Page 217 of Sins of the Hidden

Two pairs of hands seized my arms, hauled me upright with bruising force. My legs buckled beneath me, but they didn't let me fall—just dragged me forward, my toes scraping against the rough wooden floor. My vision swam with the sudden movement, bile rising in my throat.

They shoved me in front of Father Sal, forcing me to my knees.

"This does not belong to you." His voice was eerily gentle, almost grandfatherly. His thumb brushed over my wedding band, rolling it against my knuckle.

"I-It's my wedding ring."

His face hardened. "And you think that makes it yours?" He clicked his tongue. "Your arrogance is remarkable for someone in your position."

"P-please," Callista's voice trembled from the corner, so quiet it was almost lost in the ambient horror. "She d-does not understand our ways."

"Her ignorance does not excuse her theft."

A younger man shifted beside him. "Father, shall we?—"

"Remove the ring, John." Father Sal commanded, gesturing to the two men holding me.

"Hold her," John ordered. Rough hands grabbed my left arm, pulling me to stand before pinning it to the table as I tried to struggle.

One of them twisted my arm, wrenching my shoulder until I cried out. Another grabbed my head, forcing it down so I could see what they were about to do. Panic clawed at my insides, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

The youngest of them wrapped his fingers around my ring, twisting it brutally. The ring wouldn't budge. He yanked harder, tearing skin, but the band remained firmly in place.

"It won't come off," he grunted, frustration evident in his voice.

Father Sal studied my hand. I could almost see him weighing options, calculating the most efficient solution. His eyes hardened as he reached his decision. "Cut her finger off."

The world tilted. My vision tunneled. Those four words echoed in my skull like a death knell, reverberating against my bones until they became my heartbeat, my breath, my entire existence reduced to the horror of what he'd just condemned me to.

"No!" The word exploded from me, stitches tearing as I screamed. Hot liquid poured down my chin, but I barely felt it. "No no no!" I thrashed wildly, adrenaline lending me strength I didn't know I possessed. Every muscle in my body convulsed, fighting against the hands that held me. I managed to wrench one arm free, clawing at the face of the man nearest me. My nails caught flesh, drawing wetness that meant nothing compared to what they were about to take from me.

The blow came from nowhere—a closed fist connecting with my temple. Stars burst behind my eyes as pain exploded through my skull. My body went limp for crucial seconds, long enough for them to regain control. When my vision cleared, terror had stripped away every defense I'd ever built.

"What are you doing?" I sobbed, my voice pitched high with terror, breaking on every syllable. Across the room, Callista had pressed her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks. Her ethereal face was a canvas of absolute horror, those sapphire eyes reflecting my fate back at me like broken mirrors.

Father Sal's expression didn't change. "The ring is stuck, yes?" He gestured to my ring. "So we must take what is ours by other means."

"You can't—" My voice broke. The words died in my throat as one of them placed a wooden block beneath my splayed hand. The surface was stained dark with old gore, countless other victims who had bled out their agony on this altar of righteousness.

"Hold her wrist down," he commanded, his voice carrying the casual authority of someone ordering dinner.

This couldn't be happening.

A fist knotted in my hair, yanking my head back so hard that stars burst behind my eyelids. My arm was forced down onto the table, five sets of hands pinning me in place like I was being crucified. One on my elbow. One on my forearm. One on my wrist. One spreading my fingers apart. One pressing my palm flat against the rough wood stained with the essence of those who came before me. The cold surface pressed against my cheek where they'd slammed my head down.

I wasn't the first. I wouldn't be the last.

My breath hitched in my chest, coming in sharp, panicked gasps that made my ribs ache. Hot tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, running sideways across my temple and into my hair. Salt stung the raw wounds on my face, but I couldn't feel anything beyond the terror consuming me from the inside out.

"P-Please don't do this," I gasped. "Don't?—"

Father Sal laid the hacksaw aside, reaching instead for a cleaver. The blade caught the light as he tested its edge with his thumb, nodding in satisfaction at the bead that welled up. He wiped it clean on his shirt, leaving a dark smear across the white fabric.

Someone pinched my ring finger, stretching it away from the others. I tried to make a fist, tried to pull away, but they held me too tightly. I caught Callista's gaze across the room.

The world slowed to the heartbeat before death. I could see everything with crystalline clarity—the rust spots on the blade, the way Father Sal's knuckles had gone white around the handle, the single drop of sweat rolling down his forehead. Light danced along the cutting edge like a serpent's smile.

Time stopped. The cleaver hung suspended like judgment day before they brought it down full force.

---