No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

I t’s worse than I feared, than I could have imagined. Hollow is an enemy and he poses a threat to Father and the entire Operation. I should have told Father immediately. I have nothing to show for that entire inane conversation but a bruised pride. And a whole world of confusion.

How did Hollow manage to overcome the poison in my needle? What did he do with Gus? How much does he know about Father and the Operation? The Drug? Does this put us all in jeopardy? And the dreams. How the hell did Hollow know about my dreams? And what did he mean when he asked me how much I know about Father?

I know everything I need to know. Father trusts me. He doesn’t keep secrets from me.

Which is all the more reason why I have to tell him.

Why am I afraid? Father has never given me a reason to be afraid. Not of him. I’m his good boy. His obedient boy.

So then why did I pursue Hollow without his permission? Without informing him of Hollow’s threat and Sebastian’s death? I stormed out of the Church without a thought, without a word to Father or…Abe. I left Abe all alone. I left my brother when he needed me for…this. This failure.

Shit.

This is wrong. So wrong. I was so wrong.

I arrive at the rectory, a large brick building where Father and all the other priests live. It’s where Abe and I stayed as children, where I now reside as an adult. Father would have allowed Abe the same privilege had my brother not chosen the more difficult route for himself. Inside is a series of small apartments and a centralized living room where the priests often go to read or drink coffee. There’s also a shared kitchen and cloister in the back for prayer. But I bypass all of that with the speed of a sinner running from the hand of judgement, headed only to my room, hoping I can calm myself before anyone sees me.

As I go, I dig into my pocket for my phone. Abe. I’m so sorry, Abe. I have to make sure he’s okay, to apologize for leaving him. I dial his number and wait with bated breath as it rings. And rings and rings. It goes to voicemail, a generic greeting that recites his number and tells me to leave a message. I hang up without doing so and then try it again. The same result. I curse under my breath and resign myself to try again later, within the comfort of my room.

The rectory is quiet at this hour, dark. Only a few lights shimmer from the windows as I approach the stairs. I can feel my heartbeat like a relentlessly pounding drum. It keeps time with my footsteps. A reminder of all the ways I failed tonight. All the people I love that I’ve let down in just the last few hours. I feel panic begin to overwhelm me before I force it down. Force it back.

Stop thinking. Stop. Stop.

I reach the doorway that leads to my room in the attic, secluded and kept apart from all the others. As my fingers fumble with the door handle, I faintly hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Someone approaching. And not a priest. Priests walk like ghosts, their vestments sweeping silently down the halls. But these steps sound like someone barreling through their surroundings, someone heavy and thick with muscle.

I turn to see Eli striding toward me, a prideful spring in his gait. He grins like a spider with a bug caught in its web.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The rectory is only for the priests and me. Father doesn’t mix the Operation and the priesthood. To do so could endanger him. Eli’s presence here is unwelcome.

“Father sent me.”

I narrow my eyes at him. That’s unlikely. “If Father wanted me, he’d have come himself,” I spit.

But he just shakes his head and approaches slowly, like a man approaching a rabid dog. One he fears might snap at any moment. “You did a naughty thing, didn’t you, Kill? Something Father wouldn’t appreciate very much.”

My entire body stills. I feel my eyes widen as my breathing hitches. He knows. And I see it in his raised brows, the curve of his smirk. He has me and he knows it.

Still, I play dumb. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Sebastian. Club Orpheus. You kept a secret from Father. One that would greatly concern him. And you went off to handle it on your own. Didn’t you?”

He’s still approaching, getting closer and closer. I can feel every beat of my heart.

“So tell me,” he says softly, voice almost a whisper. “How did that go for you? Since you were so quick to play the hero and jump to Father’s defense, did you win us a noble victory? Or make a bigger mess?”

I glower at him, unwilling to speak and further incriminate myself.

“I heard,” he continues. “I saw you talking to the big fellow. Sebastian’s bodyguard. You left with him. I know what you did. And Father knows too.”

My heart sinks. For all my good intentions, my desire to keep Father’s hands clean, I’ve done more harm than good. And now even my opportunity to absolve myself has been stolen from me. By this idiot, no less.

“You told him,” I say. Not a question. "You’ll regret it.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Though not as much, I suspect, as you’ll regret not telling him.”

“Making me your enemy is unwise.” I lean into his space, my anger a burning, vengeful thing for the second time this night.

