Page 4 of Daddy's Sinner

Once I’m out of the shower, I finish packing, uncertain when—or if—I’ll ever return to Georgia.

I gather my things carefully, selecting each item with a purpose. My battered, stained Bible, too marked by sin to still be called pure. A silver crucifix and a wooden rosary. A few weapons, just in case. I fold my clothes on top—a couple of black pants, a black button-down, a pair of jeans, and four shirts. I’m not planning on staying any longer than necessary. Happy with everything packed, I zip up the leather bag and get ready to once again leave behind the only home I’ve ever known.

The cold air hits me as I step outside, my breath forming little clouds in front of me like ghosts. I tighten my grip on the bag and sling it over my shoulder. I climb into my old Chevy, the one the church gave me for missions like this. My real car is in the garage of my small home. I grin and can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement for what’s ahead.

In just a few hours, I would be in her town. But I must remain focused; this world is in dire need of purification, I remind myself, gripping the steering wheel. And I’m the one chosen to cleanse it. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, mixing with the cold air that seeps through the car’s vents.

But why does it feel different this time? Why do I feel this unease creeping into my mind?Focus.I shake off the doubt. This is what I was trained for. Still, the thought of Marisol lingers, a ghost in my mind, haunting me just like the puffs of breath that now fade into the morning air.

I push the thought away, turning the key in the ignition. This is my mission. My duty. The engine roars to life, and I set off, fully committed to fulfilling my role, whatever it may bring.

The drive is long, dust kicking up under the tires of my old truck as I speed down the empty highway. The sunset splashed orange and pink across the deepening blue sky. Taos is up ahead quaint on the outside, but at its core is Victor Morales, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’ve spent the past year learning about this town, its people, and the twisted cult he controls. Now, I’m ready.

His compound is near the mountains, full of people just like him. They all need to be cleansed, and I’m here to deliver their absolution. It’s a shame, really—this beautiful native community is overrun with demons. But that’s okay. I’ll help them all. Most importantly, I’ll finally get to see her.Marisol.

My burner phone rings—the only one I’m allowed to use for conversations withhim. The sound snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance at the screen before pressing the phone to my ear.

“Are you already on your way to Taos?” His voice is sharp and demanding.

I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. That bastard always has a way of making me feel like a child, micromanaging me as if I’m some child. “What do you think? You said I needed to be there before Monday. Did you not?”

The line goes silent. I can almost see the scowl on his face, and I smirk at the thought. Right on cue, he mutters, “Insolent boy.” The man is nothing if not consistent. I always know what to expect from him. “I’m onmy way to Taos. The sinner will be taken care of by the end of the month,” I reply, my voice flat and cold.

Another pause. “It won’t be as easy as you think. This isn’t just some nobody. He has a following. The demon has spread his plague through that Godforsaken town.”

My grip tightens even more.Does he think I don’t know that?That I haven’t researched who Victor Morales is? The bastard is a pedophile, a sick sexual sadist. The Church of Eden is hell on earth. I know I could make this an easy purge, but I can’t. Even if I kill him, there’ll be another to replace him, and the cult will continue. I have to rescue the innocent, those poor women and young girls who are raped and used as breeding mares. But more than anything, I have to save her. The woman in the picture. The woman with the sad smile. His Dove... his daughter, Marisol.

“Matheo?” His voice cuts through my thoughts, dragging me back to the present.

“What do we do with the women and children? We can’t just rid ourselves of the demon and leave his hell open for others to walk into,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but there's a tremor there. The thought of abandoning them and letting the next monster twist more innocent lives gnaws at me. I’ve always had a soft spot for kids with shitty backgrounds. And with what I’ve learned, most of the women were born into that cult, trapped in a cycle of abuse. But I’ll stop that. I have to.

He tsks on the other end, a sound that sends a wave of frustration and anger through me. “Dispose of them. All of them,” he says, his voice dripping with cold, unfeeling disdain.

“I’m not doing that,” I snap, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, imagining it’s his neck under my fingers.

“Now is not the time to play saint, boy. That town is littered with children from that cult. Do you not understand that?”

I suck my lips into my mouth, biting down hard until I taste blood, the metallic tang grounding me. “You said I was born with the rot to recognize it. I’m not killing anyone who doesn’t deserve it. I know what I’m doing.”

He sighs, but it’s more of an annoyed grunt. “Get rid of them before you end up like the last priest. Sinners are sinners. It doesn’t change that fact.”

My blood runs cold, but I force myself to stay calm. Typical Guzman. Always so damn righteous. He thinks he knows everything and thinks he’s untouchable. But I’ve got my own plans, my own ways to deal with this mess. “Isn’t that why you spared me, Father Guzman?” I say, my voice sharper now, cutting through the silence on the line. “Because I was a child, born from sin? Full of her evil and your rot? Isn’t that why you saved me from the demon and showed me the way? So, I can deliver penance. So, I can recognize the rot?”

There’s a pause, thick and heavy. I can almost picture him, seething, trying to keep his cool. His silence says more than his words ever could, and it gives me a twisted sense of satisfaction.

“Don’t push me, boy,” he finally says, his voice low and threatening. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

I roll my eyes, the gesture lost on him but satisfying all the same. “Oh, I remember, alright. Trust me, I remember every damn thing you’ve ever done.” I take a breath, glancing at the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see his shadow lurking behind me. “But here’s the thing, Father. I’m not that scared little kid anymore. You don’t control me. Not now, not ever.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Matheo,” he warns, but there’s a hint of something else in his voice now—uncertainty, maybe even fear. “You think you can defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I don’t think,” I snap back, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I know. And when this is over, when Victor and his twisted church are nothing but ashes, we’re done. You won’t have any hold over me.”

He goes silent, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out his next move. The car's Bluetooth hums softly, filling the space with static. I glance at the empty road ahead, illuminated by my headlights, but instead of waiting for his next words. I decide that I should speak because fuck him right.

“Father Guzman, you taught me how to fight demons. You just never realized I’d learn to fight the one that created me.”

The silence on the other end feels heavier now, like he’s weighing his options, his next play. I can almost hear his teeth grinding, his jaw clenching. “You’re making a mistake, Matheo,” he finally says, his voice low, trying to regain control. “You think you can just walk away? After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve given you?”

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