Fear the Wicked Read online

  They'd complained about the marks being in visible places, but once I was seated within the heat of their bodies, those complaints fell away on sated voices, quieted down as sensual moans crawled up to flow from their mouths.

  If I wasn't careful, I would break another before too long.

  And this one reminded me of precious Annabelle.

  "I was hoping you would buy me a drink first," she answered, breathless.

  My laughter was a beat against her ear. "I don't buy drinks for sluts. Don't buy them dinner and I don't buy them jewelry. All I do is show them the good time they're after."

  She tried to move away, tried to shuffle out from beneath my weight, but I caged her against the wall when my hand slammed against the plaster at the side of her head. My other hand gripped over her hip. "Where are you going? I thought you wanted to play?"

  Our chests collided together with the force of her breathing. No longer turned on, the little thing was now frightened. But wasn't that what happens when you approach strange men? Wasn't that the consequence of following them into shadows where no other person can see if he's stolen you away?

  "I want to leave," she said, her voice choked off by the very thing that fed my monster. I ran the tip of my nose along her jawline, my body hard against hers, demanding and strong.

  "That's too bad," I crooned. "Guess you should have listened when you were told not to talk to strangers."

  "Jacob! Man, come on! Go take that fucking piss you're after and let's go! This place is bullshit."

  Alan's voice rolled through the narrow hall, his steps down the interior growing louder as he rounded the corner. The little bitch beneath me screamed.

  "Let me go!"

  She fought, her hands pressed to my chest, but she wasn't anywhere near strong enough to push me away. "Get the hell off of me."

  "Jacob?"

  My head spun to my right, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips to see Alan approaching.

  He paused mid-step. "Let her go, man. She asked nicely."

  "Did she?" I turned my head back to where she was pressed against the wall. "I don't remember hearing you say please."

  A tear slipped down her cheek, her fingernails embedding themselves into my t-shirt where she was still trying to claw at me and force me away. "Let me go," she begged.

  "I only asked for one word."

  "Jacob," Alan warned, "seriously. Let the nice lady walk away. We need to leave."

  Ignoring him, I pressed my chest tighter against her hands, my breath ragged at the drag of her claws over my shirt. Those nails would feel like heaven down my back.

  Keeping my voice low enough that only she could hear, I spoke to her with humor and disgust weaved within my tone. "There were two women in this world that wouldn't cower and cry when my attention was on them. They understood a man like me. Craved me until it ended them. They were everything and nothing at all, and with them I could have fun. I could play and bask in the beauty of their bodies. But you? You are so fucking boring to a man like me. Quite frankly, taking a piss will be more fulfilling and memorable. Now take the fuck off, sweetheart, and be careful about the next man you approach for a good time."

  Pushing away from the wall, I didn't bother tracking her path as she ran. My hand was pushing open the bathroom door when Alan's voice sounded at my back. "Was that really necessary? What the hell did you do to her?"

  "She asked me to buy her a drink," I answered, pulling myself out to relieve my bladder into the urinal. The stream had just hit the porcelain when I added, "and I was teaching her not to talk to strangers."

  "Seriously, Jacob. You're scaring the shit out of me. I understand a little slap and tickle in the bedroom like we used to do to the chicks in college, but you've gone over the edge. What if she runs to the cops?"

  Shrugging a shoulder, I drip dried and shoved myself back into my pants. The zipper pulled up easily as I turned. "I didn't do anything illegal."

  He rolled his eyes and threw an arm around my shoulder. Opening the door, he led me into the hall, his hold tight like he was concerned I'd run away. Laughter was a soft edge to his voice. "I don't know what happened in that church of yours, but you've lost your damn mind. We're going to a new place. Hopefully we can get out without the authorities chasing after us."

  EVE

  Dreams plagued me the night after the ceremony. Elijah's face rippling above the surface of turbulent water. The soft touch of his hand as he bathed me after finding me collapsed over a sprawling lawn. His voice a seductive song whispering to me of beauty and goodness, until it slipped back again into the shadows that crawled across my skin.

  One man and then the other. The same face but different personalities, all wrapped up into one beautiful body so full of power that it burned me sometimes just to look at him.

  The images kept spinning. A tumultuous storm raging across still waters. Left and then right, up and then down, I was tossed every direction as I fought to grasp on to one simple truth I knew I'd missed.

  Jacob or Elijah.

  A soft hand or a heavy fist.

  I didn't understand the names or my purpose. It made me feel even weaker to be so confused all the time. The doubts were circling sharks surrounding a small island only large enough to hold me above water.

  He told me I would grow into the perfect wife for him. Was I even strong enough to help lead people into the light?

  I didn't know, and when the storm raged inside me, when I opened my mouth to scream just to relieve myself of the pain, I opened my eyes to see the birth of sunlight over a distant horizon, the ephemeral glow of a new day sitting just outside the window.

  His body heat was beside me, but I couldn't turn to him, couldn't move because of the manner in which I'd been bound. There was no telling how long he'd hold me here, how long he'd deny me food, how hard he'd laugh at me when I asked to go to the bathroom.

  He wasn't the same person. Not this man. Not him.

