Tony shrinks back against the white flap of the tent when I turn my ire on him. “The fuck, Tony?”
“Shut up.” Castro grabs my mother by the hair. “Or she gets hurt.”
Fire leaps through my veins and I pull harder at the tape. It doesn’t budge.
“What the fuck is this?”
Castro smiles. “The Prophet has a special plan for you tonight. He’s been worried you aren’t on the same page, aren’t a believer.”
I spit on the floor. “No one does more for Heavenly than I do.”
Castro’s eyes narrow. “You spoiled piece of shit. You don’t deserve to have the same blood as your father.”
I laugh. “Sucking Dad’s dick sure has made you bold.”
A few of the men around me snort back a laugh. Castro pulls my mother’s head to the side. She doesn’t cry out. Violence doesn’t faze her anymore.
“Shut your lying mouth.” He taps the butt of his gun beneath his suit coat. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Is there a point?” I let my head loll back with feigned boredom. My father’s voice subsided a while ago, the throng of Heavenly worshippers getting into their warm cars and heading home.
“It’s time,” someone from outside calls.
Castro smirks. “Cut loose his feet but not his hands.”
Gray leans down and cuts my ankles free. I jerk my knee up and nail him in the face out of nothing more than spite. He squeals and falls backward onto his ass, then grabs his bloody nose with one hand.
“Sorry man. Reflexes.” I grin down at him as another Protector yanks me to my feet.
“Keep it up.” Castro whips out his pistol and points it at me.
I glance at Mom. They aren’t dragging her up—a relief. And Castro has already let go of her hair. Maybe they’re done with her for the evening.
“Come on.” Castro grabs one of my elbows.
Another Protector reaches for my mother, but Castro barks, “Stop.” He shoves me out of the tent’s door. “I’ll be back for her later.”
Fuck.
He marches me through the night and around to the bonfire. A dead lamb lies in the clearing, and my father lifts his crimson hands high above his head. A girl kneels in front of him—the one that led the escape attempt. Sarah, I think is her name.
I instinctively look for Delilah. She’s standing in the pavilion. Red blood paints her chest, and she grips the rail as Castro pushes me toward my father and Sarah.
My father greets me with a glare. “Adam, my firstborn, has sinned against me.”
No shit.
Castro shoves me until I’m standing next to my father, then cuts my hands free. He backs away, apparently satisfied that I won’t make a move. The other Protectors fan out.
The crowd at Delilah’s back is engaged in acts of depravity—the Chapel girls serving as the evening’s entertainment for all the suitors. Some of them glance at the scene my father is creating, but most of them are too busy with the delights of the flesh to bother.
My mother isn’t spared. Castro pulls her to the edge of the clearing, his blade at her throat and a Protector on either side of him. Noah busts through the crowd and rushes past Delilah. He jumps the steps to the ground, but Gray and Zion close in on him and stop him from getting any closer. Gray pulls his pistol and presses it against Noah’s ribs.
My father continues, “Adam, who I created from my own heart and soul, schemes against me, defies me, and seeks to undermine me at every opportunity. The Father of Fire has revealed his iniquity to me and given me this one chance to bring him back into the fold.” He hands me the bloody, curved blade. I take it and imagine slicing through his neck, pouncing on him as he struggles, and sawing all the way through his spinal column. But the knife at my mother’s throat and the gun trained on Noah keep me frozen. Just as they always have.
Sarah, her battered body and face covered with blood, sways fervently at my father’s feet. Her mouth moves with silent words, her pupils huge and black.
“The Father of Fire seeks to bless us this coming year—more than He ever has.” The flames jump higher behind my father, the heat pressing against my back.
Delilah and Noah raise their gazes, and I turn to see a tornado of fire twisting around the smoldering pile of wood and ash.
“But He must first receive a greater gift—one that far exceeds the life of a simple animal. For Him to bless us, He requires the ultimate sacrifice.”
“I’m ready!” Sarah cries and presses her forehead to the dirt. Her emaciated body is weak and wan in the orange glow, and I can feel the emptiness inside her.
“For you, Prophet. For you!” She stretches her arms along the ground in a gesture of total obedience.