Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
And he still hasn't stopped looking at me, making my heart thunder in my chest. Dad draws a breath to say something, but I find my voice first. “You came.”
“Of course we fucking came.” He says it confidently, but I know it isn’t as easy as that. I remember how torn he was when I called.
I let my gaze drift from him to his two friends.
The man on his left crosses his arms over his powerful chest as he glares around, daring anyone to interfere. He might be the tallest man in the room, and not stretched out and thin like a lot of tall men are. This guy has the muscular build to match his height. A short beard, just thick enough to be more than a five-o'clock shadow, graces his chiseled jaw. His hair is cropped close and his lips drawn into a critical line like he's judging the whole congregation and finding them lacking.
The other guy's lips twist in a sardonic smirk. His bright green eyes sparkle with mischief. Unlike the other two, his leather jacket is blood red, hanging open to reveal a black T-shirt that's molded to his athletic chest underneath. He stands casual, with his hands jammed into his pockets. He looks relaxed, but his eyes are alert, scanning the room like a bodyguard.
And… is that a gun sticking out of his belt? In a church?
Crash walks up the steps like he owns the place. “You're looking good, sunshine. Real fucking good.” His penetrating gaze pins me in place, sliding down the full length of my body and then just as slowly back up, undressing me right here in front of everyone.
I flush, despite everything, but then realize he’s just trying to embarrass me. To get a rise out of Dad. “Jacob…”
“Don’t fucking call me that. That kid died a long, long time ago.” He stretches out his arms, gesturing to the whole church. “Was it worth it? Sticking around for all this? Did it hurt when you sold your soul for all this?”
Tears prickle in the corner of my eyes, but I’ve had a lot of practice pushing down my reactions. “You should go.”
“Leave. You and your kind don’t belong in this holy place.” Dad's voice vibrates with barely contained fury.
His neck is tight, and his hands clench into white-knuckled fists. They must have turned the mics off, because we aren’t broadcasting anymore, but the front rows will still be able to hear. They're not even trying to be subtle about leaning in to follow the drama.
Crash snorts and shakes his head, finally breaking eye contact with me. Losing his attention so suddenly makes me feel like a marionette with her strings cut.
“I don’t belong here? That’s my mother in there you sanctimonious asshole.”
“A woman you left behind years ago. As you yourself just said, her son is dead. What makes you even think she would want you here? She would have hated to see what you’ve become.” Dad signals to turn the sound back on. “Has the prodigal son repented and found the Lord? Is that why you're here? To confess and pray for forgiveness?” With every sentence, Dad's powerful voice grows just a little bit more. Someone in the crowd yells hallelujah.
Crash laughs. It's a deep belly laugh, coarse and raucous. “Repent? For what? Refusing to be dragged into your lies and head games? Maybe you've fooled these fucking idiots, but don't assume that I'm that dumb. But you know what? I don't fucking care what you do, or what you think of me. Do your thing, man. Preach to the sheep. I'm just here to pay my respects to my mother, even if she made the mistake of marrying you.”
“How dare you? I’ll give you one more chance to leave quietly.” Dad's voice has cooled to absolute zero. When it's like that, it's when he's the most dangerous.
I've only heard that tone aimed at me once, and I couldn’t sit for a week after he was done teaching me my lesson. But that was a long time ago, the night Crash left for good.
“Or what?” Crash flexes his fingers like they're just aching to make fists. “What are you going to do? Beat me? I’d like to see you try, old man.”
Grayson steps up and takes my arm, pulling me behind him. “How dare you threaten Pastor Hale? I don’t know who you are, but I refuse to turn the other cheek when you threaten this man and his daughter during their deepest moment of grief.”
Crash blinks at him, and I don't blame him. Grayson is no twig, but Crash looks like he could break him in half. “And who the fuck are you? Get the fuck out of the way before I break your face.”
Grayson has positioned himself right in the line of several of the cameras. I know what he’s thinking. Even if Crash hits him, Grayson will come off looking good for trying to stand up to what looks like an angry gang member. I don’t believe it for a second. The way he’s been looking at me lately makes my skin crawl, like I’m a prize he’s already won.