“Sounds good.”
“Be careful,” Brooke said.
Jon kissed her again. “I will. You’ll see your son soon. Now, go.”
38
The boy stood in the doorway crying as Malcolm lit the last candle in the room. He hadn’t stopped crying since Malcolm had stripped him away from his mother. Malcolm figured it would be a while before the boy got over that separation, but in due time, he would. Eventually, he would realize how lucky he was. The other kids from Hope’s Dawn were going to be condemned to hard, manual labor. The girls would cook and do laundry and clean while the boys would farm and work on construction in the camp. They would all grow to become loyal to Malcolm.
But this boy was different. Malcolm had always thought about becoming a father. He and Judah had often talked about it. They’d discussed getting one of the women in the camp to carry their child for them, whether it was something the chosen woman wanted or not. Of course, that dream had never been realized since Judah had been murdered. But that didn’t mean Malcolm couldn’t fulfill the dream himself.
After he’d lit the last candle, Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the place beside him.
“Come sit.”
The boy didn’t move. He continued to cry, sniffling and heaving in breaths. Malcolm wasn’t used to people disobeying him. It didn’t matter to him that this was a child. He grew impatient, slamming his hand down on the bed.
“Come, now!”
Crying harder, the boy finally came fully into the room. He sat on the bed next to Malcolm, but refused to look up at him. Malcolm could feel the boy shaking. For one of the first times in a long time, the man felt remorse. He realized that, if he wanted to be a father, he’d have to do a better job of controlling his emotions. There would be times to raise his voice at the boy or discipline him, but this wasn’t one of them. Malcolm ran his hand through the boy’s hair.
“I’m sorry for yelling.”
The boy still didn’t look up at him. He kept his eyes forward, his body trembling. At that moment, Malcolm realized he didn’t even know the boy’s name, and it made him laugh.
“What’s your name? We haven’t even gotten that far.”
“I just want my mommy,” the boy finally said.
Malcolm felt the tension inside his body heighten as the boy ignored his question. But he found a way to push it away.
“Can you tell me your name?”
The boy hesitated. “Lucas.”
“Thank you, Lucas. My name’s Malcolm.”
“Am I going to see my mommy again?”
“More than likely,” Malcolm lied. “Where is your dad?”
“He died.”
Perfect, Malcolm thought. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
The boy continued to shake. He wasn’t calming down, but Malcolm was okay with that. He knew it would take Lucas time to warm up to him, but he was confident it would happen. The boy would have to learn his new life over the coming weeks and even months, and Malcolm would mold him into the man he wanted him to be.
“This is going to be your new home,” Malcolm told the boy, putting his hand on his shoulder. He then used his other hand to gesture around the room. “This is your room. You can decorate it however you want. That’s pretty neat, huh?”
The boy looked down at the ground. He was crying harder now.
“I don’t want to live here. I want to go home. I want my mom.”
“You’re not going home!” Malcolm snapped. “Your goddamn home is gone! You understand me? We fucking burned it to the ground!”
The boy looked up at Malcolm finally. His eyes were glazed with tears, and his lip trembled. After a moment, the boy’s nostrils flared as his eyebrows bunched together.
“I hate you!” the boy said, slamming his fist against Malcolm’s arm. “Let me out of here! Take me back to my mom!”
The moves surprised Malcolm, who put his hands up in defense. It wasn’t that the punching hurt. He was just taken aback by the boy’s sudden change in demeanor.
“Stop it,” Malcolm said, taking the boy by the wrists.
Lucas continued to thrash, trying to free his arms. “I hate you! Let me go!” He then started kicking, following this by screaming.
Malcolm bared his teeth and gripped the boy’s wrists tighter. “Stop it!”
He raised his right hand and backhanded the boy across the cheek without even thinking about it.
The move stunned Lucas, who stared up at Malcolm with empty eyes. He quit screaming and didn’t move. He simply stared at Malcolm, his eyes glazing.
Malcolm felt no remorse. It wasn’t his fault, the way the child had been raised thus far. All he could do from here on out was change it.
They sat in silence, but then Malcolm turned his attention away from the boy when he heard something. It had come from outside. Lucas was still crying, but Malcolm gripped his wrists tighter.
“Quiet, boy.”
Lucas sniffled and kept crying, but seemed to do his best to lower the volume.
Malcolm heard nothing now, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d definitely heard a sound only moments earlier.
Someone else was inside the church.