  And yet, I never wanted him to go away.

  "Go back to sleep, Eve."

  "I had a nightmare," I admitted on a weak, sleepy voice.

  "I'm not worried about your nightmare. Go back to sleep."

  "You were two different people."

  The mattress moved beneath me then, his weight crushing it down at my side so low that my body shifted and the bindings tightened over my wrists. I didn't understand why he insisted on keeping me bound now that I was brought back here. He'd never insisted on it before.

  I braced for whatever he intended to do, but it wasn't necessary. He simply reached up to undo my binds. Once I was free, he turned me to him and tucked my cheek against his chest.

  For the first time in what felt like weeks, my body relaxed against him.

  "Tell me about the dream," he asked, his voice soft but for the hint of concern.

  Shifting through what I could remember, I shook my head against his chest. "It's all just bits and pieces. There's a storm and then there's you ... but it's not you. I don't know how else to explain it."

  "How am I different?"

  He was using the soothing voice, a sultry pure that pulled all those in the room into his orbit. It was like he was singing, a ballad or the slow beat of blues. It was a perfectly timed rhythm, a low pitch used just right that connected you to him just by the vibration it caused inside you. It was the voice he'd used on me the first night we spent in his cabin.

  "You're -" My voice died off, my thoughts a jumble except for that one nagging whisper telling me something wasn't right. "I don't know, Elijah. I'm sorry."

  "It's all right. You'll figure it out, and as soon as you do you'll tell me, right?"

  When I nodded, he kissed me on the head. "Just be sure you do, sweet girl. We wouldn't want the demons getting to you."

  JACOB

  (Six months later)

  There's nothing quite like the wind blowing against your face. A blanket of tranquility, it wraps over every dip and angle, settles into the hollows of your cheeks, lea
ves a gentle kiss on the forehead and chin just like my mom used to do when I was young.

  She always kissed my brother and I after our father was done forcing our repentance. Never stepping in because the man was in charge of the castle, she’d sat back and watched him purge us of sin.

  The memories had come back to me slowly, a small piece of the puzzle that explained Eve and what Jericho had made of her.

  But I knew there had to be more, only because I hadn’t become the same kind of monster.

  Sitting twenty-two stories high, on a ledge overlooking the frenetic rush of life beneath my feet, I watched the city where I grew up. Obscured by shadow, I doubted anybody could see where I sat. Had I been a kid, I would have felt like a super hero standing guard against evil. But I was an adult, and in the years I'd lived, I realized the evil I should be worried about was me.

  Two lives. Two beautiful souls that were bright stars among a constellation of the mean-spirited and ordinary, they were a rarity. In my life before this hell, I would have called them a blessing.

  Two streets south of me, and three buildings to the left stood the cathedral I'd attended my entire life. With a peaked roof and large, ornate stairways leading directly from the street to God's door, it was a bastion of light, a spectacle that must have cost the Diocese a fortune. Its bells played short hymns every hour, its bevy of large wooden front doors a welcome mat for the weak and weary.

  In the years that Jericho and I had attended it, the parish managed to become our Hell.

  I'd watched it all day from so high up the parishioners resembled ants.

  After spending nine months at Alan's place, I'd run through as many women as it took to get past Eve's death. And although I was no longer reliving it every time I closed my eyes, a slow montage of destruction that chased me from my bed, I was just barely balanced.

  Any strong gust could come along and blow me right over, any sweet sprinkle of rain could wash me down into whatever churning river would ferry me straight to Satan’s gates.

  There was no place for me to run this time, no escape that could protect me from the world, or protect the world from me. God himself couldn't save me now. He'd tried. He'd failed. And all because of one person.

  Sex could no longer appease me. Ravaging some woman as she screamed and moaned could no longer let me pretend that everything would be okay. Vengeance was the steady pulse inside my heart, the black shadow over my eyes and the caustic veil that smothered me day in and day out until I promised myself to take it.

  But first, I needed to understand why.

  Yes, Jericho had laughed at the repeated question. He'd mocked me and scorned me, told me to enjoy the ride I never wanted. But for as much hatred as I held for him, for as much I wanted to throw my hands up and sink into oblivion without ever thinking of that small, rural town again, why was the question ceaselessly whispering in my head.

  What had I done to make my twin brother want to destroy me so thoroughly? Why had it brought him so much pleasure to sacrifice Eve’s life to me?

  The only trail I had to follow was our past, the only breadcrumbs left behind were those rooted in the city where we had parted ways as brothers, only to come back together in life as enemies.

  The first question I needed answered wasn't why my brother had set out to hurt me, it was why had he gone mad?

  The answers wouldn't be found in the small town where he was known as Elijah, they would be found in a large, turbulent city where he was raised as Jericho Hayle, a devout Catholic boy who, for reasons I didn't yet know, had been scorned by the faith he'd once held so dearly.

  I would have those answers, but first I had to gather the courage to walk in through the parish's doors, to humble the beast inside me just long enough to pretend like I had any faith left at all.

  A large cross lifted into the sky above a building designed to express the glory of the Almighty, and behind it shone the lights of a city in which Jericho and I had once thrived.

