Messiahs by Matt Rogers (bookstand for reading txt) 📕

that stayed on all night. The darkness closed in and the yellow light receded, but Elias didn’t take the man all the way out into the black. He hovered at the edge of the commune, out of earshot of the rest of the sleeping disciples.

Dane Riordan came out of the shadows.

In many ways, he and Elias were alike. Tall, thin, wiry with corded muscle. If they were professional fighters, their reach and length would be a sizeable advantage. Not an ounce of their weight was wasted — both were devoid of fat. But Dane wasn’t a fighter. He left that messy realm to seasoned practitioners. His advantage was his mind.

They put a hand each on Hudson’s shoulders and pushed him to his knees. Now they could see the fear on his face. Up close, he was an ugly sight to behold. Long blonde hair the colour and texture of straw, a pockmarked sallow face, and kind eyes that didn’t belong in this world. He’d taken Maeve’s words at face value and joined Mother Libertas out of the goodness of his heart.

It hadn’t taken Hudson long to see what the movement really was.

Dane said, ‘You betrayed us, Hudson.’

Hudson shook his head, those kind eyes riddled with terror. ‘No, sir. I would never.’

‘Are you sticking with that argument?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I’ll give you one opportunity to tell the truth,’ Dane said. ‘Only one.’

‘I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,’ Hudson said, but the fear in his eyes said otherwise. ‘I swear, sir.’

‘You told Brandon you were going to steal one of the cars, make your way back to civilisation. I believe the words were, “Everyone’s going to know the sick shit they get up to out here.”’

Hudson shook his head emphatically. ‘I never said that.’

Dane said, ‘Brandon, step forward please.’

The young disciple had been waiting in the darkness, just out of range of their mutual field of view. Now his silhouette materialised as he took a few steps forward. Hudson twisted on his knees, saw the new arrival, and his face fell.

He said, ‘Okay, okay, okay. I take it back. I said it. Fuck, I’m sorry.’

‘Too late,’ Dane said. ‘You had your opportunity and you lost it. That’s on you.’

‘No,’ Hudson said, his face twisting. ‘Please.’

His shoulders rounded and he sunk deeper into himself, staring at the dry ground beneath him.

Dane said, ‘Brandon, did Hudson say those words?’

Quietly, Brandon said, ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you,’ Dane said. ‘Go back to bed.’

Brandon bowed his head and trudged back to the commune, fully aware of what he’d just done.

Dane stopped him as he passed by, lifted his chin with one hand — Maeve’s specialty — and turned Brandon’s head to face him.

Dane said, ‘Open your mouth.’

Brandon complied.

Dane came up with a vial of Bodhi in his other hand and poured its contents onto Brandon’s tongue.

He said, ‘Enjoy.’

Brandon shivered with delight and crept away, not yet feeling the effects of the drugs but warmed by marvellous anticipation. It would be the best night of his life, just as every night with Bodhi became. Each consecutive experience seemed to trump the last. It was glorious.

When Brandon was gone, lost to bliss and suppressed memories, Dane said, ‘I can’t let you go, Hudson.’

Hudson said, ‘I’ll do anything for you. I’ll become your most loyal subject. I’ll devote my entire life to this place. Please. Don’t do this, sir. I’m … I’m all messed up inside. I don’t know what I’m saying half the time.’

Dane said, ‘You’ll pretend you’re devoted, to curry my approval. And then the first chance you get you’ll run, because now you know what we’re capable of.’

‘No,’ Hudson said, but his eyes were squeezed shut as he shook his head. He couldn’t bear to look up at Dane. ‘No, no. Please, sir.’

Dane nodded to Elias.

Elias had been harnessing his ki the whole time, and now he lashed out with a strike that used the side of his hand in a chopping motion. He smashed the hand into Hudson’s throat, crushing his windpipe and carotid artery. The subject of the blow always lost consciousness immediately.

This time, though, he botched it. He hadn’t mastered his ki tonight — something had thrown him off.

Hudson stayed conscious and fell back spluttering.

It took him two minutes to die.

When it was finally over, Elias looked over at Dane. ‘Sorry.’

For the first time, he saw unrestrained disgust on Dane’s face.

Dane lifted a new vial of Bodhi to his own lips, drank half, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he’d composed himself.

He said, ‘It’s fine. This never happened. Take care of the body. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Elias had never felt so uncomfortable.

Dane Riordan was a vicious psychopath, devoid of anything resembling empathy. So what the hell had Elias just seen on the man’s face?

It made him feel guilty, which couldn’t be right, because every action undertaken in the name of Mother Libertas was divine and just. This was the perfect reality, where every choice made was the correct one, so why did Dane look like he regretted what just happened?

Dane walked away.

Elias dragged Hudson’s body out into the plains.

43

At midnight, someone knocked at the door.

Slater sat bolt upright in bed, his hand already wrapped around the hilt of the Glock 43 on the bedside table. He looked across the room and saw King’s silhouette grabbing the Mossberg shotgun off the base of his bed.

Still silent, Slater listened.

No footsteps. No rustling. A sixth sense is always flawed by nature, but he got the sense there was only one person on the other side of the door. Still, it wasn’t enough to rely on intuition, so he padded across the room and pressed his eye to the peephole for less than half a second.

The best way to get the jump on someone inside a hotel room is to press a barrel to the peephole, wait until you hear them looking through it, and pull the trigger.

He wasn’t about to be a statistic.

But all he caught was the briefest