“Your choice, not mine. I gave you ample opportunities to be my friend.”

“To fuck you,” I retort.

Again, he shrugs. “I would have made it so good for you. But you made your choice. And you’ll live with the consequences. Father wants to see you.”

“Then I’ll go to him. Get out of my way.” I move to bypass him, to head to Father’s apartments on the first floor, when Eli situates himself directly in my path.

“He’s not in the rectory.”

“Where is he?” I snap, but he’s unmoved as a great boulder.

“He said I should escort you to him. As a reward for my loyalty.”

I huff in annoyance. “Loyalty. You’re nothing more than a snitch. A childish, jealous little boy beneath all that doped up muscle.”

He laughs, but I can see him seethe internally at my words. “We’ll see about that. Doped up or not, all these muscles are still good for a thing or two.”

“And escorting me is a reward?”

He nods. “It will be.”

He leads me back out of the rectory and into the Church grounds. The green, sprawling space of a courtyard greets us in the burgeoning evening, the soft sounds of October nightfall buzzing all around us. We cross the grounds, our steps deafened by the crunch of the grass underfoot and the dull, manic whispering of the wind as it jostles the newly crisped leaves and plucks them from their branches. The Church looms in the distance, a monstrous being in the dark of the night. It looks like a huge, threatening thing, beckoning me toward my punishment, toward the man I’ve insurmountably disappointed.

I’ve made this journey a great many times during my childhood and as an adult. From the rectory to the Church and back. To the Church and to the rectory and back. A fortunate thing that only a half-acre of yard spans the distance between. Because had it been more, my heart might explode out of my chest at the delayed meeting.

The entire trek, Eli bubbles with a chaotic energy, something gleeful and dark. A potent concoction I can almost smell like a pheromone. He doesn’t look back at me but I know he wants to. Know he can’t wait for what’s ahead. I refuse to ask or acknowledge him. I refuse to engage.

I shouldn’t have expected him to withhold information from Father. Not when providing the details he overheard will prove his loyalty and have the added benefit of casting a shadow of doubt and suspicion over me. That doesn’t stop me from hating him though. From resenting him and imagining all the many painful ways I could kill him if given the chance.

We enter the Church's rear doors and step into the lower level, the one right above the basement. Ascending the staircase to our right, we make our way upstairs to arrive in the waiting area just outside the nave. To our right stands the priest’s entrance to the pulpit. To our left is the doorway to the priests’ personal prayer rooms.

Eli urges me to the right. Through the entryway, I step onto the pulpit like a performer on a stage. And at the back of the house, I see a pacing form, tall and noble, straight-backed and tense. Blond hair glimmers like gold under the light of a few hundred lit candles.

“Father,” I say before I can help myself and he looks up at me with narrowed eyes. Eyes so full of ire I can feel myself shrink back involuntarily.

He’s angry. He’s so angry. I’ve never seen him this angry before. Never with me .

And in this moment, I hate Eli like I’ve never hated anyone. This is his fault. He told Father before I could tell him myself, before I could smooth it over and explain my reasoning.

And as if he can read my mind, Father shakes his head, eyes only for me. “You have no one to blame for your actions but yourself.”

“Father?” I grit out. He approaches, body like a coiled snake ready to strike.

“We should thank Eli for his loyalty. That he would overhear something that caused him concern, and instead of acting on his own accord, he came forward. He came to me. Perhaps you should attempt to learn from him?”

I cringe as I feel Eli beaming in my periphery. Damn him. “I was going to tell you, Father.”

“When?” Father’s voice cracks like a whip, echoing through the open space. “After you’d already consulted with the enemy? Given him our secrets?”

I swallow, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “It wasn’t like that,” I insist, my throat dry, so incredibly dry.

“Wasn’t it? I can’t imagine any other reason for going to him before me. Did it not occur to you that knowing about Sebastian’s death might be of great importance to me?”

“Of course it did. I just didn’t want to trouble you without cause.”

“That’s not it, though is it? Eli told me he saw you talking to this man. This Hollow . The night you were sent to Club Orpheus. He told me you seemed interested in him. That’s not like you, Killian. None of this is like you. I’m beginning to feel I’ve lost sight of who you really are.”

Of course Eli saw me that night. I told him I’d drink with him. I kept him waiting and left before keeping my promise. I offended him and now I’m paying the price.

