Page 93 of A Silence So Divine

“No.”

All at once, her demeanor turns cold. Her boots leave indents in the overgrown grass as she makes her way back to the mat.

Sylvie waves her hand to get Creed’s attention. His uneasy expression turns to her.

“She should be able to protect herself, right?”

Creed mulls it over. Eventually, he replies,“I think so.”

“Okay. Can you keep a secret?”

Now, he smiles.Any opportunity to be ornery, he’ll take.“Obviously.”

“Good. Let’s get started.”

Thirty Nine

Cecil

It’s been weeks since I’ve last stepped foot in the Sanctuary. The grounds glisten with morning dew, and only a few other vehicles are parked in the field—intentional on my part. I’ve been dreading this meeting with Curran since the moment I agreed to it. The less people around to witness it, the better.

Savoring the last drag of my cigarette, I peer out toward the horizon. The Sanctuary is secluded, but it’s hardly a necessity. Everyone knows who, what, and where the Brothers are. You might be asking yourself: how are kidnapping and murder legal? Well, they’re not. But if those who hand out sentences are the same ones serving them, do you think they’re quick to condemn themselves?

If you were to make a venn diagram of the Brothers of Divinity and the powers at be, it would be a circle. We remain an unspoken truth, both the boogeyman and God’s greatest servants, depending which side you’re on.

And I’m on both.

Stepping inside, the fall of my steel toed boots echo down the empty corridor. My mask slips into place, and I void myself ofas much emotion as I can. Shoulders back, chin high. Even my fingers are rigid, not a twitch in sight.

Curran is waiting for me at his desk, and I don’t bother knocking before I enter. He shoots me a look of disapproval, and the petty part of me relishes it. There’s much he controls, but only because I allow it. As I’ve gotten older, and bigger, I find that his respect for me stems from some amount of fear.

As it should.

“Punctual as ever,” he remarks, beady eyes watching my every move. I don’t bother responding, choosing instead to take the seat across from him. There’s a steaming mug of what I assume to be coffee in front of him. Reaching below his desk, he brandishes a near empty bottle of spiced whiskey and adds a splash before taking a long sip.

“Getting right to it, then?” I jut my chin towards his mug.

“It was a long night.”

Is alcoholism a sin? Probably. But being a hypocrite coincides with being a Divine.

He offers me the bottle, and I wave my hand dismissively, though a stiff drinkwouldmake this conversation more manageable.

He takes another sip before placing the mug on the table with a clink.

“So,” he begins, gaze penetrating. “Where’s the girl?”

The mention of Eden already has my stomach clenching. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to remain neutral when it comes to her, and I don’t fucking like it.

“On my property. Same place she has been.” My voice is steady, leaving no room for interpretation. Bushy eyebrows hike up, and he looks positively perturbed.

“She sleeps under your roof?”

For this to work, I need to convince him that I have complete control—that I’m not afraid of her. After all, it’s fear that fuelshis prejudice. If I can convince him that I’ve got her wrapped around my finger, he might be more agreeable.

“Worried about me?” Mirth dances in my eyes. “Trust me when I tell you that she has been thoroughly contained. There’s little she’s able to do. Even then, I doubt she would.”

His eyes soften in awe. Eating right out of my palm.