Messiahs, Matt Rogers [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

‘A Wing Chun strike,’ Elias said. ‘To the throat.’

‘Impressive.’

‘I know. That’s why they keep me around.’

Because you can beat helpless unresisting hostages to death, King thought. Very impressive.

Elias stood there, smug.

King said, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’

Elias’ face changed.

Imperceptible, but it shifted.

He said, ‘You’re not going to say anything about this, are you?’

‘I thought we already went over this.’

‘Just don’t get any ideas,’ Elias said. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You and I aren’t so different.’

Oh, but we are, King thought.

He said, ‘What am I thinking?’

‘That it was a lapse of judgment to do this where you could stumble across it,’ Elias said. ‘You could take that to the Riordans, convince them I’m inept. Persuade them that the job’s not right for me, that it’s right for you.’

King smirked. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, friend. Trust me.’

As soon as he turned his back and walked back to the commune, the smile vanished from his face.

Dark stoicism replaced it.

He felt Elias’ eyes on his back.

54

With the body buried under six feet of hard-packed dirt, Elias tried to wind down in his living quarters.

But he couldn’t.

He sipped green tea from a fine china mug — a luxury he’d only been permitted because of the power he wielded as the Riordans’ enforcer — and sat cross-legged on the hard wooden floor. He’d never used cushions or padding to meditate. He considered them weak. Strength was voluntarily enduring discomfort.

Right now, though, he rippled with discomfort that was entirely involuntary.

He’d been stewing on the chance encounter with the newcomer all morning. First name “Jason,” last name unknown. And that was all Elias knew. He knew even less about his dark-skinned, quiet, permanently angry compatriot.

Around an hour ago he’d decided to do something about it.

There was a knock at the door to his quarters.

Elias got up, put the empty teacup on the small side table, went to the door and opened it.

He ushered the young man in with haste.

The guy’s name was Grayson. He was twenty-four, previously a construction worker with a lacklustre work ethic and no real promise in life. He’d stumbled across Mother Libertas much the same way everyone did, and Maeve’s whisperings had converted him within days. Elias had heard rumours — that Grayson’s sister, Karlie, had been scouring Gillette for signs of him, and instead of dispatching Elias, Maeve had sent a brother and sister out to deal with it.

It rubbed Elias the wrong way.

Maybe that’s why he’d chosen Grayson for this task.

Grayson’s plain round eyes were alive with desire. Elias had promised him something in exchange for this clandestine meeting…

Grayson said, ‘Where is it?’

Elias said, ‘In the tea.’

He handed Grayson a fresh cup of green tea that he’d prepared minutes earlier.

Grayson said, ‘A full dose?’

‘And a little extra,’ Elias said. ‘It’ll put you on cloud nine. Just make sure no one notices you’re tripping. That much Bodhi is like a never-ending orgasm.’

Grayson said, ‘When do you want it done?’

‘At the afternoon congregation,’ Elias said.

‘That’s not far away. I’ve got a knife, but it’s not sharp enough to—’

Elias pressed a razor-sharp switchblade into Grayson’s hand.

Grayson clutched the knife, took a deep breath, and downed the entire cup.

Elias said, ‘Make sure you do it fast. And if you get caught, you know what to do.’

Grayson feigned drawing the blade across his own throat.

It always flabbergasted Elias how quickly Maeve could get her followers to sacrifice their own wellbeing for the good of the cause.

Then again, that was the whole point of cults.

Elias thought about asking, Why are you doing this? Why did you agree to stab a man you don’t know in church for a single hit of Bodhi?

But the second question contained the answer.

The stuff was that good.

So he didn’t say anything. Just motioned to the door and gave Grayson a look like they were brothers in arms, fighting the good fight against a perceived common enemy.

Grayson nodded back and walked out.

In an hour he’d be on top of the world as the Bodhi flooded his brain.

55

King got back to find Dane waiting for him outside the mess hall.

The followers were piling into the building for the first communal meal of the day — a hearty breakfast to fuel them for the workday. There was endless work to do on the commune — renovations, construction, repairs, the thousand odd administrative tasks that are required to coordinate two hundred people living together in the middle of nowhere. It was paramount that the living conditions, while poor, never devolved into squalor. With an intermittent stream of Bodhi, the disciples could put up with simple living (their pleasures coming from elsewhere), but they needed basic necessities to survive.

Drugs fuelled productivity, which kept the commune’s resources and assets growing, and it allowed the disciples to attend their daily congregations and practice their meditations without worrying about where their next meal would come from, or where they’d sleep at night.

Dane pulled King aside and said, ‘Happy now?’

King slapped him on the shoulder. Despite his impressive height, the man was frail. ‘Very.’

Dane said, ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘You’re going to need to drop the ego,’ King said. ‘It’ll make us work better together.’

‘We don’t work together,’ Dane said. ‘Not yet.’

‘So when are we figuring that out?’

‘You’ve been here eight hours,’ Dane said. ‘You haven’t even had your first meal yet. Settle in. Talk to some people. Get a feel for the place.’

‘I’m not signing up for your cult. I’m getting hired to protect it.’

All the warmth vanished from Dane’s eyes, replaced by cold calculation. He looked over King’s shoulder, but his lizard-like tension uncoiled as he realised none of the followers streaming past had been in earshot. He waited for the last few stragglers to enter the mess hall, leaving them alone outside.

In an entirely new tone, Dane said, ‘You use that word again in public and I’ll have you executed. Don’t test me.’

King froze.

How would the man I’m portraying respond?

He backed off and nodded respectfully. ‘Understood. I apologise.’

Dane said, ‘I’m putting you on the