Page 133 of Restless
“Either you change your clothes on your own or I do it for you.” Brother Caldwell’s perusal of her body made her skin crawl. He’d called her a slut and that’s how he saw her. “Your choice.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Thought so.” Brother Caldwell started off but halted at Pastor Arceneaux’s call.
“Our bus leaves at 10AM. Make sure she’s on it.”
The private estate, located in the Hollywood Hills, teemed with men in vests with back patches proclaiming them Death Dwellers from Hortensia, WA. Others were revealed to be American Scorpions and listed various cities from around the country, mainly from the East Coast, most especially, Richmond, VA.
Alcohol was flowing, the scent of weed almost crossed Roxy’s eyes. Nearly naked women roamed about. Tables laden with ice sculptures and champagne fountains stood on every side of the opulent room. Servers offered hot hors d’oeuvres on silver trays. Cold food was set up as a buffet. The DJ alternated between modern music and classics.
Nothingpointed to religion, and Roxy didn’t lie by pretending how frightened she was. Something wasn’t right. Aside from the godlessness of the world-renowned Reverend Sharper Banks, malevolence hung in the air. Worse, she had yet to see her fucking hat and doubted she’d get it or her outfit back.
At least, her current outfit was more comfortable. Her feet appreciated her black hi-top Chucks. Her black jacket was real leather that she intended to keep. Pastor was risking her fucking neck and virtue for his own means. If she survived, the outfit would be her payment.
Chewing on her lip, she searched for a welcoming face from where she sat alone. Two tables over, a young blonde woman looked as out of place as Roxy felt. If she was anything like Roxy, she needed a friend.
Roxy stood, but a man stepped into her path. He held a glass of champagne out to her. “Sharper’s on the way. He’s upset you haven’t been partaking of the expensive vintage he chose.”
“I don’t drink,” she lied.
“Tough, cunt. He wants you to.”
“Back up,” she warned, snatching the butterknife from the table. “Or I’m cutting your motherfucking ass, bitch.”
Anger darkened his eyes and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Quincy, what the fuck is going on?” another voice demanded from behind asshole.
“Nothing, K-P,” Quincy gritted. “Sharper wants—”
“Fuck Sharper,” K-P snapped, shoving Quincy aside. He glared at Roxanne and snatched the knife from her. “What the fuck did you think you’d fucking do with this, babe? Even if you fucked him up, chances are highyouwould’ve been fucked up right after.”
Folding her arms, Roxy lifted her chin. “I’m beginning to doubt I’m leaving alive anyway, so why not take a motherfucker with me?” At the truth of her words, nausea twisted in her.
K-P grinned at her, snatched the champagne from Quincy, and set the glass on the table behind her.
“Kaleb, Sharper wants—”
“I don’t give a fuckwhatSharper wants, little brother,” K-P snapped. “Get the fuck away from me before I fucking stab you.”
Glaring at her, Quincy stomped away.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” K-P said the moment they were alone.
“I know,” she retorted, “so your flattery gets you nowhere.”
His grin deepened. His handsome face was kinder, gentler than Quincy or Brother Caldwell’s.
Without permission, K-P sat at her table. “Sit,” he instructed.
Unsure of her location, unarmed, and out of options, Roxy complied.
K-P raised his muscular arm and signaled with his large hand. A patch on his left breast saidRoad Captain.
“Deramey didn’t warn you to wear swaths of clothing, babe? No make-up. Maybe, exhibit a little mousiness in the church.”
Roxy shook her head. “Why would that be necessary?”
