After another night of barely sleeping, I wake early as I hear Noah’s footsteps echoing on the polished wood stairs. I sit up and rub my eyes, then glance at my alarm clock. Daybreak is in half an hour.

“Is Dad coming?” I ask as Noah walks in my bedroom door.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” I rise and stride to my bathroom, the polished marble reminding me of a crypt.

“Craig’s already in the back of my car with Gray and Zion.”

I stare at my haggard face in the mirror. “Does he know we’re going to the river?”

“No, but he’s shaking and stuttering. Probably thinks it’s the cross.”

“He might have preferred the cross when that cold water hits him.” I pick out some jeans and a t-shirt. “You got the waders?”

“In the trunk.” He sits on my bed and glances at the blanket on the floor. “You sleep?”

“Enough.”

“So, that’s a no.”

I pull my white t-shirt over my head and grab my belt. The one I’d used on her. I have an instinct to press the leather against my cheek, hoping for some sort of phantom warmth or her scent.

“You okay?” Noah rises.

I glance at him. “Better than you are. You buttoned your shirt crooked.”

He looks down and grins. “Well, shit.”

“Fix it in the car.” I walk past the door across from mine—the one I never open—and pound down the stairs, my hollow footsteps bouncing off the walls. The four bedroom house was meant for a family, the hardwood floors and luxurious furnishings perfect for one of my father’s favored Protectors. Instead, he gave the house to me, to keep me close, to keep an iron grip on every move I make. Classy and classic, the home is far nicer than the ones I grew up in. And though there are no bars on the beveled windows, it’s a prison all the same.

The brisk morning air hits me full force as I walk down the brick front steps, Noah at my side. White exhaust puffs from the black sedan waiting in my driveway.

“I’ll drive. You fix your shirt.” I slide into the driver’s seat and cast a glance at the rearview. A ghostly-white Craig doesn’t meet my gaze.

I would like to say I don’t enjoy this. But Craig is a vicious son-of-a-bitch, and he deserves every bit of what’s coming to him. More, if I’m being honest. I find myself hurrying through the Compound, speeding toward Craig’s chilly punishment. When we pass the clearing where three crosses are set deep in the Alabama clay, Craig lets out a low sigh of relief. I smile and gas it, almost getting some air over the next rise. Noah shoots me a worried look, but doesn’t say anything.

We veer away from the main buildings and pass the guarded road that leads to the Cathedral, then head deeper into the woods. When the dark river emerges ahead of us, Craig makes a noise low in his throat. Fear permeates the air, and I flex my fingers. I’m ready.

I pull up to a gravel area at the water’s edge. Boulders and mossy rocks appear along the edges of a wide pool with overhanging trees. In the day, the water is almost clear. But now, when the sun hasn’t risen, it’s gloomy and bottomless.

“Get him out.” I glare at Zion in the rearview.

He and Gray jump at my words, then drag Craig from the car and slam the doors.

“Looks cold.” Noah holds his hands over the warm vents. “I fucking hate this.”

“Why?”

“It’s just so… so…” He throws his hands up. “Why do we have to do it?”

I cock my head and study him. “So, you don’t mind the fact that Craig is going to be drowned to within an inch of death, but you do mind that we’re the ones who have to get our hands dirty?”

“When you say it like that, I sound like a psycho.” He shrugs. “I mean, in a perfect world, no, Craig wouldn’t be punished like this. But…”

“But what?”

“But he failed his Maiden, and he failed the Prophet.”

I clench my eyes shut. “And here I was beginning to think you were finally getting over the hump of our father’s bullshit.”

“You saw the flames.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “We both saw what he can do.”

“We saw a parlor trick! And we were stupid kids!” I wonder if I can slap the belief out of him, just rear back and knock him senseless. But it won’t work. If my father’s taught me anything, it’s that true believers will hold onto their blind faith no matter what. I grind my teeth. “He’s just using you like he does everyone else, Noah. None of this is real. You aren’t here because you believe. You’re here because of what he’ll do if we try to leave again.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I may disagree with some of the stuff he does, especially when it comes to Mom, but he’s the real deal, Adam. You have to know that. You saw it!”

“I don’t know what I saw, and neither do you.” I slam my hand on the steering wheel. “You have to snap out of it!”

A car pulls up, its tires crunching on the gravel. The driver steps out and opens my father’s door as Noah and I fume. But this discussion is tabled now that Dad has shown up.

“Let’s get the waders on.” Noah opens his door and steps out.

I force my anger to recede and adopt a placid expression. My father doesn’t need to see anything that goes on inside me. I’ve become good at hiding in plain sight.

Despite the façade, I can’t help the eager way I pull on my waders and grab Craig for his date with oxygen deprivation. The water is frigid, chilling me through the thick rubber of the waders. Craig stiffens and shivers as we haul him into the pool.

His screams and cries for mercy are hidden by the black water as Noah and I shove him under. He kicks, splashing us, as my father intones, “For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.”

When he finally stops moving, we pull him up. I slam my open palm against his back, and he coughs up water, then takes a huge gulp of air.

“… and this water symbolizes baptism that now saves you also—not the removal of dirt from the body but the pledge of a clear conscience toward God.” My father nods toward us.

We slam Craig beneath the glacial water, his struggles filling me with a rare sense of satisfaction. He didn’t listen to his Maiden’s cries for mercy. I saw her, the one with the dark hair and the bruises. The one who was screaming the night when Delilah fought with all her might to try and save her. Sarah, the one who led the escape attempt.

“Let him up, man.” Noah shakes my shoulder.

