Page 37 of Indulge
The priest is still on the steps when we pull out, giving us a polite little wave.
Holy man, dirty business.
Only in our world.
18
REGGIE
Conan’s cabin smells like death. The walls are thick enough to swallow screams whole, which is why we always end up here. Since he and Hallie moved into their family home with their son, the cabin is our playground.
Our guest is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, wrists cuffed, ankles bound. His suit is wrinkled, his forehead slick with sweat. His eyes dart between the three of us like a rabbit watching wolves.
Rowan leans against the mantel, arms folded, whistling some rock song like this is a fucking sleepover.
“You boys always bring me the fun ones,” he says, grinning. “Church service and straight into confession—it’s been years since I’ve been to one.”
I chuckle.
“We have a few sins to confess,” I joke. “A bit like our guest does.”
The man jerks at the ropes. “You can’t?—”
“Shut it,” I growl, pacing in front of him. “You had dealings with the bastard who burned our warehouse. So you’re going to tell me who he works for. Now.”
“I-I don’t?—”
Rowan cuts him off, crouching low until they’re eye level. He’s smiling, but it’s the kind of smile that makes people piss themselves. “Come on, mate. Don’t make this harder. I mean, do you want me to sing? Because trust me, you don’t.”
The guy shakes his head frantically. Little does he realize Rowan has a decent voice when he wants to. Other times it’s a fucking headache.
“That’s what I thought.” Rowan pats his cheek like he’s a child. “So why don’t you just open those pretty lips and say a name before my brother here decides to start rearranging your organs?”
The man’s throat works as he swallows. “Phoenix,” he croaks. “There’s… there’s a man in Phoenix. They call himCrow. He’s the one I speak to. My contact for The Preacher.”
Crow.
The name drops into the room like a stone in water. I exchange a glance with Conan; his eyes go sharp. Rowan just lets out a low whistle.
“Crow,” Rowan repeats, rolling it on his tongue. “Sounds cheerful. Please tell me he has a pet crow.”
The color drains from the man’s face.
He stumbles on his words, “I-I don’t know. I haven’t met him. He just gives me orders to dish out to our newer members.”
“Like the one who torched my warehouse?” Conan pipes up.
The guy nods, sweat dripping over his eyes. This organization is bigger than we first anticipated. There are layers. Rules. Oaths.
This guy is the first one who has ever actually talked. It’s quite refreshing.
“Anything else to tell us? Like how we can find The Preacher?”
“I can’t tell you that. It’s not possible.”
Rowan jams his fist into his gut, making him cough.
I grab the man by the jaw, forcing his eyes on me. “That’s all I needed.”