“Father, please. Hollow approached me . I had no interest in conversing with him.”

“And yet, you went back there tonight to do just that. Tell me, what fruits did that conversation bear? Were you successful in meeting your goals?”

I swallow and it takes all my strength not to hang my head in shame. “No, Father.”

“And what did you find out? What truths were revealed to you in keeping such secrets from me?”

“I…” I force my voice to level. “Hollow is indeed a threat, Father. He’s made it clear he’s an enemy.”

He nods, stepping ever closer to me. Closer and closer, in silence, he approaches and I find myself holding my breath. He stands before me, only inches away, peering into my face, the disappointment etched over his expression like a knife in my heart. “I know of this Hollow,” Father says, and my breath catches in my chest. “Had you come to me, I would have told you that. Had you been honest, I would have warned you away. Because I’ve dealt with him and his kind before, Killian. No matter what he says, what he does, he is first and foremost a liar and a deceiver. He wants what does not belong to him.”

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t know?” He bobs his head. “No, of course you didn’t know. This Hollow will ensnare you with pretty lies until you believe them. He has a way with words, a certain magic way about him. He’ll do things, say things that confuse you. That make you question what you know to be true. He did that this evening, didn’t he?”

Again, I swallow down a rising wave of nausea. “Yes,” I whisper.

“What did he tell you, Killian?” His voice is so soft, so dangerous.

“Nothing. He didn’t tell me anything.” But that’s not true. I’m lying to Father. Again. Why am I lying to him?

His eyes bore into me, intense and probing. Then, without warning, his hand shoots out and grips my chin, forcing my gaze. Pain ripples through my skin where his nails make contact. “Tell me the truth, Killian. What did Hollow tell you?”

“He only…” I gasp, wanting desperately to wrench free of his grasp but daring not to. “He asked me what I really knew about you and the Operation. I told him I knew all I needed to know. He didn’t say anything else.”

Father studies me, blinking slowly, considering. Finally, he releases me and I shudder forward, chilled, shamed beyond anything in my living memory. And before I can react or recoil, he whirls back around and slaps me across the face so hard I stumble and barely catch myself from falling to the floor.

I deserve that. I deserve every angry word, every harsh blow. I deserve it because I failed him. I lied to him. But Father has never…never…

A flash of something in my mind. An image that’s blurry and quick, barely there. I see Father, or I think it’s Father. This man is taller, looming over me. A strange, swirling darkness where his face should be. His hand raised, he leans forward and wrenches on my scalp. I hear a small cry and then it’s gone. A memory? No. Father has never hit me before. Not until this very moment. I’ve never given him a reason to.

“You know I have to punish you for this?”

I can feel Eli’s smirk, how he practically vibrates with glee. “Yes, Father.”

“And you’ll take your punishment like a good boy, won’t you? To prove to me how sorry you are?”

“Yes, Father.” I resign myself to my fate, but as Father’s eyes flit behind me and land on Eli, I suddenly feel the urge to protest. Deliberately, he gestures for Eli to move forward and the bigger man comes to stand at Father’s side, looking at me like a piece of meat to be savagely devoured. He’s still smirking, and in so many ways that smirk reminds me of Hollow’s. And yet it couldn’t be more different. Hollow’s smirk has a certain playfulness, a certain ease. Eli’s is all hunger and rage.

Father watches, daring me to object. To give him reason for further discipline. I remain still and silent, knowing full well what’s about to happen.

“Leave his face,” Father says to him.

I only have a moment to close my eyes before Eli’s big fist crashes hard into my stomach, knocking me to my knees. I won’t show weakness. I won’t allow him to hear me cry out in pain. I’ve trained myself for this, for withstanding pain and punishment. In Father’s service, I’ve experienced far worse than Eli could ever force upon me.

He stalks forward as I get back to my feet, reaching out to grab a fistful of my hair. I allow him to do it. I won’t fight back. I promised Father I wouldn’t. Even though this humiliation is like burning hot coals pressed to my skin. Even though I’m at war with my every instinct to fight back, to shove him off and put him in his place.

Eli wrenches me forward, fingers embedded in the roots of my hair, and throws me face first to my knees. From there, he rears back and slams his booted foot hard against my ass so I fall to my side in the aisle. I attempt to right myself from the vulnerable position but Eli again brings his boot down, this time into my stomach. I barely withhold a choke as the wind is knocked out of me.

