AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Loosening my collar, I remove it from my neck and toss it onto the nightstand. I won’t need it after tonight, as I fully intend to turn over my resignation to Bishop McDonnell first thing in the morning. Next, I unbutton my shirt, peeling it off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, beside Ivy, my temptation in the flesh, who watches me undress. Patiently waiting, like a good little supplicant.
I wish I could say that the blood I’ve spilled is enough, but just as I know I can’t stay away from Ivy, I’m certain it isn’t in me to forgive my father for having murdered my family. So, as much as I wish I could be a man of virtue and unyielding devotion the church, the truth is, I’m not finished with this wrath.
Or indulging in my darkest fantasies, for that matter.
I crawl over top of Ivy, while she backs herself onto the bed, eyes carrying what I surmise is something carnal. Wicked.
Far too irresistible for my slowly unraveling control.
Taking the end of the belt in hand, I urge her beneath me, licking my lips like a wolf at the thought of what’s to come.
Tonight, I’m going to fuck her. I’m going to glut on her body until I’ve had my fill. Until there isn’t an ounce of lust left in me. Then I’m going to fuck her again after that.
And tomorrow? I’m going to fly back to New York to make my father answer for his sins.
Sins that can never be absolved.
PART II
ATONEMENT
19
Damon
Skyscrapers flank the steeple of St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue. Its neo-gothic architecture is a stark contrast to the modern buildings of the city. A stern pillar of virtue that bears down on me, as I stare up at it, recalling the many times my aunt and mother dragged me here as a kid.
I’m not here for church, though.
I’m here to kill my father.
Food, urine, and exhaust fumes mingle with the bitter scent of betrayal, as I keep on toward the parking garage at the end of the block. Figures that it’d take my old man to bring me back to the one place in the world I swore I’d never return to again.
Even as I keep on, I feel the weight of the cross pressing against my shoulders, reminding me that I’m still bound by my vows, seeing as Bishop McDonnell insisted I take some time for myself before throwing in the white collar and hanging up my vestments for good.
There’s the issue of Ivy, too. As many times as I’ve tried to get her out of my system over the last week, I’ve found her to be the most difficult temptation to break. Leaving her back in L.A. was not only for her own safety, but also for my sanity and what little is left of my soul.
Across the East River lies Corona, a borough of Queens where my father has lived for the past couple of decades now. Even with my absence, the chance of getting recognized there isn’t worth the risk of word getting back to him, not before I have the chance to slit his throat, so I’ve been keeping my distance in the city of the faceless, until I’m ready.
And I am ready.
My rental is a small black sedan that could be any one of the three parked in the same row on the second level, and I have to tap the remote to determine which is mine. Once settled into the driver’s seat, I grip the steering wheel to calm my nerves.
Killing is instinctual. Killing my father could almost be viewed as barbaric, if not for the fact that he sent a man to butcher my family, and the knot twisting in my gut is the brewing anger I’ve tamped down for two days in a hotel room, waiting for the moment to do this, building up my resolve.
If love is a measure of a man’s heart, then my chest must be as hollow and empty as his guilt for having arranged such a callous murder. What love I had for the man is now buried alongside the bones of my wife and child.
With a deep breath, I drive the car out of the garage and through downtown Manhattan, toward the Queensboro Bridge. The city passes in chaotic streaks of red and gray, while my mind spins with the visuals of his face in the fatal moment when I’ll slide the blade across his throat.
I thought about shooting him, but a blade just feels more personal. More fitting for the way my wife and daughter were slaughtered in their sleep.
I come to a stop along the curb in front of my father’s unimpressive Colonial in Corona, one of the only single homes on a block that’s packed with duplexes and apartments crammed together. Where one might expect a small front yard there’s nothing but a slab of concrete, upon which my dad’s Bonneville he bought back when I was a teenager sits parked. For a man who hoards enough blood money to man his own army, he lives a rather unassuming life. By choice. He told me once, when I was just a kid, thatkings without castles never fall. By staying ‘low to the ground’, as he called it, living in the same working class neighborhoods as the people he screwed over, he could keep a pulse on what was going on.
The dull buzz of a flickering street lamp is the only sound as I make my way toward the dark and quiet house. Neighboring yards stand unkempt, with toys and kids’ rusted old bikes lying about. A light dusting from an early snowfall does little to hide the patches of brown grass where dogs have undoubtedly pissed. Place hasn’t changed much.
Memories of hot summers and kids playing in the streets are quickly tamped down by the bone chilling breeze that brushes over my skin. The lingering hum in my blood is my nerves acting up again.
Last time I visited my father was just before Val and I took off to California, when I told him I wanted no part of the family business. I had no idea back then I’d be back less than a decade later to settle a score with him.
