Page 37 of Forgive Me Father
Giving me a casual nod, David glances at his watch.
"My daughter should be here soon," He sighs, grabbing my shoulder. "I meant what I said at my house. Eden is a sinner. I want her to feel God’s wrath through you. Her rebellious nature is blasphemous, and she must be set back on the path to God.”
Smiling, I pat his shoulder.
"Of course, David. I plan to fulfill your wishes in the name of the Lord to the best of my ability."
It’s becoming more obvious as the days go by that David Faulkner is not someone to fuck with. So, if I have to feed into his extremist religious ideologies in order to avoid whatever psychotic brand of retribution he’s dishing out, so be it.
I’m not sure how Kevin managed it here for so long. He seemed like a decent man.
"You know, Roman, I was unsure about you at first," David points out. "I had my men look into you at the DA’s office. We never want any sticky fingers in our work here. You served beforeyou took seminary?" He questions, clawing at the grave of my past.
"A few tours," I shrug. "Saw enough that even God has struggled to steer me away from the bottle," I admit, torturous screams trying to force their way into the back of my mind.
Shut it out.
Don't let it in.
"A background like that could be very useful to us," He smiles, extending the portfolio out to me, shaking it in front of me like it’s my birthday present.
"Kevin and the others gave me the green light to show you this. We’re excited to welcome you into the real brotherhood of this congregation," He pats me on the back as I take the portfolio from him. "I'll leave you to it," He turns, dipping his finger in the holy water, saying a silent prayer.
"Our first meeting is after Mass this Sunday," David exclaims. "That's where you can place your preference on inventory before the buyers do."
"Meeting?" I look down at the portfolio, turning it over in my hand.
"Here, at ten. Doors lock at nine-thirty," He smirks. "Have a good night, Father," He waves. "Oh. And mind certain areas of Eden's skin. She should have known when to shut her mouth."
Mind Eden's skin.
What the fuck does that mean?
The doors shut behind David, those lingering in the pews for their own worship outside of Mass leave, and the only face in sight is my reflection in the pool of holy water.
Setting the portfolio on the rim of the stoup, I flip it open, wondering if there’s still any scotch left in my –
Backing away from the binder, my heart beats out of my chest, my stomach rolling, ready to throw up that shitty overpriced coffee Eden's friend made me. Clutching my cross, I take a shaky breath, filled to the brim with feral rage, my vision going fuzzy, clouded with adrenaline.
Like I’m back in the pits of war, violence tugs at my heart, the bloodthirsty need to rip someone apart escalating with every image touching my vision.
The descriptions.
They weren’t descriptions and pricing details for furniture. They were for fuckingchildren.
I flip page after page, each child dirtied and petrified, some holding up their hands, squinting at the flash from the camera.
Item: Leather Futon
Age: Seven Years
Description: Brown with blue accents and decorative fringe.
Status: New
Price: $10,000.000
Name: Molly Jackson
