She sits in the front row with the rest of the Maidens, her head bowed as my father drones on about how all females in the church should be in “perfect obedience” to their husbands at all times. If a wife is having marital issues, personal problems, or so much as a runny nose, it is because she is not in perfect obedience.

The women in the crowd nod along, though some of them—the ones who wear sunglasses more often than not—keep their heads bowed. After all, according to the Prophet, their black eyes and concussions are due to their own faults as wives.

He still preaches the perfect obedience doctrine, even after one member of the congregation forced his pregnant wife to stand outside on the coldest night of the year. “If you are in perfect obedience, you will not be harmed,” he’d told her before going to sleep in their warm bed.

The next morning, she’d lost four toes to frostbite and the baby from the trauma. This was, naturally, her own fault for not being in perfect obedience. At least that’s what my father and the rest of the savages in this building would argue.

“… and the wife shall be blessed. The book of Ephesians tells us, ‘Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.’ There is no ‘except when you don’t feel like it’ in there. Can I get an amen?”

A deeply male rumble of “Amen” rolls through the crowd.

“It doesn’t say ‘obey only when it suits you.’ It doesn’t say ‘obey unless you have a headache.’ The scripture is quite clear on what is required of a wife.”

“Amen.” The crowd affirms the Prophet.

I don’t give two shits what these sheep believe, as long as they pay their tithes on time. My eyes are drawn back to Delilah, her face hidden from me. But I can recall it easily, just like the rest of her. My cock stirs, awakening at the thought of her spread out beneath me, the way her breath hitched as I stroked her tits. It was an act of acute control not to take one of her nipples in my mouth, to finally taste the pale, warm skin that taunts me even now.

Noah walks up beside me, both of us hidden by the stage curtain as my father gets deeper and deeper into the pit of misogyny that leaves his congregation slobbering for more.

“We got a job tonight.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“What?” I intend to spend my evening with Delilah, teasing her until she begs me to eat her pussy.

“Enforcement.”

“Fuck.” I sigh. “Who?”

“We got word that a couple of the deacons have been talking about starting something new. Taking off with a handful of followers. They’ve been doubting the Prophet in secret meetings.”

“How many?”

“No more than twenty.”

“Who’s the ringleader? Davis?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Gut feeling.” I peer into the crowd and stare at one of the Heavenly police officers, Lieutenant Chris Davis. I’ve never spoken to him, but something in his bearing, the way he doesn’t show the deference required for the Prophet—all of it has pinged on my radar a time or two. He’s one of our newest deacons, a lower cog in the Heavenly machine that keeps everything running smoothly. But now he’s out of rhythm. It’s my job to make the necessary adjustments to keep this operation singing.

I’m up for it. “Jump him after Dad’s finished blowing smoke?”

“Yeah.”

I glance at my brother. Usually, he might scold me for a negative reference to our father where others might hear. This time, though, he’s stone-faced. My father’s easy condemnation of Noah’s pet Gregory seems to have wised him up a bit. Or maybe he’s just tired of trying to fix me when I’m too far gone.

We stay at the edge of the stage for a few more minutes, my gaze always drawn back to Delilah. No veil today, her hair is roped up into a prim bun at the crown of her head, just like all the others. As if she can feel my stare, she lifts her head slightly, her eyes glinting as she looks right at me.

Nothing crosses her features to give her away. A blank slate, or perhaps a mirror reflecting back nothing more than what it sees. Slowly, she lowers her gaze back to her folded hands.

“I’m telling you there’s something off about yours.” Noah elbows me.

“She’s just another stupid fly caught in our father’s web.” I shrug off his words, though of course, I silently agree with him. “Let’s go give that shit-talking cop a surprise.”

* * *

My fist vibrates as it crunches into Davis’s nose. His bones break, mine merely sing a jolly tune as I swing again, this time grinding my knuckles into his eye socket as he screams.

He’s defenseless, though it took a good bit of work to get him this way. He put up a fight when Noah and I pushed him into the back of a Heavenly Mercedes.

“You can’t manhandle me like this.” He fumed in the backseat.

I held up his service pistol. “I suggest you shut the fuck up.”

“Your father won’t let you—”

I chambered a round, the action smooth and as natural as breathing to me. “The more you say, the worse it’s going to get for you. Besides, I suspect you’ve already said enough. When was the last meetup, Noah?”

“Two nights ago, at his house. He had a handful of other deacons over.”

I turned around and grinned at him as he blanched.

“H-how did you—”

I tapped the side of the barrel to my temple. “Psychic.”

We’d taken him to a gravel circle on the backside of the property, the one with the three sturdy crosses on one side. No one would hear us. And Davis would have nowhere to run.

He’d been a challenge at first, all swinging fists and aggression. I let him wear himself out, then went in for the kill, tackling him to the ground. Once I had him pinned, I went to work. Noah began recording with his phone as Davis’s blood coated my knuckles, his cries rising into the night air but never making it to God’s ears.

Each hit sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. Something akin to arousal. And I know it’s fucked up and wrong, but pure violence is one of the only things that can make me feel alive. My thoughts flicker to Delilah. Something new there. She gives me a taste of what I’m feeling now, too. Adrenaline, pleasure, and the primal need to dominate.

“Adam!” Noah shoves my shoulder, and I realize he’s been calling my name for a while. He points to the crosses. “Should we …”

“No. This is enough.” I stand and shake some of the blood off my fists, then address the camera. “Davis will live... This time.” I kick him in the ribs.

He howls and curls into the fetal position. Blood oozes from his mouth in a long string of crimson.

“Unless you’re even dumber than I think, you’ll see that this is a warning. We know who you are. We know your wives and your children. You have a nice house? It can be gone just like that.” I snap my fingers. “Do you think your wife will stay with you if the Prophet casts you out? Think again. Do you think Judge Proctor—who never misses a Sunday—will grant you custody of your children when your wife leaves you for another man who is obedient to the Prophet?” I turn back to Davis and drop down on my haunches. “You understand, don’t you Davis?”

When he doesn’t respond, I grab a handful of his blond hair and yank his bloodied head back. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes!” A red bubble pops on his lips as he screams the correct answer.

“Good.” I rise and pull a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my hands. “I think we all know the score from here on out.”

Noah stops the recording and pockets his cell phone. We walk to the car in silence, get in, and drive away.

“I’ll send someone to pick him up.” Noah lets out a deep sigh. “I hate doing this.”

I can’t say I hated it. The ache in my knuckles reminds me I’m on top. I’m the one walking away from that scrap without a drop of my own blood spilled. “Davis should have known better. Disobedience has consequences.” That is a truth both Noah and I know all too well. A memory of my mother howling in pain threatens to surface, but I drown it, pushing it beneath the dark waters until nothing ripples along my surface.

“Right.” He drums his palm on the steering wheel. “I know. Fuck.”

“Drop me at the Cloister.”

He glances at the clock. “Kinda late for that, isn’t it?”

“Just drop me.” I’ve already had my violence for the night. Now I need another type of high. And there is only one person that will do.