Page 26 of Be My Sinner

“Yes, by all means, let’s pay our respects.” Abraham moves forward, stumbling over his feet and nearly taking Ezekiel down with him. He manages to hold on to him and pushes him down the aisle towards where my mother and I stand as stunned statues.

Movement all around us shows different Founding Fathers and their offspring making their way into the velvet and wood seats. Peter and Noah both follow their sons down the aisle toward us. When Abraham and Ezekiel are no more than three feet away from me, they stop. Both their heads turn toward my mother’s trembling form. A look of regret and sadness passes across both their features, and they nod their heads in respect toward her.

“Mrs. Camrose…we are deeply sorry for your loss. He…he was very much loved…and…he…he will be truly missed.” Ezekiel bows before my mother, and urges Abraham to bend forward and do the same, as the Brotherhood requires when greeting the grieving family.

Tears run down Abraham’s face as he raises his head and meets my mother’s covered features. “I will always remember him. He was my best friend and brother. I…I…will miss him deeply.”

I wait with bated breath for them to turn towards me. Ezekiel’s eyes try to penetrate through the thick fabric covering my face. He studies me from the short distance, his body tense and stiff. He takes a step forward, his arm reaches out and lifts the bottom of my veil, raising the swatch of fabric over my head and uncovering my features. A gasp leaves my mother at his actions, and I hear his father release a curse word. All the other sounds around us become muted.

I examine his face as his breath hitches in his throat and his jaw slackens. His beautiful eyes grow large and wide before he can shut down his reaction, and the cold mask reappears.

Abraham turns to stare at me at that moment, and a snort leaves his lips. “Of course, she would look like that. Those fucking eyes,” he mumbles, and then a menacing look crosses his features before he kisses his teeth at me in complete disrespect. The sound is loud and offensive in the quiet air surrounding us. My mother watches the whole interaction without moving an inch or making a sound, but shock is clearly present on her face beneath her veil.

Neither of them says another word to me as they stumble into the front pew and sit down. Neither bothers to bow or pay me the proper respect due to my station, and for my loss. Their blatant disrespect causes my blood pressure to rise, and my spine to straighten. How fucking dare they, I’m going to enjoy cutting out their traitorous tongues and making them bow at my feet.

I raise my hand to lower my veil, but before I can, Noah raises his to capture my hand, his touch bringing an instant chill to my body. “You are stunning, Dinah. You have grown into such beauty, one even more beautiful than your mother was in her prime.” His words should be charming, but they fill me with revulsion and hate. He enjoyed abusing my mother’s beauty. He must be thinking that he will have the same opportunity with me. I’ll see him in fucking hell first.

A sound leaves my mother’s lips that signifies her horror at hearing his words, and I watch from the corner of my eye as she grips one of the pews to keep standing. My poor mother, who has suffered so much at the hands of the men in this room.

“I look forward to welcoming you into the Rothesay fold, Dinah. You will provide my son with many heirs, and hopefully, we can pass down your stunning features to the next generation of Sacred Daughters.”

What the fuck is he talking about? Welcoming me into the Rothesay fold? Fear races up my spine, making my hands tremble and my head spin with dizziness. I dig my long sharp nails, covered by the crappy lace, into the palms of my hands to steady myself, the hit of pain helping to bring me back to here and now.

Is he talking about me still marrying Ezekiel? Surely he can’t be gibbering about that? I’m sure Zeke already has a Sacred Wife, like most men his age who come from affluent families. They wouldn’t have waited all these years for him to marry me still, would they? In their eyes, I’m unhinged and a psychopath. Why would they want me to marry him?

“I see that your brother did not mention your upcoming nuptials before his untimely death. It’s regrettable and unfortunate timing. Of course, we will have to allow for the proper mourning period, but after that, I am sure Ezekiel will be thrilled to wed you, as was arranged many years ago.”

Each of his words are like knife wounds being embedded underneath my skin. Sharp, barbed, and painful. Piercing the armor I wear, and causing more sweat and unease to slide down my skin. Bile races up the back of my throat at the thought of being a part of his family, and I have to force myself to swallow it down.

No! No, this can’t fucking be right. I always knew that I would have to wed. It’s part of being a Sacred Daughter. I knew of the arrangement between our two families, between our two fathers who were once close as thieves. But I truly believed, with my father’s betrayal and death, that there was no way Noah would still want to align himself with my family name. I was fucking wrong. I was devastatingly wrong, and it looks like my brother was keeping secrets from me.