I didn’t notice Craig had gone slack again. We pull him out of the water, and I land blow after blow on his back until he coughs and sputters, then starts begging.

I grin and shove him back under.

Some parts of me—the worst—are the only ones I ever let show.

* * *

I walk up the slight rise to my father’s house. Castro stands out back smoking a cigarette. He flicks the butt at me as I reach for the back door. Pausing, I do a quick calculus on whether I could kill him and get rid of his body before my father or anyone else asks questions.

“Problem, pendejo?” He taps the pistol strapped beneath his arm.

“Fuck you.” I push inside the house and slam the door in his face, flipping the lock out of nothing more than petty spite.

He spits a litany of curses in Spanish.

“You ever wonder why he hates you so much?” Noah drains a tumbler and leaves the glass on the bar.

“I don’t give a shit. And since when did you drink before noon?”

He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Everyone has their vice.”

I grab a bottle of the cheap shit from the bottom shelf and take a swig. The heat rushes down my throat and does its best to warm up the bone-deep chill I still feel from the creek. I replace the bottle and ignore my reflection in the bar mirror. Noah’s drinking is something I need to address, but it will have to wait.

“You ready?” He glances at the stairs leading to the main level.

“As I’ll ever be.”

We climb the steps. The farther I rise, the heavier I feel. I want to ask my father about Delilah, but I can’t. Uttering her name will put an even bigger target on her back. My father works in particular ways, ways that I’ve learned over years and years of watching him. Find out what people want themselves to be, then reflect that vision back at them. Even more important, find out what people fear, what they covet, what they care about, then twist it and use it to control them. He’d do the same thing with Delilah.

“Get in here!” My father’s tone is jovial, so I naturally wonder what new bullshit he’s cooked up to pile on us.

Miriam, former Maiden and current wife of the governor, sits on a couch to the right, her white skirt suit pitch perfect, and her tan legs crossed at the knee.

“The first lady came to see us.” My father leans back in his chair, a smile stretching his too-tight lips.

“Miriam.” I give her a nod as Noah and I sit in front of the desk.

“Nice to see you two.” Her light blue eyes are sharp, missing nothing.

“Sweet Miriam was just telling me about a new industry the governor is trying to woo into our great state. Tell me more.” He waves at her to continue.

“It’s a car manufacturer based in South Korea. They’re looking to move to a state with a readily available workforce, room to grow, and of course, low taxes.”

Dad scratches his chin. “Where are they looking to go in the state?”

“Somewhere along I-65 to the north of Birmingham. Likely Cullman County. They’ve got their eye on a hundred acres just off the highway and near the old Union Rail line. But they want some big tax breaks in exchange. Louis balked at that.” She twirls a lock of hair around her finger and bites her lip in a practiced look of seduction. “He did at first, anyway.”

My father pats his knee. Like an obedient dog, Miriam goes to my father and sits on his lap.

“You convinced him this would be a good deal, did you?” He nuzzles into her hair.

“I may have done a few things to change his mind.” She unbuttons her jacket as my father’s hands rove her body. “All for you, my Prophet.”

“I want that company, especially if we can wrangle first pick on jobs for Heavenly members. Adam, go ahead and buy up the land Miriam is talking about. We’ll want to sell it to the Koreans at a premium.” He pulls her top down and sucks her nipple through her white lace bra.

Noah shifts in his seat and looks anywhere but at them.

“You think you can convince old Louis to set up a meeting with us and the Koreans to talk work force?” He pulls her bra down and nuzzles her breasts.

“I can convince him.”

“You can?” He grips her hair and pushes her down to the floor. “Show me how convincing you can be.”

“Anything for you, Prophet.” She licks her lips as she disappears behind the desk.

It’s a relief that I can’t see her anymore, even though sloppy wet sounds start up as my father leans back in his chair. My father is a pig, though no one seems to notice it but me.

“We’ll get control of that car factory in no time.” He grunts and tucks his hands behind his head. “A full Heavenly Ministries workforce running the place.”

I don’t look away from my father’s filth. I never have. “I’ll call the lawyer this morning.”

“Get out of here, boys. I need to finish the rest of my business with Miriam.” He closes his eyes as the slurping increases.

We walk out of the office and find Castro in the foyer staring daggers at me.

I laugh and stride past him, enjoying the extra fury that wrinkles his brow. He’s a prick, and I’ve already decided I’ll kill him one day. At this point, I’m just a cat playing with my food.

“Jeez.” Noah exhales as we descend the stairs. “Dad just… he just does whatever.”

“Prophet perks.” I grab a top-shelf bottle from the bar. “And don’t act surprised. He’s done plenty worse than that.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I mean, Mom is upstairs. Right now.”

I unscrew the cap and take a drink of the dark, smoky liquor. Our mother may as well be on Mars. We can’t get to her. Not with armed guards outside her door that track every move she makes, Castro her constant shadow when not guarding Dad. My father learned quickly after Noah and I made the biggest mistake of our lives. When he caught us trying to leave, he made us watch our mother pay for that mistake with interest. She’s caged even more than we are.

“So you admit he’s a disgusting pervert, but you still believe he talks to God and the devil?” I lean against the dark mahogany wood, my body sagging from too much effort and not enough fuel.

He shrugs. “He’s still a man. Still flawed. But yes, I believe he’s a prophet of the Lord. And that God and the Father of Fire are two sides of the same coin. He speaks to them.”

I hold the bottle up to him in a half-ass salute. “Well, at least you’re more fucked in the head than I am. I’ll drink to that.”