Prophet’s grin widens as he steps toward the truck, opening the door for me.“Well, let’s get you home then.”
Prophet has one of those personalities that makes you feel completely at ease.His choice of music surprises me.I would never have picked him as a heavy metal listener.As if he can read my thoughts, he turns the radio down.
“So, do you like living here?”
“So far, so good.”I’m smiling as I think of Blade and last night.
“For a city girl, you’re fitting in well.”
We both go quiet on the drive to my place, the truck humming along the winding road.I sit beside Prophet, watching the trees and the occasional house pass by.The crisp air filters through the open window, making my hair flutter around my face.It’s a stark contrast to the city, but the longer I’m here, the more it feels like home.
A thought crosses my mind, and I glance over at Prophet, curiosity piqued.“So, you’re the chaplain, huh?”I ask.“What does that even mean, exactly?”
He shoots me a sideways grin, his eyes never leaving the road.“Means I handle the spiritual side of things.I’m the guy they come to when they need guidance, whether it’s a prayer or a pep talk.I keep the peace when the club’s heads are too hot.It’s not all about religion, though, sometimes it’s just about listening.And, yeah, I have to handle the tough stuff too.Someone’s gotta do it.”
“Sounds like a heavy responsibility.”
“It can be,” he says, his tone shifting for a moment as though he’s thinking about it.“But someone’s gotta keep the heart of the club in check.”
Before I can say anything else, Prophet pulls up in front of my house.
His grin returns as easy as ever.“See you around, Hannah.”
Smiling, I reach for the door handle, but something in his gaze makes me pause.“I sure hope so.”
Prophet looks past me, his eyes narrowing slightly.“Did you lock up last night?”
“Of course I did.”But then, my heart skips a beat.I turn my head, and sure enough, my front door is slightly ajar.
“Grace!”I blurt out, panic surging through me.I’m already halfway out of the truck, moving quickly toward the door.Prophet’s hand lands firmly on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.
“Wait,” he commands, his grip tightening just enough to hold me steady.“Don’t go in just yet.”
Glancing up at him, confusion and worry make my voice shake.“What are you talking about?Grace is inside.I have to make sure she’s okay.”
Prophet doesn’t let go, his eyes scanning the house with a sharper focus now.“We don’t know if anyone’s in there.Stay back.”
I hesitate, uncertainty crawling up my spine.Prophet doesn’t seem worried, but his body language tells me he’s not taking any chances.
“Let’s make sure it’s safe first,” he says quietly, his voice serious.“Let me go first.”He sniffs the air, his nostrils flaring slightly as his eyes narrow.“Blood.”
The word hits me hard, sinking into the pit of my stomach.My heart races, and I almost scream, my voice faltering.“What?”
“Stay here,” Prophet commands, his voice low and controlled as he leaves me on the front porch.His grip tightens on the doorframe as he gently pushes my front door all the way open.Then, with a swift, almost fluid motion, he pulls a gun from under his jacket—a gun I hadn’t even realized he was carrying.My stomach lurches at the sight of it, but there’s no time to dwell on it.
Prophet holds the gun steady, his eyes scanning the room with precise movements.Every inch of the house is searched as if he’s already anticipating danger.His head swivels like a hawk, alert and calculating.He steps inside cautiously, moving through the living room and into the kitchen.My eyes stay locked on him, my heart pounding hard.
He glances back at me, nodding once, and raises a hand to signal me to stay where I am.Without another word, Prophet disappears down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.
I’m frozen for a moment, my body trembling as I shift from foot to foot.A minute stretches into an eternity, and I can’t stand the silence any longer.Tentatively, I take a few steps into my home, trying not to make a sound.The house feels different now.The air is thick with something I can’t identify.There’s an unsettling stillness to it, but then I hear a low, rhythmic sound.Prophet’s voice, murmuring, chanting almost.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I inch closer, my breath shallow.The hallway stretches out in front of me, and when I reach it, I freeze.Blood.It’s smeared across the walls in jagged streaks.Panic rises in my throat, choking me.My heart races faster.
I can’t stop myself from moving, and as I continue down the hallway toward my bedroom, my legs feel as if they’re made of stone.When I push open the door, I see Prophet standing in the center of the room, something cradled in his arms.His eyes flick to mine for just a second, but his lips keep moving, the words coming out in a low, rhythmic chant I don’t understand.
His voice doesn’t stop, even when he turns slightly, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight.Grace is in his arms, covered in blood.
“No, no, no, no!”I scream, my voice breaking as I lunge toward them, desperate to take her from him.