I don’t respond to any of his words, because I don’t trust myself right now. Instead, I control every single bone in my face to give him no reaction. I force myself to keep my eyes steady on his, even though I can feel various pairs of eyes staring at me. They feel like insects crawling along my damp skin. Noah raises an eyebrow in question, but still, I give him nothing of my thoughts on his words.

I wonder if Sammy could hear this fucking travesty from where he stands. I wonder if he’s ready to kill them all at this very moment. The moment when they declare me as someone else’s rather than his. I almost want him to pull out his gun and start shooting at each of them, ending their miserable lives once and for all. Except I won’t risk losing him to give in to my need for violence, and he won’t risk me with reckless behavior—an impasse, always an impasse.

“Yes, well, we can discuss that all afterward. The Holy Father is about to arrive, and both of you should take your seats, ladies,” Noah utters and nods towards the first two seats in the front aisle. My mother moves forward on shaking legs and sits down in the first spot in the pew, another loud sob leaving her lips, and I am forced to take the one between her and Abraham, who is sitting sprawled out and wide-legged in the other seat. Disrespectful asshole. I wonder if I can reach down discreetly, grab my blade, and stab him in one of those muscular thighs.

I lower my veil as I take the seat, sitting on the edge with my back straight and my head lowered. I force myself to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to calm my thundering heart.

“Such a good, obedient girl. I wonder if you’re obedient in all things, Atasi,” Abraham whispers to me as he moves even closer, his thick, hard thigh rubbing against mine. “I bet you’ll cry like a little bitch when Zeke tears into that tiny cunt of yours. I can’t wait to watch you scream and cry, Atasi. You’re going to look beautiful covered in his welts.”

The combination of his dirty and harsh words, and the nickname he used to call me, has my breathing stuttering in my chest. I turn my veiled gaze towards him, narrowing my eyes in his direction, and bare my teeth.

A wide, salacious grin crosses his mouth. “Maybe not such an obedient, good girl, after all. I look forward to tasting your fear, little one.”

The sound of tinkling bells interrupts any further discussion. The members of the Brotherhood rise from their seats silently, their heads bowing as two guards draped in gold robes make their way down the aisle ahead of the Holy Father. My mother’s form shakes so severely that I hear her teeth chattering. She rises from her seat unsteadily and lowers herself to her knees, her head bowed in subjugation. I follow suit but keep my head slightly bent to watch the man of the hour enter the space.

The first thing that accosts me is the smell. It flows from his presence and attacks all my senses: pine needles and deep earth. The scent is so strong that if I didn’t know better, I would think we were surrounded by thick trees. His pristine white robes slither and drag along the stone floor, the sound loud in the silent space. He doesn’t seem to even walk but glides like some omnipresent being. Everyone is holding their breath and not daring to make a sound.

My eyes trail up his form, surveying the most powerful man in the Brotherhood. The most powerful man in the whole world, not more than a mere ten feet away from me. White robes embroidered with rich gold thread depicting doves, crucifixes, and burning bushes are the first to meet my gaze. His hands are clasped in front of his body, a diamond and gold rosary clutched in their meaty grasp. His fingers are adorned with various gold rings and priceless jewels.

So much adornment and wealth for a man who is supposed to represent God and all of his people, even the downtrodden and poor. While they starve, he wears riches that could feed small countries. Hypocrite, that is what he is, what all the men in this room are.

My eyes rise further until I meet the white and gold mask. The lips are painted bright gold, and the nose has two small holes allowing for air and two cutouts for eyes. The rest of the mask resembles something out of a Venetian Renaissance. Beautiful, elegant, and eerie. The top of the mask is covered in gold, precious jewels, and diamonds, and is finished off by soft-looking gold feathers that meet the hood of his white robes.

I can’t see his eyes properly from behind the eye holes. The light makes them look like two dark pieces of black Obsidian. They seem to glow from within, a spark calling to me, urging me to fall into their depths and not to seek refuge from the dark storm they promise to unleash.

He is completely obscured from the prying eye. The only flesh visible is his fingers, and they don’t answer any of my questions about his identity. He stops in front of my mother and me, the material of his robes rustling as he reaches out and lays his palms against the crown of each of our veiled heads.

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