  Would the good little girls recognize me now that they were mothers and wives?

  Would I be able to control the violence inside me just long enough to get what I needed before heading back to that small town in the heart of the Appalachians?

  I wasn't sure of any of those answers. The only thing I knew was I had to try.

  Hopping off the ledge – toward the roof and not the streets below – I angled my head into the breeze that was blowing and tried to steady the beat of my heart for where I knew I had to go.

  Back to the city. Back to parish that I’d once run from screaming. And back to a family home that now stood bleak and empty after my parents both died without either of their children giving enough of a damn to return in time to say goodbye.

  ELIJAH

  Dull. Boring. Quiet and so antagonizingly slow. Life as rural priest was the epitome of living Hell. The parish was deafening in its silence, a low static hum of white noise filtered through my ears, the whir of ceilings fans in small rooms, the tranquility of a mortuary that was full of the dead.

  Several times, I'd considered returning to the compound just to entertain the family with my sermons and healings. Several times, I'd inflicted pain on the only companion I had, just to appease my curious mind. And several times, I'd been met with Eve's insistence that I wasn't one man, but two.

  No matter how I tried to prod her, she couldn't give me more than that simple statement.

  The recognition inside her was unsettling, to say the least, but it wasn't yet dangerous. I had ways of clouding her mind.

  Leaning back in a scuffed wooden pew, I lifted my feet to rest atop the pew in front of me. The altar and pulpit were in my direct line of sight, the large stained glass windows a beautiful wash of color to behold on a cool, spring morning. The day was still young, and I sat in wait wondering if any of the men I'd invited to witness Eve's cleansings would return today to discuss their final opinions of what they'd seen.

  Richard wouldn't arrive from the compound until early afternoon and I reclined back with my hand behind my head, contemplating how long it would take to have the entire town under my wing.

  Word had gotten around about the poor woman possessed by the demon of lust. But it hadn't crawled far, only a few men knew what occurred during the meetings, and they've kept their mouths shut, save for the friends they knew would remain silent as well.

  Farmers could be a bloodthirsty lot when you threatened the livelihood of their families. In the time that I'd become Father Jacob Hayle, two foreclosures had been filed, two banks opening their wide mouths ready to swallow the land and small profits of two families that had nothing left to give.

  The head of those families came to the meetings, witnessed the lust that couldn't be driven out of a woman despite the pain she suffered, and within the stress addled state of their weary minds, they'd believed Eve was infected with something we couldn't see or name.

  A door opened at my back, the hinges creaking ever so slightly in warning. I lowered my legs and twisted in my seat to find Gentry Holmes walking toward me.

  Silver hair speckled with black pepper, he wasn't yet fully grey, but was getting closer, day by day. Gentry was a proud man, that fact evident in his strong shoulders, stick straight posture, and a swagger that spoke of hard work in Mother Nature's harshest weather. He had a steely gaze, the dark brown of his eyes focused and attentive, but today a shadow crossed his face. Gentry's lips were pulled into a taut line, his large, callused hands gripped into fists at his sides.

  Either I was in a bit of trouble for what he witnessed last night, or something else was brewing on the horizon that he felt it necessary for God's intervention.

  What he didn't know is that the God he'd always prayed to had left the building, and I'd replaced Him with every intention of finally seeing to the needs of His forgotten people.

  On my feet, I offered a hand in greeting. "Mr. Holmes. It's a pleasure to see you again. What brings you out so early in the morning?"

  "Bank called,"
he announced gruffly.

  Ah, I thought, another land owner in need.

  "Let's take a seat, Mr. Holmes, and discuss your problem." Giving him a sympathetic smile, I fought not to let my expression reveal my true thoughts. Once a man's livelihood is challenged, he's much more receptive to intervention - even if such intervention goes against what he would normally do in his life. Gentry was an esteemed member of the community, but it was his brother - Sheriff James Holmes - that interested me more.

  Seating himself in a pew, Gentry's expression shadowed with concern. I leaned on the back of the pew in front of him, my legs crossed at the ankles, my hands clasped loosely over my thighs. "Tell me the trouble you're facing."

  "Crops have been low," he mumbled, his eyes not meeting mine due to the shame he felt to face losing his farm. It wasn't easy on a man's pride to accept failure, to believe that his ability to care for his family has been lost to him. "I fell behind in mortgage payments, did everything I could to catch up, but without the proper weather-"

  His voice trailed off, his palms scrubbing over his face as he pondered what he could do to save not only his farm but his pride. "That property has been in my family for generations. All the way back to my great grandfather. The only reason I had to mortgage it was to pay for several failed seasons." Glancing up at me, his normally sharp gaze was dulled by worry. "I can't let the property go. It's my son's future."

  Patience, Elijah...Don't jump too quickly.

  "Tell me what the parish can do to help. Is it prayers you're seeking? Comfort, perhaps, that God has a plan?"

  Gentry's forehead wrinkled, his eyes glaring up at me in part question, part anger. "I want to know about what you showed us last night with that woman. Are there really-"

  He scrubbed his hand over his face again, modern day reality warring with his spiritual beliefs. "Are there really demons, Father?"