Page 19 of Unholy

D can never see this.

“Where’s your phone?” I ask as he brushes the dust off his pants.

Looking at me, confused, I catch a glimpse of it on his passenger seat. Rushing past him, I push him down once more. Behind me I can hear vulgarities being shouted, but I don’t care. He can’t see this.

Opening the passenger side door, I snag his phone, dropping it to the ground, then stomping on it with my boot.

“Why the fuck did you do that for?”

Looking back over at him, I say, “I need your head in the game. Emotions aside, because there’s no going back for us.”

We area mile away from the warehouse when an army of blacked-out Range Rovers approach and park around us. Elijah didn’t wait for me before leaving early, and as a door opens onone of the Rovers, he jumps out, wearing all black with his bat in hand.

That’s my fucking boy.

Clasping my hands together, with my own gun tucked away in my holster harness, I walk over to Elijah, placing my hand on his shoulder and reaching for my phone with the other. Using my body as a shield, I make it seem like I’m talking to Elijah privately when I’m really showing him what was just sent to me.

“Understood,” is all he responds with.

Emotions. Feelings. To give two fucks about anything, it isn’t really in him.

The real motive for showing him is to amplify his hunger to kill. He gets the mission.

Shouting can be heard from behind me. “Let’s move out.”

The rest of the crew prepares, equipped with everything we need for the rescue.

A thick tree line surrounds the warehouse, and we all make our way over. Hiding behind the brush, we are sitting ducks. He could have this place rigged—one wrong move, dead.

With a few hand singles made, everyone moves out, staying in the shadows to the best of our abilities. Reaching the door, my son, the one-man A team, kicks it in, and it flies open.

“Yes, son. Well done,” I praise with excitement, knowing exactly how much he hates it. Elijah’s body flinches as I follow behind him.

It’s quiet and dark. Unsettling.

Following my son, I’m on alert, watching for any sudden movement. We don’t make it far before a body is seen on the floor—a commoner from Cecilia’s protective detail. Shit.

D is the first to act. Crouching down, he tears the stapled note off the bloodied shirt.

Darian, enjoy your gift.

He passes it off to me, but I don’t care to have possession of it and let it flutter to the ground.

Elijah walks farther in, looking for any sign of Cecilia or Dalton and his crew. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is really fucking off. Then, in that exact moment, a droplet of red splatters onto D’s shoulder. We both look at each other, confused, as another drops.

Looking up, I’m lost for words.

Seconds feel like minutes.

My brain finally registers what my eyes see.

“Holy mother of God.” I’m horrified.

Chaos ensues, and a member of the team yells, “Someone get something to bring her down, NOW!”

Cecilia’s hair hangs down toward us. Her body, naked, battered, and bruised, is hung upside down from the rafters, attached to a cross.

Then, all at once, time speeds up, bodies are racing around me, and my mind and vision become focused.

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