Page 3 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

Though his heart is in the right place, Father Daddy’s good behavior isn’t always for charitable reasons. The man I love is a bit of a narcissist, you see. Okay, maybe narcissist is a strong word, but he does tend to live for the showmanship. He records most of his good deeds—well, I’m usually the one recording them, always at his insistence—and places them on our church’s YouTube channel. Honestly, I’m not sure if he aspires for notoriety because he wants to be famous, or if he’s just trying to finally feel loved. God knows his parents never gave him any.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Meadows asks, and a wave of dread hits me.

“Absolutely not. I’ll handle Miles. I don’t even like that you joined the congregation to begin with. I want him as far from this as humanly possible.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t mind—”

I growl. Actually growl, because I don’t want Meadows anywhere near Miles. I don’t wantanyonenear him. What I want is to lock us away in his bedroom—the same way I do every night—and hide him from the rest of the world forever. We can just nest up there together, never leaving again. Obviously we would need a mini-fridge, but I can just buy one of those online and have it delivered.

“Stay away from him,” I repeat. “I’m not kidding. I know you’re probably only teasing, but I don’t care.”

Meadows snorts a laugh. “If you’re worried I’m going to fuck your boyfriend, you can relax. I’m happily straight.”

I roll my eyes. “You literally let Pet blow you in the boardroom the other day.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a boss, and it was a boss move. Lesson number one in the hitman game: Never cross a man who is willing toejaculate during business negotiations. It’s a lesson I learned from my dad when he was in charge.”

I gag. “You watched your father ejaculate into someone’s mouth?”

“Of course not. Fucking hell, Matthews, I’m not a total deviant. No, that’s just one of the many pearls of wisdom he passed along to me.”

“You should have left that pearl in the oyster. Fuck, Meadows.”

“My point being, no one crosses me. They know better. Which is why I’m going to need you to take that accusatory tone out of your voice. I’m not trying to fuck your imaginary boyfriend or ruin whatever the hell it is you’re trying to do with him. I’m trying to make sure our target is handled. That’s what we’re being paid to do.”

Truthfully, I still don’t fully understand why anyone would pay six figures to end the life of one of our congregants, but a target is a target, and I honestly have no issue with any of their lives being taken, because they’re all bullies. Is bullying queer people a crime punishable by death? No, but maybe it should be—and for one lucky member of Tallulah Apostolic Chapel, it will be.

“You’re still not going to tell me who the target is?”

“Nope,” he answers. “You’re not on this assignment. It’s too close to home.”

“But you promise it’s not Miles, right? Because I have to warn you . . .” I swallow, trying to build up my courage. “I’m not a fighter, Meadows, but if you touch him, I’ll kill you or die trying.”

Meadows snorts a laugh. “Trust me, it’s not your precious pastor.”

“And it’s not my mom?”

“Not your mother either, sunshine.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not like she’s my favorite person in the world, but she’s a product of her environment, and I don’t want her dead. My father, on the other hand . . .

“You can kill my dad if you have to. I don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would. The man is fucking scum. He always makes it a point to sit beside me at church.” Meadows exhales heavily. “He blabbers out hate speech for half the sermon, then spends the other half sucking the orange man’s metaphorical cock. Well, in his case, it’s probably a cocklet, but still.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a small penis,” I tell him, feeling my cheeks burn, because I’m not exactly packing a rolling pin down there, but Meadows doesn’t need to know that. “But you’re right about President Flump. Dad never shuts up about him.”

“When Broussard and I built the agency, I’m the one who asked for our underground labyrinth. I wanted to be as far away from these republican—no uppercase R, because they don’t deserve it—hillbillies as I could get. Now, I’m forced to sit in a room with the radical right four nights a week. I’m not happy, Darren.”

“No one forced you to take this mysterious contract, and no one forced you to join our church family. Honestly, I still don’t understand what the fuss is about. You’re a hitman for God’s sake. There’s no need for all this planning and plotting. Just put a bullet through their skull and call it a day.”

“If I did, there would be no book.”

“What book?”

“This book,” he says, as if that somehow makes sense. “I do enjoy the cloak and dagger of it though. It makes me feel like I’m living in a Bond film.”

“Does that make me Pussy Galore?”

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