Page 140 of Kings Fear No One
I can do this.
“We can have a ceremony,” I say, scanning the room full of antique stained glass windows and wooden pews collecting dust. “We can invite the other believers and make a joyous occasion out of it. Is this church special to you, Leader?”
He follows my gaze, turning his head for a look around. “This place? This beautiful church. It is very… meaningful. It is the place my father once gave sermons. He was a pastor. Pastor William James. A long time ago. Before the church closed its doors.”
“My family used to come to this church too. I… I knew your father. He was a very kind man.”
The ego-stroking words seem to win him over even more. His expression eases and he takes a step toward me. “Yes, he was, Believer Teysha. I saw you before. Did you know that? At my father’s church? I saw you blossoming into a young woman—though you never saw me—but I knew, I knew one day, I would welcome you into our family. The family I created when I decided to continue my father’s work. He would be so proud to see you here today.”
“I’m sure he would be,” I stammer.
Logan’s freed his left arm. He wrenches it out of the rope, then goes still as if biding his time. He’s waiting to see if Abraham’s still distracted and if he can make another move. Once he deems it safe to do so, he reaches across to the other knot that’s bound his right arm and begins working on it.
I breathe easier, thinking on what else to say.
But Abraham’s noticed the shift of my gaze. He picks up on what it means and whips around to check on Logan.
Logan’s as attuned to the situation as he is. He anticipates what to do next. As Abraham turns toward him, Logan throws a fist that lands in his gut.
Abraham doubles over, curling his arms around his mid-section. Logan uses the momentum he’s gathered to strike again. He grips a fistful of Abraham’s blond strands and steals the knife he’s holding from his grasp.
“SAINTS!” Abraham croaks, coughing. “SAINTS!”
Before I can even react, the main doors fling open, and Amos and Hershel burst inside. They raise their rifles at us.
One aimed at Logan as he slashes himself free then holds the knife to Abraham’s throat.
The other rifle’s pointed at me. My stomach pits staring at the barrel that could end my life at the quick pull of a trigger.
“SHOOT THEM!” Abraham roars. “SHOOT HIM!”
“But… Leader, I’m not sure I have a clear shot,” Amos says.
“Then shoot her! SHOOT HER!”
My eyes widen, and I take an anxious step back. “Please… I’m pregnant. You can’t kill an unborn child…”
Hershel wavers. His hesitancy drips from him. He lowers his rifle slightly, then glances at Abraham, silently pleading for more direction.
“DO IT!” Abraham yells, bucking against Logan. The blade against his throat presses against the knob that bounces up and down with each fanatical swallow. “They must learn! They must pay for what they’ve done!”
Hershel double blinks, his hands shaking. “I don’t know if I can, Leader. I don’t think… if she’s pregnant… what would the Lord say?”
“I SAID DO IT!”
“I can’t… I can’t… I’m sorry… I can’t.”
The rifle slips from Hershel’s hands and thuds on the floor as he breaks into hysterical sobs, then falls to his knees, his hands covering his face.
Amos looks just as taken aback, lowering his rifle as he glances at me, then Hershel, then over at Logan pressing the blade into Abraham’s throat.
“YOU COWARDS!” Abraham barks, his face reddening with manic fury. “YOU COWARDS WILL DO WHAT I SAY AND SHOOT THE?—"
Logan takes what’s perhaps the greatest risk of our lives—he slashes Abraham’s throat mid-sentence, despite the fact that Amos still holds his rifle and can easily go through with his leader’s wishes. Blood gushes out of the slit the blade creates, and Abraham’s mouth drops open in a mix of shock and pain.
For a second, he’s still alive, blinking and staring, then his face goes blank and his body goes still.
“You gonna shoot me?” Logan challenges, shoving the cult leader to the ground. He beckons at Amos, his jaw clenched in defiance. “Then do it—fucking shoot me! I just killed your leader. What will you do now? Who will you take your marching orders from now?”
