Chapter Six
Delilah
The midday sunis hot and scorching as we pile out of Papa’s pickup in the field on the edge of town. And yet, in spite of the muggy heat, I shiver when I look across the field at the Winnebago.
Gabriel’s lair.
I swallow, and my face burns hotly. I squirm, shifting on my low heels and smoothing down my dress. It’s a Monday afternoon, but it feels like half the town has closed down to come to Gabriel’s first “church” service. There, standing tall next to the Winnebago, is a big, two-masted off-white tent—like a small circus tent, really.
…You know, the type of tent where you go to see wild beasts. Much like the one we’re about to go see, named Gabriel.
My face flushes again, and I swallow back heat as best I can. My mind flashes to last night, and the way he… well, the way he invaded my mind. The way he touched me without really touching me. The way he put sin into my head and kept me up all freaking night praying that the wickedness would leave by dawn.
I hope—I pray—that it has. But when I look across the field at the tent, and when I think about the man I know is inside, my stomach flutters. My thighs clench, and I bite my lip, trying to push back the evil, carnal thoughts that he burrowed into my head and my very soul since last night. I frown, and my mouth tightens. Once more, I tell myself what I’ve been telling myself all sleepless night: that Gabriel Marsden is the devil.
And I can’t tell a soul. I know what he is, and it’s not that I’m worried about him trying to “take me down with him” or anything like that. It’s that I know his words about me aren’t lies. They’re… well, they’re true.
…I’ve been sinful. I’ve harbored wicked, carnal thoughts. I am not pious. And I know if I try and tell anyone the truth about Gabriel, the truth about myself will inevitably come tumbling out. And so, I’m silent and blushing as I follow mama and papa and Paul across the field towards the Beast’s service.
It really does feel like half of Canaan is here, and no sooner have we found seats in the last row of folding chairs, than the organ music begins to play from speakers hanging in the corners of the tent. The lights inside dim, and suddenly, in a billowing white robe, the Devil himself takes the pulpit on the small stage at the front.
…To cheers.
I scowl and bite my lip as the crowd of townspeople get to their feet and freaking clap for him. Gabriel grins at them all, giving them that dazzling, handsome smile. And God help me, when his eyes sweep over me, and stick on me, a flush of heat teases through me. I deliberately look away, but when I count to five and raise my head again, I gasp.
He’s still looking right at me, grinning wolfishly.
Finally, he turns back to the rest of the congregation and raises his hands.
“Brother and sisters!” he calls out loudly, but easily. His booming, deep voice fills the tent like a circus ringmaster, and we are his popcorn-eating, peanut throwing crowds.
“Thank you all for coming out today for my first service in this great town in God’s own country.”
Cheers, of course.
“Today, I wish to talk to you about the sins of the flesh.”
I stiffen. You’ve gotta be kidding me.
“Carnal sin, brothers and sisters,” he sighs with a dramatic shake of his head. “I’m talking to you about harboring the wicked temptations of Satan himself. Lust, and the coveting of the flesh. The weakness of all men, and the Beast’s very best roadblock to keep you from the gates of heaven.”
The crowd murmurs, and Gabriel delves right in. And honestly, I’m almost impressed. For half a freaking hour, the man with the wicked smile, the sinful words, and lips that brushed my ear last night and sent heat through my core in the most carnal way imaginable talks to the crowd about the dangers of, well, him. He warns of temptation, and innuendo. He cautions against giving in to the seduction of the heart and the flesh, and the whole freaking time, he’s looking right at me with those eyes of his just smirking and blazing with heat.
I sit there in his tent, squirming and brimming with mortifying heat. I know Gabriel’s tent isn’t really a church, not with a man like him at the pulpit. But still, it feels even more terrible to be fighting off the feelings he’s laid inside of me while surrounded by a sermon about God and temptation.
When it’s finally over, I run—not walk—back to the truck. I’m not chancing a little run in with Gabriel after the service, and when my bewildered family catches up to me, I explain it away with stomach cramps. Which is a lie. Lovely, one more sin to add to my growing repertoire of damnation.
I need church. I need a real church.
Somehow,I keep myself busy—which means my mind is occupied—the rest of the day. I help Papa change a tire on his truck. I proofread some of the pamphlets Paul is putting together to source more donations for his church. I dive deep into baking with my mother, until the entire kitchen is covered in flour and smells divine. I even put headphones on and go for a long, muscle-aching run, even with how sticky and hot it is outside.
All of it to clear my mind of Gabriel Marsden.
By dinner time, the afternoon’s horrible thoughts, not to mention the ones from last night, are a distant memory. Mostly. I finish doing some dishes in the kitchen and head upstairs to my bedroom, and once the door is closed, I collapse onto my bed.
It’s exhausting keeping your mind from thinking about what it wants to think about all day.
But no sooner does my head hit the pillows does the wall I’ve built around those thoughts come crumbling down. In seconds, actually. I blush, and my core clenches as I start the endless replays of Gabriel moving to me last night. I bite my lip, and I remember the feel of his huge body moving against my smaller one. I remember the way he smelled like aftershave and peach moonshine. The way the touch of his lips on my ear sent feelings and desire through me I’ve spent my whole life pointedly ignoring and pushing away.