Page 93 of Pray for Scars
But I can’t see their face.
It was a man’s voice, a man’s hand on my arm, but his face is covered with a black hood, a silver snake embroidered on the top of it.
I see his lips, but the rest of his face is hidden by the hood.
“Sit back down. It’s not your turn.”
He pulls me back to the pew, and I see the guard smirking at me as the man forces me to sit.
“Ah,” another voice says, footsteps echoing from the back of the church. “But it is.”
I recognize this voice. Lazar Malikov. Lucifer’s father. I look up, see he’s wearing a hooded robe now, too, but his hood is pushed back from his handsome, cruel face.
The man holding my arm steps back, letting go of me.
“Thank you, Maddox,” Lazar says to the hooded man, stepping in front of me, clasping his hands together, almost as if he’s excited. “Let’s get started, Sid, shall we?”
Before I can answer, the guard hauls me up from my seat, pulls me over to the altar, toward my brother. I don’t fight back, letting him drag me easily to the two steps that lead up to the platform my brother is on.
The guard places his hand on my head, shoves me down to my knees. They hit the floor of the steps, hard, and a gasp escapes my dry lips. I don’t look up at my brother. I don’t want to see again.
“He’s not dead, Sid,” Lazar says, kneeling down beside me. He looks up, nods to the guard, and then I feel someone yanking my hands behind my back, more zip ties around my wrist, painfully tight, digging into my skin. “He’s not dead yet. I’ll let you both go. Together.” He places his arm around me and squeezes my shoulder, painfully.
He leans in close, whispers against my ear, “Touch your head to the stairs.” His tongue flicks against my skin. “Kneel.”
I shake my head.No.
He laughs against my skin, pulls away, then grabs my hair, slamming my aching face against the steps, pressing my cheek to the red floor.
“You might have disobeyed my son and gotten away with it, but disobedience isn’t tolerated here.”
He keeps his hand in my hair and says to someone, “Get the others. It’s time.”
“Dominus,” the man called Maddox says, clearing his throat, “shouldn’t we wait for—”
Lazar’s fingers in my hair tighten, but I can’t see anything. Can only feel the rough carpet against my skin, my face aching and hot where the guard hit me.
“Now.We wait for no one.”
Lazar’s fingers loosen, and he strokes my hair back softly as footsteps echo. “Close your eyes, Sid Rain. Get your rest. When I convince them all to take turns with you, you’ll need your strength.”
* * *
My knees ache.My face burns. My wrists are pinched between the zip ties, and my arms are stiff from being forced behind my back. But I can’t scream. Can’t move. Can’t say a word.
I don’t look at Jeremiah again. I don’t dare pick my head up.
I just count on the fact that this,this, is the end.
This is what it’s come to, and I’m strangely…fine with it. I wanted this, after all. Death. Release. And if I have to endure a little more hell to get to it, so be it. It’s coming soon.
When I hear the chants of people behind me, speaking in Latin, words I can’t begin to understand, I close my eyes, exhale. I won’t fight them, no matter what they do to me. I’ll let them have their way, let them fuck me up a little more. After that, I’ll be done. The pain will cease to exist.
When the chanting stops, and Lazar’s voice, close to me, begins to speak, I sink further onto the steps.
“We finally have the defective children we have sought for quite some time now,” he’s saying, to murmurs of agreements from people I can’t see, no doubt in the pews at my back.
I just hope Lucifer isn’t one of them.
