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As far as I was concerned, we had nothing to talk about. If this was about what I’d left at his church, he could just go right now. He wasn’t going to change my mind. I wasn’t going to take it back. I’d left it, abandoning it on purpose. I’d needed to, because though Father Charlie had gotten me through these last three years, he was gone now, murdered, and I needed to do what I had to without the weight of knowing he wouldn’t approve.
Sleeping with a stranger? Yeah, no way Father Charlie would’ve ever approved of that. A man of the cloth, a priest, was all about resisting bodily temptations. It wasn’t so much temptation for me as it was a necessary step to overcome the trauma of my past, but whatever.
When Ezekiel reached me, I pulled away from the group, well aware everyone still watched us. We walked to where Zander and I had stood earlier, not quite having privacy, but enough—or so I’d thought.
But Ezekiel said, “Let’s go for a walk.” He didn’t stop. He kept going, walking into the forest, much like I’d done earlier, after throwing the bottle into the fire.
I stood there for a few moments, not quite following him right away. If I went on that walk, if I went further from the campsite, I’d be as alone as I could be with a man who was nothing but a stranger to me. And there was something about him, something I couldn’t put my finger on. I’d never met a priest who held himself like Ezekiel.
Of course, I hadn’t met many priests in my life before, other than Father Charlie, but that was beside the point.
I walked after him, catching up even though I really, really didn’t want to. The sooner we got this little walk over with, the sooner he could leave. That’s all I was concerned about. I had absolutely no business with this guy, and I never would. Making Father Ezekiel the new version of Father Charlie was not something I wanted.
I couldn’t say how long we walked, how far away from the group and the bonfire we went, but it had to be a good distance. We walked for at least five minutes, neither one of us saying anything. The forest around us was dark, such a switch to Cypress and its streets that always had lights shining on you. In the darkness, Ezekiel seemed… at home, almost. Like it didn’t bother him at all.
“How long do we have to walk before you tell me what this is about?” I asked, breaking the silence of our private walk. I had no idea why he couldn’t just have this talk with me in front of the others, why we needed to be alone. None of it made sense, but then again, I wasn’t trying to think about it too hard.
Ezekiel stopped, but he didn’t turn to look at me. I was behind him, and I didn’t care to move around to his front, instead staring at his back. Even with all the shadows, I saw something I didn’t see—or rather, something I didn’t notice—at that Black Hand party before.
He was tall, but not lanky. This priest had muscles, something which I found odd. His shoulders were wide and strong, the fabric on his arms tight.
“You should know already what this is about,” he said, slow to face me. His black eyebrows had furrowed slightly, and he looked at me like he was trying to piece me together, like he didn’t understand me. Join the club. “You stopped by my church, left me something.” He cocked his head. “Where did you stumble upon a cross like that?”
“It belonged to a friend of mine,” I told him, folding my arms over my chest as I looked away. Not because I couldn’t handle his intensity, but because I was thinking of all those days and nights I’d spent with Father Charlie, all those times he’d helped me just by being there, listening to me. In all of my life, he’d been the only one who’d really listened, the only person who’d ever seen me for who I was, not who I was supposed to be.
Ezekiel didn’t say anything to that, so I added, “He’s dead now.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” He reached into his pant pocket, pulling out that fucking golden chain with that fucking golden cross. “It is beautiful. Your friend must’ve got it in one of the holy cities. They don’t make things like this around here.”
“He got it in Rome.”
“Rome,” Ezekiel echoed. “A beautiful city for a beautiful cross.” His eyes lifted to me, his hand curled around the cross. “Why abandon it, then? You said your friend is dead. Why not keep it to remember him by?”
I let out a chuckle. “You came all this way to ask me why I didn’t keep it? How’d you even find us here, anyway? I’m sure you could’ve found out where I live and stopped by the house instead—you know, while the sun was still up.” Coming here now, while this heir party was in full bloom, was a choice he’d purposefully made.
“There was talk of the possible future Black Hand heirs getting together. I have my ways. Cypress is my city.” Ezekiel paused. “And as for why I did not go to the Santos estate, well… I assumed this was a chat you might not want to have with your father listening.” A beat passed before he asked, “Was I correct in that assumption, or are you as naive as you looked that night? I do have to say, I think black suits you much better than white.”
For some reason, I didn’t particularly like the fact that Ezekiel was talking about my clothes and how I looked, how he thought I looked. I frowned at him. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”
“I looked into your father. He is… a very impressive man. Whiskey isn’t the only thing he sells to his clients. I imagine he’s not the type of man who ever takes no for an answer. I also imagine he’s someone who uses every piece of information he can to get people to do what he wants them to.” He held my frown with an unimpressed expression. “I’ve met many men like him. He doesn’t frighten me.”
Maybe it was all in my head, but I could’ve sworn I heard Ezekiel put emphasis on the final word, on how my father didn’t scare him, meaning he thought my father scared other people. Was he talking about me? Did he think I was frightened of my own father?
I… I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything to him. I might’ve only met this priest in passing at that party, but that night, he’d seen past the masks. He knew too much. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like it at all.
“He made you wear the white, didn’t he? He painted a target on you,” Ezekiel went on. “I did not want to give him anything he could possibly use against you, but you should take this back. It is not mine to keep.” He extended his arm, offering me the cross.
I made no moves to take it. None at all. “I’m not helpless,” I growled out. “I can take care of myself. There’s a target on my back simply because I’m Miguel Santos’s daughter. Wearing white has nothing to do with it.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps that is just the story you’ve been told to tell.”
This guy was making me mad, and I’d already gotten pissed tonight, so the match inside me still burned. “What is that supposed to mean?” I ground my teeth, fingers clenching into fists. My arms were still crossed, but I had the urge to… to do something. To scream, to hit this man, to tell him he didn’t know me at all. We were strangers. He could not see into my soul by knowing me a single night.
“You are your own person,” he said, dropping his offered hand once he saw I wasn’t going to take the cross. “You make your own decisions. You do not belong to your father.”
“I didn’t come to you for advice. In fact, I didn’t come to you at all, so why don’t you just stuff that cross back into your pocket and leave, hmm?” I sounded like a bitch, and that’s because I was feeling quite bitchy right then.
“The brave are often rash,” Ezekiel said. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but I didn’t have too much time to linger on it, because he dropped the cross from his grip, letting it dangle from his fingers, from the chain. He turned his back to me, walking over to the nearest tree. He found the lowest hanging branch and hung the decorated cross on it.