A boot between my legs sends my world into a blinding white light of pain, my balls shooting into my stomach as I gasp aloud. Damn him. Damn him. He got a reaction despite my best attempts to suppress it.

It’s as if hearing me cry out opens up a dam inside of him. He becomes more intense, more intent on drawing noises from me. His blows rain down with potent emphasis, more pointed in their strikes, more efficient in their placement. Eli situates himself on top of me, slamming his fists into my sides, my arms, my stomach, my legs. Anywhere but my face, as Father directed. No, he needs my face to be pretty so I can at least retain some usefulness.

He rises then and takes me with him, lifting me by my battered right arm and flinging me against the pews a few feet to our left. I hit the solid wood with a resounding crack, my head slamming hard before I again sag to the floor.

I recognize the irony in my body being tossed around like a rag doll. I think Eli does as well. If this were a fair fight, I’d destroy him. He knows this. I know it. But as it stands, I won’t fight back. So he takes his time in hurting me. In taking out his anger, his resentment, on whatever bit of skin he can reach.

I can’t help but notice the bulge in his pants, the way he shifts my body to rub against it in between beatings. I wonder if Father notices as well. If he does, he doesn’t say anything. Just watches as I take hit after hit, blow after blow. All in penitent silence. Finally, after several long minutes and Eli’s bloodied knuckles on my bruised and broken skin, Father holds up a hand for reprieve. Eli straightens immediately and extricates himself from where I lie unmoving, bleeding, battered. I know by the sharp stabbing in my chest that likely a rib or two has been cracked or broken. A few of my fingers as well, crushed under Eli’s heel. But I refuse to show any pain. As I sit up, Father’s brow creases. He bends to his knees, runs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. I taste blood and the salt of his skin. A split lip. Eli went for the face after all.

“I told you to leave his face,” Father admonishes.

“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to. I must have slipped.”

“Tsk.” Father brushes the blood away and wipes it on his robes, the red disappearing into the black. He says nothing else to Eli then, eyes only for me. “We will get this organization back under control, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.” My voice is suddenly a hoarse grate as it escapes. As though being beaten within an inch of my life took its toll on my throat as well as my body.

“Your friend Hollow has done more than just murder our dear Sebastian, did you know that?” He’s back on his feet now, staring down at me with crossed arms and an expression like murder.

I only barely manage to shake my head, the crick in my neck almost unbearable. “Another one of my suppliers in Charlotte informed me that our warehouse was broken into last week. Several of my dealers were murdered. They suspected an inside job, someone loyal to the Operation. But Eli has confirmed the face on the security cameras. It was him.”

My stomach roils. I feel I might be sick.

“Do you have any idea what this will cost us? The loss of product, the destruction of the warehouse, the murder of my men? My reputation has been severely damaged and now this man , this wolf in sheep’s clothing thinks to usurp me, to steal one of my businesses and take the profit for himself. And by withholding this from me, you’ve allowed it to happen. What worse might have happened if Eli hadn’t come to me?”

“I’m so sorry, Father,” I grit out.

“I know you are, my love. But that won’t right the wrong. It won’t rid me of this problem, will it? No. The only way we can fix this is to end Hollow. You’ve already proven you’re able to infiltrate his inner circle. And I’m sure you’re eager to find your way back into my good graces. So. It has to be you. You will go back to Club Orpheus. You’ll ask for an audience with Hollow. Tell him whatever you need to tell him to get him alone. Seduce him. Take it as far as it needs to go. And when he’s pliant and vulnerable and eating out of your hand, you’ll kill him. Won’t you, my sweetheart?”

I swallow. Of course I will. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to fix this. I won’t ask any further questions, listen to anything Hollow tries to say. None of it matters. Because he’s hurt Father. He’s jeopardized the Operation. Stolen profit and put us all at risk.

Nothing else matters but setting things right. So I’ll do whatever Father asks of me. To fix my mistake.I nod, my gaze falling from his eyes. It’s too painful to see the disappointment that lurks within. More painful than Eli’s beatings could ever be.

“I’ll leave you to collect yourself,” Father says, his voice soft but not without the hint of a warning. “Eli, with me.”

The soft tread of his feet resounds in the echoing space like a cacophony, beating in time with my aching heart.

“You have two days, Killian. I hope you won't disappoint me again.”