Page 32 of Be My Sacrifice

Did I drink one bottle or two last night?I wonder if there is anything left in one of those strewn around the room. I could use a little hair of the dog to help with the nauseating drums currently beating in my head. “I need to piss, asshole.”

One of his dark eyebrows rises dramatically at my statement, which I have no fucking clue why I uttered, other than I am obviously still more inebriated than I thought. “Did you need me to hold up that fucking python while you do it, so you don’t piss all over yourself or the floor?” He questions with a devilish smirk across his face.

I glare daggers at him as I force my body up off the bed with a groan, and take a stumbling step toward the ensuite bathroom. “You’re not a fucking snake charmer, Ezekiel. You’re a rat that the snake preys on.”

“Just leave the fucking door open so I can talk to you through it, and just in case you end up sprawled on your back or smashing your face,” he calls, and I don’t hear the rest of the words that he mumbles while I manage to hold myself up in front of the toilet with one arm braced against the wall, questioning most of my life choices, and how I ended up here in this moment.

Fate really is a twisted cunt, most likely high on coke and playing viciously with my life. A groan escapes me as I finally do my business, and clue into the fact that while I did put on a shirt, I’m still completely naked from the waist down, and that fucker just got a great look at my junk.Dammit.

Maybe he’s right, and I should stop drinking. It’s not really doing me any favors. I’m still dreaming of Dinah repeatedly, even while fall-down drunk. She is still living exclusively in my head, a specter that won’t leave, ripping my heart out over and over, as memories of us together over the years play sadistic ping-pong with my mind. I can’t go on like this. I can’t continue to breathe with the pain of every single sharp breath, longing for her to return to me, which I know is impossible.

I look around the bathroom and groan, my neck tilting backward and inducing the spinning to become worse. Of course, there isn’t a single fucking towel in here, so I can hide my junk. That would be too easy.

I force myself to splash some water on my weary face, my eyes refusing to meet my reflection—the image of the man who failed to save Dinah wanting to stare back at me. When I reach for the hand towel to dry myself, I realize that, too, is gone.What, did all the towels have a party and disappear while I was drunk? What the hell.

Someone up there in that fake heaven is really having a great laugh at my expense. I shrug my wide shoulders back, doing my best to keep my head held high.Fuck it, he wants to get a good look at my cock, maybe I will stab him in the fucking eye with it.He’d have to be on his knees in front of you for you to achieve that,my mind cackles.

I stroll out of the bathroom, refusing to meet his gaze as I move toward the bed to get my pants. “As… much as I’m enjoying the view, and I am, for the record, I need you to cover your junk so we can get down to business.”

A grunt is all the answer he gets as I start to slip my legs through the pants, and a chuckle escapes his lips. I turn over my shoulder and glare menacingly at him, or at least what I hope is menacingly, because one of my eyes is starting to twitch. “What now, asswipe?”

He drags his large tattooed hand over his mouth, trying his best to hide his lascivious grin. “You have dimples.” He motions with his hand towards my back. “At the top of your ass. They’re fucking adorable.”

“You’re a perv, you know that?” I continue to do up my pants, finally releasing some of my tension now that I’m covered up from his observing gaze. Dimples my ass, well, fuck, I guess they are on my ass.Yup, no, not going there.I need coffee, a whole bucket of it, so I can sober the fuck up before I embarrass myself further. Maybe if I dunk my head in it, rather than drink it, it will speed up the process.

“What did you rush in here to wake me for, Ezekiel? Let’s stop with the stupid games and this sexual tension that you think is affecting me. I don’t want you, fucker, and I never will.” I look around the room, hoping that he’s brought coffee with him like he has every morning when he comes to irritate my ass, and make sure I didn’t drink myself to death overnight. I spy it on the side table and release a relieved breath as I head toward it, only to have him reach it first and pour me a cup from the silver carafe.

He holds the steaming mug of black goodness out to me, his green eyes meeting my blue ones, and I see hesitation, and what I think might actually be fear, in their depths. “Just tell me.”

“Someone pretending to be theUnholy Ghostattacked nine different Brotherhood estates last night, killing each of the Order members, severing and stuffing their cocks inside of their mouths, and leaving messages written in blood. One of them being Abe’s dad, Peter Mercier.”

A bomb goes off in my aching head at his words, and sound seems to disappear momentarily, being replaced with nothing but static, as my muddled brain tries desperately to process and comprehend his words. Someone is pretending to be my Nightstar?What. The. Fuck. Why?

“What? Ah, who? Why?” It’s as if my still intoxicated brain can’t get any of my jumbled thoughts processed fast enough, and my sentences come out incomplete and incoherent. The shock of his words are a blast of cold water against my senses, waking me up and chasing away the effects of the alcohol. He passes me the mug of coffee, and my hands tremble as I take it from him, spilling some of the hot liquid over my fingers.

“I don’t have much more information than that. My psycho of a father is on a rampage. He thinks the rebels are taking advantage of the situation, and that Abe might be leading them. He’s going after them, and he’s once again threatening to end your life and Gabe’s son’s life. We have to get the fuck out of here while he’s distracted.”

“What about the child? Have you had any luck with your contacts?” I question, rubbing my casted hand down my face and then taking a deep gulp of the hot coffee, which I immediately fucking regret because it scorches my mouth.FUCK!

“None, but we can no longer afford to wait here while we search for him. We need to escape tonight, before my dad gets it in his psychotic head to use us as bait, to draw out whoever is playing serial killer with him.”

“Okay, fuck. You better go get more coffee. I need to sober up fast.” I knock back the rest of the coffee and pass him my mug, as my mind whirls rapidly on all the possibilities, and the reality of what he just said. I wouldn’t put it past Noah Rothesay to do just that. “I’m going to need a gun, Ezekiel.”

“Already way ahead of you, it’s hidden under the tray with your eggs.”

Chapter twenty-one

The Sinner

Dinah

Afrustratedscreamleavesmy lips, as I pace back and forth outside of the old, crumbling wood barn that, at some point in time, must have housed horses. The faint smell of the animals still lingers, even though it looks like they have been long gone for a while. The silence and waning night reminds me that we can’t stay much longer, without risking everyone who’s with me on this fool’s errand. I’m a fucking idiot who fell for what could have been a disastrous trap.

The child is gone or was never here to begin with, and Peter Mercier played us for a fool even as he was dying.Asshole.If I could, I would bring him back to life, only to kill him a second time, even more painfully, for wasting our time and limited resources. I’m starting to feel like a weighed-down albatross is wrapping itself around my neck, slowly choking the life out of me.

After we murdered him and left the Mercier residence, Sarah stayed behind, tied up and playing the role of a convincing victim for the Brotherhood to find. The woman has a spine made of steel, and balls bigger than any man I have ever met. Abe and I took the men with us, and headed straight to the old Rothesay horse farm outside of the city, in hopes of finding my unknown nephew. Yet when we scoured every inch of this place, we found no evidence of anyone being here recently, and certainly no child and his mother awaiting a rescue. Frustration and rage are mounting inside of me, with all the lies and betrayals I am constantly facing. Will I survive or put the men I love in further danger? When will I see Sammy again? When I can finally rest, I am so bone-weary tired.

The muted sound of a twig snapping has me whirling around, gun drawn, and ready to take down anyone who tries to harm me, only to be confronted by Abe’s shocked face, and his hands rising at his sides in placation. “Easy, Atasi! It’s just me, baby.”

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