Page 54 of Turn That River Red

“You’re going to see that traveling preacher,” Deacon Price says lightly. “Aren’t you?”

Panic surges in my chest, and I shake my head no because if I try to say it out loud, he’ll immediately tell that I’m lying.

“Does Reverend Gunner know that?” Deacon Price steps closer to me. Close enough to be uncomfortable. “That you’re—visitingsomeone else? In the middle of the night?”

His voice drips with contempt, and I can feel him leering at me in the dark.

“We shouldn't be out here,” I say shakily.

“No.” Deacon Price shakes his head slowly. “No,youshouldn’t be out here.I’mthe congregation’s first line of defense against the devil that’s been stalking our people.”

I take a shuffling step backward. “I’ll go home now,” I say quietly, my throat dry with fear.

Deacon Price just stares at me, the flashlight at his hip.

“Good night, Deacon.” I whirl around on my heel.

But Deacon Price grabs me by the arm, his grip firm. I cry out, and he jerks me up to him and slaps his hand over my mouth. “What are you going to give me?” he says softly, his breath warm on my ear, “so that I don’t tell Sterling you were going to see Ambrose Echeverría in the middle of the night?”

“I wasn’t!” I cry out, although my protests are muffled by his hand.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Deacon Price walks me backward, away from the sidewalk and into the yard of the closet cabin. Anemptycabin. “The two of us are going to have some fun. And in exchange, I won’t tell anyone I saw you out here. Understood?”

I close my eyes, trying to trap the tears, and tell myself this isn’t as bad as it could be. Deacon Price could have marched me to Reverend Gunner’s house and told him everything.

Or I could have met the killer.

Instead, I just have to do what I always do as a helpmeet: lay back and let him take what he needs.

But I don’t wantto. I’m sick of this life. Sick of being used. I struggle against Deacon Price’s grip and try to bite at his palm, but it’s no use. He’s too strong for me.

“Stop that,” he snarls. “Behave, or I’ll tell Reverend Gunner everything.”

I whimper, a few tears streaking over my cheeks. But I do relent, because what choice do I have?

Deacon Price pulls me sideways, one hand still on my mouth and the other wrapped around my arm. The empty guest cabin looms beside us.

“Good thing these places are fully furnished, huh?” he laughs. “Henry told me how familiar you are with the beds in here.”

Shame and humiliation surge through me. Henry is Pastor Sullivan. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone what we did, aside from his wife—part of his arrangement with Reverend Gunner. But it did happen in one of these empty guest cabins.

Deacon Price unlocks the back door and shoves me inside. The cabin is cool and dark. He finally lets me go when he kicks the door shut, and I fold my arms over my chest, heart pounding, all my senses on high alert. He grins down at me, his teeth very white.

I wish I could punch them and watch them shatter. But I know I’m not strong enough.

“Now, I gather you know what to do from here?” He unbuckles his belt and slides it out of the loops with a snap. “Get to it. I can’t be gone too long.”

I feel numb. Not even thirty minutes ago I was on my hands and knees for Ambrose, moaning with an intense pleasure that felt so unbelievably right even though, technically, it was a bigger sin than what I’m about to do now.

Because I wanted it. Because I wantedhim.

“Reverend Gunner will be upset if he finds out—” I start, but Deacon Price just cuts me off with a sharp laugh.

“When he finds out you’re fucking that preacher?”

My face flares with heat.He can’t possibly know that. He’s just guessing.“I’m not!” I cry. “He’s just been offering me counseling, and I was upset, and?—”

“It’s nearly two in the morning.” Pastor Price peels his shirt off, revealing the firm muscles underneath. “No one goes to counseling at two in the morning.” He grins, then, and runs his hands over his ridged stomach. “Like what you see?”

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