“Don’t worry about that. I’ll do what I have to do.”
“No.” He shakes his head minutely. “I won’t risk Mom.”
“Noah—”
“I said no!” Noah’s yell catches too much attention.
I step away from him as eyes turn toward us, and my father stops in the middle of whatever nonsense he’s spouting. He casts me a glare, then replaces it with his usual smile before continuing. Eventually, people stop looking and the crowd begins to hum amongst themselves.
Noah crosses his arms over his chest. I’ve lost him. Either to whiskey, his fear, or his delusions about our father. Disappointment slams me back to earth, my plans disappearing like fog under the harsh light of day. Even now, I can’t blame Noah, can’t seem to convict him for his treason, because I truly believe that he just can’t fucking help it. That knowledge doesn’t ease my desire to make a move against my father, but it certainly crushes any chances of success. Even so, I keep an eye on my mother, always alert for an opportunity to end this nightmare for all of us.
My father steps onto the podium. “We are blessed to be here to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior. He is the reason for this season of giving and love. He is the salvation that leads us through this life and into the next. Just as you believe in me, you must believe in Him, for God has anointed us both—one as His son and another as his holy prophet.”
More clapping erupts, along with hallelujahs shouted here and there.
Half a dozen men walk past us, the rest of my father’s guard contingent, and take position along the rail next to my mother.
Noah glances at me, but I don’t look at him. Whatever “I told you so” he’s trying to convey can’t erase his cowardice for refusing to even try for freedom. I may not blame him for it, but I won’t forget it.
My father drones on for another ten minutes or so as I scan the crowd, my gaze always drawn back to Delilah. She’s covered in white from head to toe—the picture of modesty. But that won’t last. The night is young, and the Prophet will show his lambs to their best advantage.
My hackles rise as the senator from earlier walks along the far aisle, his gaze sweeping over the row of Maidens and landing unerringly on Delilah. He stops just behind her and sits in a reserved seat. Leaning forward, he whispers something to her. She turns her head, and my blood begins to pound in my temples.
He reaches toward her veil. I take a step forward. When his fingers brush the lace, I tense and calculate how quickly I can launch myself across the pews full of adoring idiots.
“Whoa.” Noah grabs my arm, his grip firm. “Don’t move.”
“Get off me.”
“You’re about to get yourself into the worst trouble of your life.” Despite the liquor on his breath, his words are accurate.
“—and now we will light the bonfire and lift our voices to the heavens.” My father turns toward the massive structure, and everyone in the pavilion stands.
I break away from Noah’s grip. His fingers grasp at my suit coat, but I’m already darting away, heading straight for Delilah and the asshole who thinks he can talk to her.
The whoosh of flames steals my breath, and the breaths of everyone around me. I stop and stare as the massive tower lights from the base, the gasoline quickly burning away as the flames race to the top. It’s a hellish Christmas tree, the orange glow lighting the night sky. The wood creaks and groans as it’s swallowed up by the inferno, and a wave of heat blasts the crowd. A collective gasp leads to whooping and cheering. No matter how “holy” these people believe they are, they’re standing next to a raging fire and howling into the night like primitive man.
“For the glory of God!” My father’s voice booms over the speakers as a cameraman slowly circles the bonfire, his images appearing on the TVs.
Ash begins to float through the air, some of it carrying glowing embers. My amazement fades, and I redouble my efforts to get to Delilah.
“Boss! I mean, Adam!” Someone yells from behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Tony pushes through the crowd, relief crossing his strained face when he sees me. “Boss—”
“I’m busy.” I turn my back and step over a pew. Hurting the senator in full view of everyone isn’t an option, but if I can talk him into stepping away to chat with me—maybe lure him with talk of Delilah—then what happens next will be worth whatever lashes my father decides to lay on me.
“Wait.” Tony follows. “Boss, the main fire hose is jammed.”
“What?” I’d arranged the Heavenly Fire Department around the outskirts so they could spray the pavilion roofs to keep the structures safe.