Page 69 of Man of Honor
Unlike most folks in the parish, I wasn’t particularly religious, but right now, I wasn’t looking for Gideon the priest. I was looking for the older brother, the man who knew Gage better than he knew himself. If anyone could offer clarity, it was him.
The chapel was modest, built originally for the Jesuits who established the estate. Over the centuries, a narrow corridor had been added to connect it to the house, blending its humble origins with Beaufort opulence. The stone floor and rough wooden pews were original, and the influx of family money showed in pops of detail: stained-glass windows splintering moonlight into blues and golds, the intricately carved pipe organin one corner, and the gilt filigree processional cross above the altar. The scent of old wood and beeswax lingered in the air, heavy with centuries of devotion.
A man in black was kneeling in the first pew, but he was no priest. Not even close.
Dominic’s eyes were closed, and his hands were clenched so tightly in prayer that his knuckles were blanched into white peaks. I knew by the tightening in his shoulders that he noticed my approach, but he was hellbent on finishing his prayer. He made the sign of the cross, murmuring under his breath with such reverence I’d swear he almost believed what he was saying. Too bad everything I knew about the man told me otherwise.
It wasn’t until theamenthat he finally turned his head to look at me, but he didn’t rise. He just watched me over his shoulder with that creepy, unreadable expression that made my skin crawl.
“Never pegged you as the religious type,” I said awkwardly.
He stood so fluidly I knew he’d never had cracking knees a day in his life, then slid his hands into his pockets and turned to face me fully. “Even the worst sinners find their way to a higher power now and then,” he said wryly.
“Yeah? What sins have you committed recently?” I couldn’t resist asking, even though I had no power to do anything about it anymore.
The light in his eyes was shockingly bright—almost insane—when he lifted his gaze to the stained glass. “I’m not here for past mistakes. I never regret anything once I’ve made my mind up to do it. But sometimes even I need guidance.”
His honesty was unsettling. Since when did he open his private thoughts to anyone? Especially me?
“Some things can’t be fixed by prayer,” I said, crossing my arms and refusing to budge from the doorway. “Especially the premeditated kind. Let’s not pretend your version of guidance doesn’t leave a body count.”
“And let’s not pretend your version of justice hasn’t done the same,” Dominic said, flashing a smile that was ice cold and humorless.
“At least I know the difference between right and wrong,” I growled, too exhausted and heartsick to tiptoe around his usual relativistic bullshit. “That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Oh, I know the difference,” he said wryly, keeping his hands tucked in the pockets of his pricey slacks and leaning against the pew with one ankle crossed over the other. “But someone has to make the hard calls when no one else is willing. I can take the hit and shoulder the guilt…because the alternative is worse.”
“You’re planning to do something you shouldn’t,” I said, cutting to the point.
He tilted his head, sizing me up with the eyes of a shark. Candlelight filled the hollows of his face, casting deep, ominous shadows. He looked like a man on the edge of a cliff, and the only thing that scared him was the height of the jump he’d decided to take.
“That’s not even a question.” Dominic’s lip twitched. “The question is how far am I willing to go? I have very few hard lines, Deputy, but one I’ve never dared cross is doing anything that might hurt one of my brothers.”
A chill ripped through me.
Dominic always spoke in riddles, but this time felt different. Whatever decision was weighing on him, it was enough to unnerve him—and that terrified me more than anything else.
“What’s different this time?” I asked warily.
His eyes drifted to the golden crucifix above the altar. “That’s what I’m here to figure out.”
His gaze shifted, tracking movement just over my shoulder, and the subtle change in his expression set my instincts screaming. The hair raised on the back of my neck, and I started to turn—but it was too late. Blinding pain exploded through the back of my skull, white-hot and absolute. My legs buckled, and all I saw was darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Three
WYATT
Pain was my whole world.A deep, relentless ache throbbed in the back of my skull, radiating down my neck and shoulders with every pulse. My mind was a haze, sluggish and fragmented, but slowly, details began to creep through the fog.
The air was thick and damp. It clung to my skin like a second layer, rank with the scent of mildew, rotting wood, and the unmistakable bog of swamp. Beneath it all was the metallic tang of my own blood. The nauseating combination crawled into my nostrils, choking me and making my stomach churn.
My back ached and my shoulders were on fire, but I couldn’t figure out why until I noticed the sharp bite of something cutting into my wrists. My arms were wrenched behind my back, tied securely to something solid. A chair, probably. The texture of rough wood brushed against my fingers when I dared to twitch them.
Somewhere nearby, water was dripping steadily, a maddening rhythm that burrowed into my skull. I forced myself not to flinch, keeping my breathing slow and even despite the panic clawing at me. Focus.Focus.
My senses were blasted wide open, straining to pick out any details that could tell me where I was or how I’d gotten here. I could barely remember what I’d been doing…and then it clicked. Eden. The chapel. Dominic?—
“I know you’re awake.”