Page 21 of Unholy

Lookingout the window of Cecilia’s hospital room, I let out a deep sigh and rest my hands in my trouser pockets. Cecilia is in rough shape, dehydrated, and covered in lacerations. Bruises are prominent on her face, and her blonde hair is stained in red, but she is going to be okay.

D comes to stand next to me and mumbles something barely audible. He’s exhausted. Dark circles surround his eyes, and sadness fills the lines on his face.

I don’t respond or ask for him to repeat himself. I’m not nervous about what I’m about to say, but concerned he is too tired to fully understand the implications of those words.

My breathing becomes heavier.

I can see Cecilia sleeping in the hospital bed in the reflection of the glass. Rage is coursing through my body. She’s collateral damage to decisions we’ve made as members of The Exiled.

But my decision is made.

“Let’s kill the King.”

9

NATHANIEL

The sun is rising as I pull D’s Bugatti into my driveway. Regardless of the events of the last twelve hours, I didn’t care to give the car back yet.

Passing Elijah’s, I notice his vehicle is still gone. He and Thomas were whispering about something before I left the warehouse for the hospital. I’m not sure Thomas is ready for Elijah, but it doesn’t seem like he has a choice now.

A warm feeling fills my chest—it’s pride. Has my son made a friend?

Besides Rain, Elijah hasn’t cared enough to let anyone in. My excitement could be premature; Thomas still has time to become pig food, but I’m hopeful. Elijah is changing. And I get to witness it.

My eyes begin to well, but I shake it off. I’m exhausted, but the day is only beginning. I’ll cry later, in the shower, where there aren’t any witnesses. Cameras surround the compound, and Rogers is likely watching the feed.

Climbing out of the car, the fresh morning air dances on my skin. Inhaling deeply, it reinvigorates me. The exhaustion I felt moments ago washes away. A cool breeze follows, sneakingunderneath my opened dress shirt. Taking my glasses off briefly, I squeeze the bridge of my nose before placing them back on my face and walk inside.

“Rogers! Coffee and food. I’m going to need all the fuel I can get today, old man,” I shout into the foyer.

Tiny footsteps pull my attention to the second-floor banister.

Rylee looks disheveled, her hair a mess, and wearing one of my gray tees, which is like a dress on her. With tired eyes, she looks down at me. I’m pleased she’s still here.

Perhaps more than I should be. But my feelings don’t matter right now.

Clearing my throat, my voice is scratchy. “Everything is going to be okay. But first the earth will crack open and the fire of hell will escape. You will need your rest. Please, I insist you go rest your eyes while you can.” Rylee’s head tilts slightly at my cryptic statement, shaking her head in confusion, but she listens and walks back toward her room. My eyes linger on her petite, pale legs until they disappear down the hall.

Once she’s gone, I look down at my ticking gold watch. They will be here any minute; I must prepare.

Greta was first to arrive,with a lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She didn’t make a fuss, not wanting to alarm her granddaughter of her arrival. Another reason why I know Rylee doesn’t know shit about the Antichrist.

Elijah had the opposite approach, with his bat dragging along the floor behind him and followed by Rain and Thomas.

D will be joining on speaker phone as he isn’t leaving Cecilia’s side at the hospital, and I don’t blame him.

Rogers is last to enter, closing the door behind him. This is a need-to-know meeting, inner circle only.

And right now, I could go off. Absolutely crucify whoever was directly responsible for watching Cecilia, but we can’t turn against each other now by playing the blame game. We have to be united. And I know Greta can handle her crew internally. They will suffer because this mistake is unforgivable.

My feet are resting on the hardwood desk, and the first thing I say wakes everyone up. “We are killing the King.”

An awkward silence fills my office.

My eyes shift, wondering if the words I said weren’t actually spoken out loud, so I repeat myself. “We are killing the King.”

Greta pipes up. “We heard you the first fucking time.”

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