Page 45 of A Silence So Divine

“I’m Reverend Curran,” he informs me cordially, as if he didn’t threaten to maim me seconds ago. “And you are?”

I attempt to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper and it gets caught halfway.

“Don’t be contrary. I asked you a question.”

My teeth grind together, and I move my head left to right.

“No?” He raises a salt and peppered brow.

I shake my head again.

A hum rumbles in the back of his throat before he releases me. Turning on his heel, he stalks toward the other men.

“Do not leave this room until you have her information. Then, you may dispose of her. She reeks of the devil himself.”

Panic sets in. If I could reason with the men, they might let me go. If I could muster up some words…

My lips part, but I only manage to gape like the fish Creed pulled from the water. Open, shut, open, shut.

Two men make their way towards me while the rest plop down into a row of seats, their posture relaxed. It’s so nonchalant, they must have done this before.

Cecil’s confession barrels into my mind and bile rises in my throat.

There are a lot of people that would love to find you.Huntyou.

Taking in rapid breaths through my nose, I wrench my bound arms to no avail. My thrashing is moot, but playing dead isn’t an option anymore.

I have a feeling these men won’t grant me a quick demise.

The smaller man steps forward first, something clutched in his fist. The stained glass paints rainbows throughout the room. Beams flash over his form, bathing him in scarlet. It reminds me so much of the man I murdered yesterday that I still, eyes growing wide.

Is this my punishment?

With the press of his thumb, shining metal shoots out between his fingers and I’m met with the edge of a blade.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” The stranger whispers, skating the knife down the apple of my cheek. It doesn’t pierce the skin, but the tickle causes a shiver to run down my spine.

“We’re gonna play a game, and each unanswered question receives a punishment. How’s that?”

The platinum of his hair reminds me of the snow on Christmas Day and I cling to the memory. If I die, I don’t want my last moments to be blighted by fear.

Dancing in the dining room, candles and the smell of fresh pine, warm liquor and—

“That’s one.” A hand slides into my hair and wrenches my neck. Despite the pain, not a single sound escapes me. Closing my eyes, I anticipate the hot sting of a blade against my skin. Instead, the sound of ripping draws my attention to my sweater. It falls open, revealing a pale gray bra and the dip of my navel. It’s been sliced down the middle.

Laughter erupts. So does my shame.

“What does she value more,” he begins, glancing at the others. His lips are curled into a hideous grin, the twinkle in his eye anything but friendly. “Modesty or beauty?”

In a flash, the sharp tip is held to my cheek, piercing just below my eye. Ever so slowly, he draws a line down toward my jawline, flirting with the idea of flaying me.

He hums, cocking his head to the side. He slides his palm to the side of my face, catching blood with his thumb and wiping, painting streaks across my face. I don’t blink, I don’t quiver. I stare past him and study the room.

Concrete floors, a dozen rows of pews. Sconces, too, though they’re not lit. The windows allow plenty of light. I’m sure it was once beautiful.

Now, it’s a tomb.

“Modesty it is.”