Page 9 of Turn That River Red

CHAPTER FOUR

AMBROSE

Iwas not expecting my most recent victim to stroll into Gunner’s office like that. I was certainly not expecting her to be the wife Gunner was going on about, especially since he already has one—Madelyn Gunner, who used to show up on his old television programs back in the ‘90s, her honey-blonde hair teased halfway to Heaven.

But no, the woman who came into that office, my victim, is definitely not Madelyn Gunner. But the door swung open and there she was, as blonde as the first wife but younger and sadder and clutching a tray with a single cup of coffee.

When she looked at me, I felt a sudden bolt of electricity go through my body. For a few exhilarating seconds, I was certain she was going to recognize me. My muscles corded up beneath my skin, preparing for me to lunge forward and intercept her before she could start screaming that the itinerant preacher Ambrose Echeverría was really a murderer.

But she didn’t. Her big brown eyes just blinked at me, red-rimmed from crying.

Mercy Gunner. Sterling Gunner’s backup wife. Hishelpmeet.

Seeing her in his sunny office was unnerving. It stillunnerves me, even though I’m currently tucked safely away in a prefab cabin on the edge of the compound—excuse me,the campus, as if this place is a regular church and not a fucked-up fundamentalist cult run by a money-hungry grifter who claims he has a direct line to the Christian god.

Claws click on the laminate flooring; Max and Roxi have completed their initial survey of the little cabin and are now sitting at my feet, blinking up at me, waiting for instructions.

“Welcome home,” I tell them. “At least for the next few days. Behave yourselves.”

They both thump their tails against the floor in excitement.

I do a quick round of investigation myself. The cabin is small, just three rooms: a common area with a little kitchenette, a cramped bathroom, and a bedroom with a twin-sized bed and a simple writing desk stocked with a notepad, a pen, and a pristine Bible.

I take off my cowboy boots and sit down on the edge of the bed. The dogs curl up on the floor beside me, patient and obedient. I’ve left my supplies out in my Oldsmobile, which I packed to look like the itinerant preacher I said I am. No suitcase, just clothes folded up in the backseat. A battered old Bible, of course. A big bag of cheap dog food, some plastic bowls. Roxi and Max are gonna be whining for real meat soon enough, but they’ll survive.

At least the hard part is over; Reverend Gunner isn’t exactly some frontier town leader desperate for spiritual counseling. But I could tell, talking to him in his office, that he was shaken up by my handiwork. He’s convinced these people he’s the key to Heaven, after all—it looks bad if one of them kicks it, especially when they’re chopped up and thrown in the river. They don’t know I severed Raul’s spine first so he didn’t feel any pain.Raul—I finally learned his name from the good reverend.

It wasn’t as hard as I expected, though, getting in Gunner’s graces. I’ve dealt with enough religious con men to know howto present myself so I don’t look like a threat to their empire. Make myself seem small and poor and humble so they think they can control me—that’ll do it, every time.

I will say I wasn’t expecting him to make me pray over his pretty little wife, though. I had a quiet moment of panic where I forgot all my old tricks—it didn’t help thatshewas the one in need of prayers, the woman with the gorgeous scream. Or the gorgeous speaking voice, lower than you’d expect from her appearance. Throatier, with a slight roughness that suggests she knows the taste of whiskey and cigarettes.

I very much doubt that woman has ever had a drop of alcohol in her life.

I keep hearing her say,Something terrible happened to me yesterday morning, and I love knowing I’m the terrible thing that happened to her. Love that I was able to put my hands on her and pretend to pray her sorrow away. I haven’t prayed in decades. Longer, even, and while I found the words easily enough, the sight of Mercy bowing her head in front of me didn’t exactly put godly thoughts in my mind.

She had her hair up in braids, giving me a glimpse of the back of her neck, and—more deliciously—the faint ridges of her spine. I’ll admit a part of me wanted to slide my hands down and twist her neck with one sharp thrust. A clean, quick death so I could take her back home and slice the meat away, big thick woman steaks I’d fry with butter.

Another part of me, though, didn’t want to kill her at all. The truth is, I wasn’t thinking about killing heroreating her while I fumbled through my prayer. I was imagining her in that exact position, her plump pink lips wrapped around my cock while I skull-fucked her.

I fall back on the bed, the image running through my head again. I haven’t fucked a woman in a while. Men are easier when all you want is to come in some nice, warm hole, and I’ve made it a point in the last century to avoid getting romanticallyentangled with humans of any gender. Granted, Sawyer’s little escapade with Edie Hensner certainly worked out—not just for Sawyer, but for Charlotte and Jaxon, too. Charlotte, especially. If Sawyer hadn’t let himself get infatuated with a human, I’m not sure Charlotte would have ever discovered what she is.

Andthat, I remind myself even as I rub my quickly-hardening cock through my pants, is the real reason I’m here. I need to find those adoption files. Find the names of Charlotte’s parents.

I donotneed to fuck Gunner’s backup wife, even if she did help get me inside the compound with her panic and her screams. Even if she did stare up at me with a kind of blinding adoration because she thought I had filled her with the Light of God, not knowing that I was really just thinking about filling her with my cum.

But fuck if it’s not fun to fantasize about. Fun enough that I put aside any thoughts about why I’m here at the Church of the Well and pull my cock out to pump it into my fist, imagining she’s bowing before me and not her god, her tongue tracing the vein that wraps the full length of my dick. I imagine clutching onto the back of her head to show her how to suck cock properly—a good Christian girl like her wouldn’t know.

I grunt, squeezing tighter around my cock. My orgasm’s coming fast, a hot tightness coiling in my balls. In my head, Mercy Gunner weeps for me, tear tracks running down her soft cheeks. I thrust into her mouth. She makes small, frightened whimpers.

When I come, I groan, lifting my hips as my cum oozes up between my fingers. Then I slump back against the bed and catch my breath. There. Now that I’ve got that out of my system, I can focus.

But even as I go to clean up, Mercy’s pretty brown eyes and golden hair linger in my thoughts.

CHAPTER FIVE

MERCY

Even after three years, I hate when Reverend Gunner forces me to visit him at midnight. I hate even more that he’s making me do ittonight, a day after what happened at the Concho River.

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