Page 167 of Body and Soul

I swallowed hard and gave a jerky nod. “Yeah. I'm good. Let's just... let's do this.”

Shepherd studied me for a moment longer before turning back to Algerone. “All right. We'll play along for now. But if this is some kind of trick...” He let the unspoken threat hang in the air.

Algerone simply inclined his head, that infuriating little smile still playing about his lips. “No tricks. Father Ezekiel is my gift to you. What you do with him now is your business.”

With that, he stepped aside and gestured toward the door.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my fucking throat as I stared at that metal door. Part of me wanted to bolt, to get as far away from this place and these people as I could. But a bigger part, the part that had been screaming for vengeance all these years, propelled me forward.

I reached for the door handle, my fingers trembling slightly as I curled them around the cold metal. I could feel Shepherd's presence behind me, solid and reassuring. He had my back, like always.

With a deep breath, I wrenched the door open and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood. And there, strung up like a piece of meat in the center of the room, was Father Ezekiel.

He was naked from the waist up, his pale skin mottled with bruises and crisscrossed with angry red welts. His arms were bound above his head, his wrists bloody where the ropes had dug in. Duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes... those dark eyes that had haunted me for years... they snapped to mine as I entered.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. It was like I was a scared teenager again, cowering in the corner of the punishment room as Ezekiel loomed over me. The sour stench of his sweat, the clink of his belt buckle as he pulled it free.

I stood frozen, my heart jackhammering against my ribs as those same eyes bored into me. Ezekiel's gaze held a twisted mix of malice and disdain, even trussed up and beaten to hell.

Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I'd played this moment over in my head a thousand times, dreamed up a hundred ways to make him suffer the way he'd hurt so many of us. But now, faced with the reality of him, I felt like that scared, broken kid again.

“Eli...” Shepherd's low voice and the weight of his hand on my shoulder grounded me. Reminded me I wasn't alone this time. I had people in my corner now, people who'd fight for me, kill for me. Die for me.

I shrugged off Shepherd's hand and stalked forward, snatching a knife from the table of torture implements laid out so thoughtfully by the Laskins. The blade glinted in the harsh light and Ezekiel's eyes followed it, something eager in his expression.

I pressed the knife to the bobbing hollow of his throat. The silver chain of Ezekiel's rosary lay splayed across his sweat-slicked chest. How many times had he made me kiss that same fucking rosary, press my split lips to the cold metal as I choked out tearful thanks for his beatings, his violations? The memories threatened to pull me under, to drown me in that same helpless rage and terror I'd felt back then.

I pushed the knife harder against his throat. “Not so high and mighty now, are you, you sick fuck?”

A muffled noise escaped from behind the duct tape, Ezekiel's eyes blazing with that self-righteous fire I remembered too well. Like he was the goddamn victim here. Fury ignited in my veins and I ripped the tape off with my free hand.

“You insolent boy,” he spat, working his jaw. “I showed you the path to salvation. I cleansed you of your sins. And this is how you repay me?”

“Cleansed me?” A harsh laugh ripped from my throat. “Is that what you call it? Beating me, having me raped, telling me I deserved it? That it was God's will?” I slashed the knife across his chest, reveling in his sharp intake of breath as blood welled in a thin line. “Well, I've got news for you, Padre. Your god’s not here. I am.”

I pressed the blade deeper, watching with sick satisfaction as crimson bloomed across Ezekiel's pale flesh. He grunted in pain but kept that defiant gleam in his eyes, like he was a fucking martyr.

“You were an abomination,” Ezekiel hissed through gritted teeth. “A sinful, unnatural creature in need of correction. I tried to save your eternal soul. I showed you the Light!”

“You showed me hell.” I slashed him again, deeper this time, taking savage pleasure in his choked off groan. Hot blood ran in rivulets down his chest and arms, dripping onto the grimy concrete floor.

Behind me, Xander made a low, impressed whistle. I'd almost forgotten they were there.

I glanced at Shepherd and found him watching me steadily, no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. He knew the demons I carried, the scars that went far deeper than flesh. He nodded once, a silent signal to do what I needed to do.

I turned back to Ezekiel, my grip tightening on the blade. I grabbed a fistful of his silver hair, yanking his head back to bare his throat and pressed the knife just above where the rosary chain hung. Leaning in close, I could smell his rancid breath, feel the heat of his panting exhales against my cheek. It made my skin crawl, but I didn't pull away.

“I want you to beg,” I demanded. “I want to hear you plead for mercy, the way I pleaded all those times you had me on my knees. Beg for my mercy.”

Ezekiel's cracked lips twisted in a sneer. “I will never beg a degenerate sodomite like you for anything.”

White-hot rage surged through my veins and before I could think, I plunged the knife into the meat of his shoulder. He let out a strangled scream, but I didn’t care. He deserved worse after everything he’d done. I yanked it out and stabbed him again, and again, painting his chest in a gory canvas of revenge. I slashed the knife across his face, splitting his cheek wide open. He howled, thrashing against his bonds, blood sheeting down his front.

I cut into him again and again, moving on automatic, both mesmerized and terrified of the violence I suddenly found myself capable of. Yet no matter how much I carved into him, it would never be enough. No amount of shallow cuts could make Ezekiel truly understand the kind of soul-deep pain he'd inflicted on me and so many others. I could flay the skin from his bones and rub salt in the wounds, and still it wouldn’t match the suffering he’d inflicted on the rest of us. No torture was enough to balance the scales.

My chest heaved with effort. The knife slipped from my blood-slicked fingers, clattering to the floor. My gaze fell on the silver rosary still draped around his neck, now flecked with crimson droplets.

I reached out, curling shaky fingers around the chain, the metal cold against my heated skin. Ezekiel's eyes widened, something like fear finally sparking in those icy depths. Good. It was about damn time he felt even a fraction of the terror he'd instilled in me.

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