Page 33 of Unholy

I can feel her smirk and eye roll burning into the back of my head. I should know better than to bullshit her, but to be frank, I don’t even understand whatthisis.

Stepping outside, I spot my target immediately and his new sidekick, Thomas.

“You little shits,” is all I get out before I take a step forward into a giant pile of pig shit. The vile smell is activated as it clings to my clothes, shoes, and skin.

And ever so frankly, Elijah advises why I am ankle deep in it. “Fertilizer.”

Pressing my lips together, I try to gather my composure. “Elijah. Son. I’ve always supported you. Been your cheerleader, for lack of better words. But, son…” I pause, shaking my foot free. “I need help understanding why you’ve made a body farm in my backyard.”

Then he waves me off, like it’s not a big fucking deal. “It will only smell in the summer. The cold weather should suppress a lot of the odors. I find it interesting to watch how bodies decompose, given different situations and positions within and on top of the earth.”

“Why couldn’t you do this at your house?” I shake my head in utter disbelief. Is this conversation even real? Or a figment of my imagination?

Twirling his bat and still not even looking in my direction, he replies, “I wanted too, but Rain went on about kids and inappropriate things for them to see. The kid isn’t even born yet, it makes no fucking sense, Dad. Then I thought, wait, this could be the perfect gift for your new lady friend. To have a stunning view when she gets up every morning.”

“Elijah. I feel like this conversation is one we have weekly. I’m really trying to not lose my temper right now. But, son…”

Elijah interjects before I can continue. “You haven’t found the dead person in your room, have you? Well, half a person. It’s Brad’s torso, we found it.”

A loud roar erupts from deep within. My lungs and vocal cords are giving it all they can when Thomas boldly speaks up, “Are you worried about bloodstains on the flooring? Because he was pretty empty when we finally got him.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, “Do you do this in your bedroom with Rain? Or you, Thomas, would you do this to Greta?”

“Absolutely not. We have a room for that, and Thomas knows better than to piss off that old wench.”

Then why mine? I don’t speak it out loud; it’s of no use. He won’t understand how wildly inappropriate this is.

Throwing his head back, he cackles as if he just told himself a joke in his head. “She’s nothing more than a whore. She’s getting too comfortable here, don’t you think?”

I don’t budge, my eyes zeroing in on him, everything else is a blur. Am I having a stroke? Is this what finally takes me out? What the fuck is he going to do when he finds out I’m fucking obsessed with her?

I’m fucked. He’s going to kill her.

“You can’t touch her. She is technically our Queen,” are the only words I am able to muster up while in the process of having my stroke run its course.

But he completely ignores me. “Do you know how Brad got there? Aren’t you at all curious how we obtained him?”

Shaking my head, I reply, “Yeah, sure.”

“Thomas, he is a loyal servant. And the rest of the bodies are from the cabin, Hell Fire Night, and the backwoods.”

“Clean this shit up. My room is your priority,” I snark while trying to figure out how the fuck Thomas got that close toDalton’s compound without becoming another body decorating my backyard.

Elijah answers for me. “His face, it’s unmemorable, so he blends in. People who did see him thought he belonged there.”

“Right then. I will leave you boys to it. Perhaps the pigs would appreciate some of the many treats from my yard, yes?” This is not how I expected to start my day, not with all the other shit going on around us. But Elijah doesn’t realize that, reading the room is not in his wheelhouse.

Then it occurs to me.

Elijah is training Thomas, grooming him even, to be his own personal pet.

Fuck my life.

RYLEE

Nathaniel stormed out, only throwing his trousers and dress shirt on before leaving me here, alone, once more.

Rogers knocked on my door moments later, followed by two females rolling in multiple suitcases filled with my personal things from The Ranch. My first instinct was to call Greta, but as I reached for my phone, I questioned myself. Is it safe to contact her if I am being forced to hide out here?

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