Page 103 of Ruthless Intent

“I can’t stop now. I have to see this through.”

I push to my feet. “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, so that’s what I’m gonna need from you, brother. Your forgiveness for what I’m doing. But it’s the only way I can get answers. I swear to you, it’s the only way.”

I brush my fingers lightly over the gravestone marking my best friend’s resting place.

“There isn’t a day where I don’t miss you. Both of you, and your kid. Your son or daughter would have been thirteen now. I bet you wouldn’t have stopped at one, either. You’d both have been waist deep in babies. I wish that had happened for you.” I press my fingers to my lips then down on the engraving of his name. “I love you, brother.”

Turning my back on the grave, I head toward the path and my car. Inside, I cross my arms across the steering wheel, rest my forehead against them, and close my eyes.

I’m so fucking tired. Who’d have thought it would be so hard to sleep once you were no longer inside a cell?

A rap on the window startles me, and I look up to find a man standing there. I wind down the window.

“Can I help you?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.” His voice is low, almost gentle.

“I’m good, thanks. Why do you ask?”

“Because you have the demeanor of someone who is carrying a heavy weight.”

I look closer. He’s wearing a dark shirt and a pair of black pants. There’s a white collar around his throat.

I dredge up a smile. “Thank you, father. I’m okay.”

“Are you, son?”

“I don’t feel the need to confess and repent my sins.”

“I wasn’t asking you to do that. Why don’t you take a walk with me?”

“A walk?”

“It’s a nice day, and walking around the grounds is a lot more pleasant with company.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but I still have time to waste, so I shove it down, and get out of the car. The priest smiles at me.

“I’m Father Michael.”

“Zain.”

“I recognize you.”

Tension zips up my spine.

Is this a ploy to try and talk me into confessing the sins he thinks I’ve committed?

“Your mom helps out with the soup kitchen every couple of weeks.”

“She’s a good person.”

“She is. Come. This way.” He waves a hand to one of the paths leading deeper into the cemetery. “I assume you're here visiting your friends?”

I nod.

“I wasn’t here when they died, but I like to know about all the souls who reside in my cemetery.”

That seems a little weird to me, but I keep my mouth shut.

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