Page 30 of Be My Sacrifice

“Very poetic, Dinah. We should go, for we have dallied long enough.” Sarah’s calm voice greets my ears, and a grin crosses my lips at her now calm demeanor.

“Have the other houses been hit and messages left?” I question as I wipe my hands along her pretty curtains. I doubt she really cares. She won’t be returning here ever again after tonight. No, the plan is for her to play her pitiful, traumatized Sacred Wife role, and infiltrate other Brotherhood houses. No one in the Order would suspect her involvement here, and when she’s found terrified and tied up in her locked bedroom, it will further proclaim her innocence.

“All eight of them. Tonight, the Brotherhood loses a large number of its members in one fell swoop to theUnholy Ghost. It will have them all panicking and fearing for their lives and safety.”

“Good, let’s go get my nephew.”

Chapter nineteen

The Forsaker

Zeke

Myfatherstormsintothe dining room, his clothing in disarray, emerald eyes near to popping out of his skull, and his mouth foaming like a rabid dog.Jesus fuck, what could have happened to him to have him looking like that?The deranged asshole looks like he’s seen the end of the world. My mother tries to rise from the table demurely to greet him, but he backhands her so hard that she crashes against the server with a sharp cry before crumpling to the floor.

“Get away from me, you whore!” He shoves past her and slams the palms of his hands against the solid wood table, rattling all the dishes and forcing the coffee in my cup to spill, while the staff looks on in terror.What a fucking waste.

“Was that really necessary? Did you have to spill the fucking coffee?” I question with agitation, disregarding my mother’s scathing glare for not coming to her rescue. Fuck her, I don’t give a shit if he snaps her useless neck right in front of me. I remember how she treated Dinah at my wedding and afterward. She’s on her fucking own.

“COFFEEE! You’re worried about me spilling the coffee?” He swats his hand against my mug, making it fly across the table, and it slides right off the edge with a clattering bang. “Nine prominent Brotherhood estates were hit last night, and all nine Order members are dead, Ezekiel! DEAD! Including Peter Mercier!” He grabs onto the front of my shirt with rage and yanks me towards him, until I can smell his rank breath.

Holy fuck, Peter’s dead?Nine houses, all targeted at once, how is that even possible? I force my face to remain shuttered, refusing to give him any of my thoughts while inside my whole body is panicking, and the hairs on my arms are standing on end. I have to stay calm and not react to anything he says. I need to gather information. This could be useful to Sammy and me in our escape.

“Do you know what all nine of those houses had in common, Ezekiel? Besides dead Order members, eh? They all had messages written in blood, left by theUnholy fucking Ghost,and all of those men were found with their own severed cocks shoved in their mouths. TheGhost’ssignature, if you remember. The only ones left alive were women, that is, the ones who didn’t fucking escape and flee for their lives while their male relatives died!”

His fists tighten, and I hear the material of my shirt tearing as he shakes me. “That’s not even possible because, as you know, son, you fucking killed her! TheGhostis dead!”

I grasp onto his clenched fingers and squeeze tightly until he releases me from his manic hold. “So someone is out there pretending to be her. A copycat.” My heart pounds in my chest as the sound of my blood rushes in my ears with all the adrenaline racing through my system. It’s as if someone has pumped a shit ton of cocaine into my veins. Who would do that? Rebels? Could this be Abe helping the rebels? I know it can’t be Dinah, because I watched the light leave her eyes as she died in front of me.

“One would think that to be the case, except for the grotesque fucking message left specifically addressed to me at Peter’s house, written in his blood, next to his bludgeoned body that was pinned to the fucking wall by his wrists!”

Curiosity and disbelief fill me, at the thought that someone is out there bravely playing psychological warfare with my father. Don’t get me wrong, the cunt deserves it and so much more, but them pretending to be my Snow will have deadly consequences. “What did the message say?”

My father pulls out his phone, one of the few left in this world and only available to high-ranking members, and reads the words to me in a furious voice: “If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment, I will render vengeance to mine enemies and will reward them that hate me. You took something of mine; say your prayers, Noah; I’m coming for you.”

Deuteronomy.Whoever this is is quoting the old Bible and choosing their messages carefully, just like Dinah did. It’s clever, very clever, but also very dangerous. The part about taking something of theirs has to refer to either Sammy or Gabe’s son, or it could reference me, maybe all three. Could this be Abe? Could Abe have somehow convinced the rebels to work with him, and pretend that theUnholy Ghostis still alive and killing off members of the Brotherhood? It would make the most sense. He had intimate knowledge of how Dinah left the bodies.

Excitement and hope briefly fill me at the possibility, before my father’s hand latches onto my throat and squeezes tightly, trapping the air inside my lungs. “I see those cogs turning inside your manipulative brain, Ezekiel. If this is Abe, I will have him beheaded and his body put on a stake in the center of the city, so all can bear witness to what happens when you dare go against the Order.”

“Why… would… Abe,” I begin to choke, and he loosens his hold so I can get a wisp of air, “kill Peter?”

A throaty laugh leaves my father’s lips before he releases his grip completely. “There was never any love between Peter and Abraham, just like there is none between you and I. You both were demon spawns that we should have suffocated when you took your first breaths. Neither of you were ever fit to lead the Brotherhood or inherit our titles.”

My mother makes a sound of horror and dismay at his callous words, and he rears his foot back and kicks her hard in the stomach, forcing her to gasp for breath and huddle in the fetal position pathetically, as I roll my eyes at his violent behavior.

Geez, Dad, tell me how you really feel.If he thinks he’s drawing blood with his words, he’s wrong. I have never genuinely given a shit that he doesn’t care for me as a father should a son. I have always been a means to an end, someone for him to attempt to control—my only value is in how he can best grow his power at my expense. I have no doubt that my father has wanted me dead for a long time, just like I want him dead.

“If this Ghost comes for me, Ezekiel, just know that I will slit that guard’s throat and have that boy put to death, before they can ever lay a finger on me.”

He crouches down by my mother, digging his fingers into her scalp and pulling a gasp from her lips. “Sarah Mercier was found tied up and battered at the house. She will need to be cared for, and I don’t want her to fall into the Holy Father’s hands. Get up, you sniveling whore, and make sure that she either comes to stay with us, or in the house of someone we control. Do not fail me, Esther, or I will become a widower just like our son.”

With his final viperous words, he storms out of the room, knocking things down in his wake. My mother stumbles to her feet with one of the maids’ assistance, her glare meeting mine before she shuffles from the room in my father’s footsteps, leaving me with my chaotic thoughts.

My father doesn’t realize what he has just done. What storming in here, raging and threatening me, has done. He doesn’t realize how he has sparked a flicker of hope within me once again, hope that was diminishing, wasting away every single day since the day I took her life and lost everything that I loved.

Hope is a powerful entity; it springs from nothing but creeps into all the tiny crevices within you. It douses those slowly rotting places you thought were utterly lost forever to the darkness within your soul with light—a blinding light, much like the touch of sunlight on winter dormant plants during early spring. It urges them to revive and come back to life, with promises that they will once again bloom. I will once again bloom, breathe, and love.

My idiotic, temperamental, and power-hungry father has brought me hope. With that little sliver reigniting all the parts of me that I thought would be forever lost with my actions. He has spurred me on once again, making my heart beat strongly once more in my chest, and giving me my first deep breath in weeks that doesn’t feel like it’s weighed down by lead.

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