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Normally Alistair never took his prey home. This was a special case, and it was all for Brianna.
I wasn’t quiet for long. With my head leaning on the headrest, I looked at my uncle’s profile. He stared straight ahead, short stubble on his jaw. Maybe it was because he was my uncle, but I just couldn’t see what drew Brianna to him so much.
For him to agree to do things differently, for him to want to bring someone home… shit. It had to be real, but still I found myself asking, “Do you really love her? Brianna, I mean.”
She was meant to be mine—that’s what my uncle had told me from the beginning—but even that had been a lie. He’d held himself back from her from the get-go. He’d watched her, been aware of her existence, becoming obsessed with her, before I’d even known she existed.
I didn’t like that. No, I didn’t like that at all. My uncle knowing Brianna longer than me? That was wrong on so many different levels.
“I haven’t told her yet, but,” Alistair paused, and that pause told me the answer, “yes, I do. Does that enrage you? Should I be worried that I’ll wake up with you standing over my bed with a knife in your hand?”
“I’m not going to kill you,” I huffed.
“You tried to kill Rick.”
“Rick’s a dick,” I pointed out. “He deserved worse than a tiny stab wound in the shoulder.”
Alistair didn’t comment on that, instead saying, “The fact of the matter is, you tend to get territorial over things you consider yours. It might’ve taken a bit for Brianna to become one of those things, but you view her as yours now.”
Frowning, I said, “Yeah, I do, just like you think she’s yours.” His silence told me I wasn’t wrong, and that was cause enough for me to get annoyed, and it made me grateful that I’d get to smell the scent of blood in the air soon enough.
“She makes me feel things no other person ever has,” Alistair spoke quietly. He still sounded bored, but small pangs of emotion did tug at his voice when he talked about Brianna. “She makes me feel alive, Gareth. Trust me when I tell you I tried hard not to feel a thing for her. She was meant to be yours, not ours.”
“I still don’t get why she likes you so much. You’re so fucking old.” It was only because I was staring at him that I saw a smirk cross his face—just for the quickest of seconds, and then it was gone.
Alistair shook his head once. “I’m really not that old, Gareth. You’ll be my age soon enough.”
“Yeah, and when I am, you’ll be fifty. Then what? Are you still going to be dipping your dick in my girl?” I had to call Brianna my girl, because that’s what she was. She would never be anything different. She’d be mine until the end of time, until death took us both. I’d never let her walk away from me, and I sure as fuck would never leave her.
“You know what they say: fifty is the new thirty.”
I squinted at him. I was pretty fucking sure nobody said that, but whatever.
By the time we arrived at our destination, it was just after seven. Alistair pulled the car into the gravel lot, putting it in park and undoing his seatbelt before reaching into his pocket to get his gloves. “Let’s grab him and go. From my research, Father Edwards always does chores around the church until eight if there’s a service the next day. He should be in there and not at home.”
And, if he was at home, it was conveniently located on the same property, just a short walk away from the church itself.
I got out of the car and pulled my gloves on, following Alistair as he strolled up to the front door of the church. It wasn’t a big place; the town was small, so the church reflected that. No one else was around, and Alistair had parked the car right in front of the door, so once we had him, we could load him up quickly.
We stopped just before the door, and Alistair looked at me. “Do you want to take lead on this, or should I? There’s another entrance around the side I can take.”
I sighed. “I’ll go in.” I cracked my neck as I reached for the church’s door, and then I pulled it open, strolling inside and holding my head high. A tall cathedral ceiling greeted me, along with stained glass windows, though I couldn’t see what was on them due to how dark it was outside. Wooden pews lined each side of the church, a red carpet rolled down the center, straight to the altar.
No lights were on, but some candles remained burning, their yellow light flickering every few seconds. It was enough light to see, and I walked down the center aisle, stopping when I reached the front pew on the left, and I took a seat, my eyes on the cross and the state of the man staked to it.
Or etched, since it was a statue.
I never paid much attention to religion. It was big in Eastcreek, but thankfully my uncle had never cared to join a congregation. I did not need to be good for some invisible higher power, nor did I need to ask his forgiveness for my sins. If heaven and hell were real, well, I’d much rather go to the fun one and burn for all eternity.
It wasn’t long before a man walked out of the back, coming from a side door just behind the statue of Jesus. You couldn’t see the door from where I sat; it was perfectly hidden from view. A man in his fifties, he wore all black, save for a small square of white around his neck, and the moment he saw me, he stopped.
“Hello,” the priest spoke. “The church is closed right now—”
“Oh, I thought churches were open all the time for us sinners,” I spoke, trying not to sound too menacing. “I have sins I’d like to confess. You have time, don’t you, Father Edwards?”
He came closer, and once he was near, I could see his dark brows furrowing. He didn’t recognize me. Duh. “I’m sorry, child, you don’t look like a member here.” He stood directly in front of me, all of his attention on me. It would be his mistake.
“I’m not,” I told him. “But I’m thinking of switching. I’d like to have… oh, what do you call it? Confession time?”
