Page 200 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

I feel like I’m hallucinating. Like my head has been stuffed full of made-up memories that don’t match reality the way I thought they did.

Because the truth of the matter is that he looks… good.

His features are the same as I remember. Calm. Stoic. Wise. So assured of himself and his mission that it would be impossible to ever doubt him. That’s why my parents and all the others followed him out to this patch of desert to begin with.

His blue eyes seem muted in the strangest way but I can’t quite figure out why. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Even with the crow’s feet stamped at the corners of his eyes and more silver threaded through his hair than I remember, he looks supremely confident.

I can spy only one jarring difference to confirm that I’m not crazy. That the things I remember actually happened.

A huge, knotted scar on the side of his face. Ripped white flesh like candlewax melted along his jaw and over his ear.

But if it pains him or hurts his vanity, he doesn’t show it. There’s not a trace of self-consciousness as he looks at me with all apparent fondness, a mysterious smile dancing along his lips.

“Now, now, Elyssa…Father Josiahis so formal, isn’t it? Please—my first name is all that’s necessary.”

I feel an old memory ping at the forefront of my consciousness but it doesn’t quite manage to break through. There’s too much else going on.

I glance at my parents. Both are standing off to the side, looking completely horrified. I’m sure I look the same. Father Josiah is the only one at ease.

He must notice the discomfort tightening the air because he says, “Mary, Solomon, please— there’s no need to worry. I just want to talk.”

“We were just telling her that she needed to leave,” my mother says immediately. “She shouldn’t be here. It isn’t right.”

She takes a step back to punctuate her sentence as though to set as much distance between us as possible. She doesn’t want my reputation to taint hers. Given the state of the house and the sullen gloom that lingers over my parents, I’m guessing it’s too late for that, though.

“Leave?” Josiah says, looking mildly surprised. “Why on earth should she leave?”

“She doesn’t belong here anymore,” Papa speaks up, his tone prickly with anger. “She left. She abandoned the Sanctuary and its principles. She’s a shame to our family name. We renounce her!”

I feel the heat of his words but I’m numb to them right now. I’m still reeling from the knowledge that Josiah is alive.

Not just alive—thriving, by the looks of it.

For a full year, I’ve believed I killed him the night I fled. This is like seeing a dead man come back to life. Like the rules of reality are melting away right before my eyes.

“A shame?” Josiah murmurs, looking between my parents and me. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”

“She’s a lost cause, Father Josiah,” my mother says respectfully.

“No one is a lost cause, Mary,” he says simply. “Not one wayward sheep from the flock. And what am I if not her shepherd? Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Elyssa alone for a few moments.”

I stiffen. I can’t speak, can’t move. My eyes flit to the door, to the window, to every possible avenue of escape. But my feet are rooted down. I can’t stop looking at Josiah’s scars.

I did that to you,I think silently.You should be dead. How are you here?

More importantly, why amIhere?

This was a mistake.

This was a mistake.

This was a mistake.

“Are you sure, Father Josiah?” Papa asks him, eyeing me cagily.

“Of course,” Josiah croons. “Elyssa, will you walk with me to the backyard?”

How can I say no? Since the day I was born, he’s ruled over my life. His word is gospel behind these walls. A year in the real world hasn’t been enough to cure me of the hold he has on me. The hold he’s always had on me.

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