waning?” I ask.

“I expect most men to do what comes naturally. Those who get a taste for power always want more. They tug at the reins that bind them. Sebastian is no fool. He knows the opportunity he has in Orpheus. But he forgets who gave him that opportunity in the first place.”

My stomach cramps at the implication. I know what Father wants, what he will ask me. And I won’t deny him. He looks up at me with brilliant blue eyes that seem to see into my very soul.

“You’ll go and check in on him, won’t you?”

Check in on him . Present myself as an offering of good will, only to show him the true force of Father’s power. Threaten him, break a few limbs. Put him back in his place.

My least favorite kind of mission. The ones where I play the whore. Father knows this. He’ll ask me anyway. And though I hate it, I’ll do it. For him.

“Of course, Father.”

“You’re the only one who can do this for me,” he says, leaning in and stroking my cheek as though he can read my thoughts. “No one is as skilled as you. Nor as beautiful.”

No one but…his eyes go sad as he begins to stroke my dark hair.

“You know I haven’t seen our sweet Abraham in what feels like months.” He wears a sad smile on his handsome face, one full of pain and betrayal. He feels Abe’s absence so poignantly. Just as much as I do. He misses his son.

“I’m sure he has his reasons for staying away,” I say to placate him, but he shakes his head.

“Have you…spoken to him? He doesn’t return my calls.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. Why would Abe ignore Father’s calls? Doesn’t he know how dangerous that is? “I have. Spoken to him.”

“And?”

“He’s been busy. I’m sure he wouldn’t intentionally block you out.”

His brow creases, pulling tight in what could only be despair. “No. No. I know how young men can be. Stubborn. So quick to want independence. But there was a time when both my boys were so loyal. So willing to serve.”

I don’t know what to say. Abe is the only other person in this world that holds my heart like Father does. I’d defend him with my life. But it’s true that Abe’s loyalties have waned. He comes to Mass less and less. He won’t say it but I think he’s found something he finds more important.

“He loves you,” Father persists. “He listens to you.”

I squirm in my seat. “Sometimes I think he listens with one ear only to let it filter out the other.”

“But you have a way with him. You always have. Ever since you were both boys. He trusted you. Looked up to you. Respected you.”

A shiver goes up my spine remembering. Small glimpses of our lives as boys, though most of it seems so foggy, so far away. What I can recall is my little brother following me always, smiling at me with those big blue eyes. I was his world back then. And unlike other big brothers, I never shoved him away or resented his presence. He’s always been special to me. And I was special to him. His adopted brother, five years his senior. His protector. The one he could look up to and depend upon. Always.

But now? Abe sees the world differently. Sees me differently. I’m still his brother. But he keeps things from me. I’m desperate to know why.

“You need to talk to him, Killian. Bring him home. I need him. I need both my boys.” Father’s eyes mirror my desperation. He looks at me like I’m his only hope. Father and Abe are my family, and he’s right. I need to fix this, to bring them back together.

I nod. “I’ll try,” I say softly.

He cups my cheek, caressing it with the pad of his thumb. “You’ll succeed. I know you will. You’ll bring Abraham home.”

His thumb trails along my lower lip before he moves closer and envelopes my mouth in a deep kiss. My eyelids flutter closed and I go rigid under his hands as they dip and caress, stroking my chin, diving into my hair and tugging ever so slightly.

He moans into the kiss, parting my lips with his tongue so it can explore inside. I know he likes it when I’m pliant, when I give myself fully to him, so I do, allowing him to take control, to deepen the embrace, to fondle me through the fabric of my pants. I begin to harden and I can feel his smile against my lips. He likes that he can bring my arousal out, under the watchful eyes of the Church, when doing so would seem sinful. I think he likes that sin, revels in rebelling, sinning in the house of God.

When he pulls away, I’m breathless and painfully hard. I don’t expect him to bring me release. Mine is so much less than his and I’m prepared to give him anything, anything he asks of me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles and strokes my hair. “My good, beautiful boy. I so love that flush you get under my hands. Mine and mine alone, yes?”

“Yes, Father.” I breathe.

A darkness shimmers in those blue eyes as he looks at me then. “I know Eli desires you.”

I huff a small laugh. “Eli desires anything with two legs and a cock.”

Without warning, Father grasps my chin in a punishing grip, “You know I don’t like when you speak like that.”

My eyelashes flutter and my heartbeat quickens. I’ve angered him. Averting my eyes, I whisper, “I’m sorry, Father.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around the rabble,” Father sighs, releasing me. “I know I let you roam too far too often. Perhaps I should keep you locked away, all to myself.”

My throat tightens. “If that’s your desire, Father.”

“Alas, you’re of too much use to me elsewhere.” Father quirks a brow, his handsome features settling into a knowing smile. “What would I do without you?”

“You have many men at your disposal. Any of them willing to lay their lives down for you.”

“But not the same. Not the same as you, Killian.” He grins at me and a thrill shoots down my spine. Nothing is more important than being of use to him. Nothing.

“You’ll go to Sebastian then, hmm? And then after that, to Abraham.” Though he asks it of me, I know it’s not a request. It’s an expectation. A duty. I’ll perform my duty for Father. As I always do.

I bob my head in assent and he brings me forward to press a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Good boy. You’ll go now, then?”

I withhold the sigh that wants to burst from my chest. “Of course, Father.”

No rest for the wicked.