Page 36 of Daddy's Sinner

“How are things going?” he asks, his voice calm, collected, and fucking irritating.

“Still figuring out if I should just remove the tumor or eradicate the cancer,” I reply, my tone casual despite the storm brewing inside me.

He tsks, a sound that grates my nerves. “You need to burn that shithole of a church to the ground. Why haven’t you done that?”

I roll my eyes, biting back the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. It’s not like I can explain to him that I’ve gotten tangled up with the cult’s princess, and now all I want to do is save her. But the bastard knows me too well, knows my weakness.

“I hope you’re not falling for another pretty face and sad smile,” he says, his voice laced with venom. “Must I remind you of what happened with the last girl?”

My nostrils flare, and I clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack. “Don’t fucking go there,” I growl, my grip tightening on the phone.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, his tone now ice-cold. “And if you get burned again, I won’t be there to pull your sorry ass out of the flames. Get it done, or I’ll come there and finish the job myself. And trust me, you won’t like my methods.”

I pause, letting the threat hang between us like a noose. “Touch her, and I’ll make sure you’re the one burning,” I snap, my voice low and dangerous.

There’s a beat of silence, and I can almost hear the smirk on his face. “We’ll see,” he says, and the line goes dead.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the phone, my heart pounding in my chest. The anger coursing through me is white-hot, but underneath it, there’s something else—fear. Because I know he’s not bluffing.

This has to end, and it has to end my way. As I shove the phone back into my pocket, my thoughts drift back to Zia, to the last time I saw her. Something about that night has been gnawing at me, just out of reach. Then, like a cold splash of water, the realization hits me.

It was them—this fucking cult. Victor's church. The way Zia reacted when she saw them that night, the fear in her eyes—it should have been a dead giveaway. I should’ve known then. They must have followed me. And if they were following me, then they’d seen more than I’d like to admit.

A wave of unease washes over me as the truth sets in. I’ve been watched. My nightly activities, the things I thought were hidden, aren’t secrets anymore. They know. They’ve known for a while. The real question is how much do they know?

My fists clench at my sides as I piece it together. This isn’t just about Zia anymore—this is about survival. This has to end, and I need to do it before they get another step ahead.

My fists clench at my sides, my knuckles turning white with rage. I need to act quickly, to kill them all before they get any closer. There’s no room for error or failure. This town needs purification, and I need to get my little sinner far away from this godforsaken place.

The church looms ahead, dark and foreboding. I push open the heavy wooden doors, the creak echoing through the empty nave. Stepping inside, I feel the familiar chill of the church, the air thick with the scent of incense and something more sinister. But it’s not the church that makes me stop in my tracks—it’s the figure sitting in the dark, their silhouette barely visible in the dim light.

“Kind of late for a priest to be out and about,” the figure says, their voice low and taunting.

My jaw clenches. Through gritted teeth, I reply, “Some would say early, but the real question is, who are you? And what are you doing in my church?”

The man pulls down his hood, revealing a gash that runs from his eyebrow down to his lips. I grimace as he smiles.

“Nasty wound, isn’t it? I’m your ally, priest—if you can even be called that.”

I tsk, my hand slipping into my pocket, searching for the familiar feel of metal. One of us is about to die tonight, and I’d rather it be him.

“Don’t do anything hasty,” he warns. “I know why you’re here. While you’re here to kill Victor, I’m here to make sure you see it through. For Zia.”

His words halt my hand in my pocket, fingers frozen mere centimeters from the cool steel of my concealed blade.

“What do you know of Zia?” I growl, my voice echoing through the quiet church, a ghostly counterpoint to the whispers of our conversation.

He cocks his head. “She was my woman. She left to find her brother, and I followed her here. But I was greeted with a knife to the face and left to die—only to wake up and find the woman I love crucified.”

I sigh, still not lowering my guard. “I didn’t know she was your woman.”

He frowns. “We had broken up by the time you fucked her.” His eyes drift to the altar as I close the distance between us, my hand still in my pocket. “You don’t look like a priest, nor dress like one—no offense. And given the fact that you were fucking her…”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” I interject, the threat in my voice as palpable as the darkness encasing us.

He leans back against the pew, his nonchalant demeanor etched onto his scarred face.

“Relax, man. I’m not here to pick a fight with you. You stalk them. Why?” He lifts an eyebrow, the scar pulling grotesquely with the movement.

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