Page 17 of Damian & Jun: Episodes 5-8
“That’s Pastor Doyle.”
Well, fuck. That man. Jun drew in a slow breath and schooled his features to be placid.
Doyle stormed across the small parking lot, his coat flapping on either side of his belly. “Boy, we need to talk.”
Damian kept his voice even. “I’m sure we said all that needed to be said last time we spoke.”
“You weren’t listening.”
“You want the church reopened.”
“Yes. This neighborhood needs its heart and soul back. The Lord can do great work here…”
“Unless your numbers changed, there aren’t enough members of the church to carry the utilities, let alone the upkeep expenses of the campus, not to mention the mortgage.”
“Mortgage?”
“Mortgage.” Damian shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I didn’t buy the place for nothing. The base price included multiple property liens, unpaid utilities going back years, and certain safety measures. I can’t afford to give away the property.”
“Treasures in heaven, young man.”
Damian put up his hand. “Mr. Doyle.”
“Pastor Doyle,” one of the men with Doyle cut in.
“He’s not my pastor,” Damian countered softly. “Mr. Doyle, please recognize the fact that I am not a believer in your religion.”
The other member of Doyle’s entourage bent over as if wounded by Damian’s statement. “We’ll pray for you.”
“Please don’t,” Damian whispered, then more strongly, he said, “Anything else, Mr. Doyle?”
Doyle narrowed his eyes, looking Damian up and down. “You’re not creating goodwill here, boy. The least you could do is donate…”
“Don’t ask me for money. I already give more to this community than you do.”
Doyle drew himself up, bristling. One of the men with him hissed.
“You were a disappointment then, and I see fame and fortune hasn’t improved you now. At least your sister is loyal. I suppose we can’t expect better from a man who raises his hand against his own father and abandons his blood while he lives in luxury.”
Damian opened his mouth and closed it.
“Shame on you,” one of Doyle’s friends spat.
“Shame on you,” Jun growled.
Damian put a hand on Jun’s arm.
“Traitor,” one of Doyle’s friends spat. “Poor Kramer. May God comfort him.”
Jun gave Damian a look. “You’re seriously going to take this?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Damian moved to continue on their walk.
“The sinful man cannot hold up his head in the presence of the righteous. Let a man be known by his works.”
Jun looked back at Doyle. The man stood there as if he’d won something, something ugly and hungry in his face. It was true. In the grand scheme of things, Damian was right; Doyle wasn’t a man with any power…except the power to hurt Damian. Damian didn’t seem to realize how hurt he was.
Jun paused. A sentence and he could tear Doyle apart. He was just so…small.