39
Inside his head, Jon cursed at Raylon for having messaged him on the radio. He’d been careful as he’d walked through the front door of the church, unsure of what was waiting for him on the other side. But almost as soon as he’d entered the church, the two-way radio on his belt had gone off. He was sure it had been heard. Raylon’s voice had echoed through the entire sanctuary. And even though it had only taken Jon a couple of seconds to reach down to his waist and shut the thing off, it had still happened. At this point, he could only hope that Malcolm had been sleeping—and that he was a heavy sleeper. It hadn’t been that long since Jon had seen the men coming out of the building Brooke had been held in, carrying who he now presumed had been Lucas. There was still a chance they could have already passed out, though, especially with how late it was.
To be sure, though, Jon remained still. He kneeled behind a pew near the church’s entrance, in one of the back rows. The placement gave him cover from both the front door and any rooms near the church’s front. This was a pretty large church, as was a custom in the south, and he knew it would have many other rooms besides just the large sanctuary. Lucas was going to be in one of those rooms; Jon knew it. And more than likely, Malcolm was going to be with him, and Jon was finally going to come face to face with him.
When he didn’t hear anyone moving through the church after a couple of minutes, Jon stood. He made sure to remain low, more nervous now than he’d been walking into the church since he’d been exposed.
Jon removed the pistol from his waist. He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other side of the church, and if he had to use the gun to save himself or Lucas, then so be it. He’d deal with whatever the sound of gunshots would draw.
He reached the front row of pews and stood in front of the stage.
Jon wasn’t quite sure where to go. He thought there might be a door at the back of the stage. There could also be one on the wall on either side of him. As reluctant as he was to use it, Jon drew the flashlight. He shined and found some stairs on the far side of the stage and climbed them.
Making his way to the back of the stage, he came to a door. He checked the handle, and it seemed like it would turn. Keeping a tight grip on his gun, Jon let his finger hover over the trigger. He clicked off the flashlight then licked his lips as he pushed the door open.
Some candles provided light in the room. Jon continued to open the door, raising the gun as an extra precaution. Someone was in this room, and he hoped they’d be sleeping.
Walking all the way inside and looking to his right, Jon quickly figured out that wasn’t the case.
A bald man stood in a doorway. He had Lucas in front of him, one of his arms wrapped around the boy to keep him from moving. His other hand held a gun to the side of Lucas’ head.
“Don’t you fucking move, or I’ll blow his goddamn head off.”
40
In the dim light, Jon aimed the gun at Malcolm. It was the first time he’d seen the man, and he could only catch a glimpse of his face in the candlelight. Even if there was sufficient light, it would be risky to fire the gun. He had to keep it aimed at the man, but he knew he couldn’t fire because he didn’t want to accidentally hit Lucas.
“So, you are the Savage,” Malcolm said.
“My name is Jon. And you need to let the boy go.”
Malcolm laughed. “Do I? You think you can just make the rules now after what you’ve done.”
Jon knew he was talking about the Vultures. “I didn’t do anything. The Vultures had been controlling Hope’s Dawn and treating them like little more than human garbage. What else did you expect to happen?”
“I expected them to do what they were told. You see, there’s a way things work in these parts. Black Hill owns this region. If the people of Hope’s Dawn wanted to live in it, then they should’ve lived by my rules.” Malcolm shrugged. “From what I understand, their disobedience didn’t work out too well for them.”
“You murdered innocent people.”
“Innocent?” Malcolm scoffed. “Are you not listening to what I’m saying? They went against the rules. For that, they had to be punished. But you….” He briefly pointed the gun at Jon before returning it to the side of Lucas’ head. “You’re going to suffer even more. You don’t even know.”
Jon still didn’t understand the obsession Malcolm had with him, specifically. He hadn’t been the one who’d initiated the attack on the Vultures. Maybe Malcolm had his information wrong. Perhaps he didn’t know that Jon had gone to the camp to sacrifice himself and save Hope’s Dawn. He’d done so with the knowledge that Hope’s Dawn was still going to be a slave camp to the Vultures, and apparently to Black Hill.
“I don’t understand what your beef with me is, but let’s work that out man-to-man. Leave the child out of this.”
“Don’t you pretend like you don’t know!” Malcolm said, growing angry. “You know exactly what you did! You killed him!”
“Killed who?”
“You son of a bitch. You know exactly who I’m talking about. You let him burn!”
Jon’s brow furrowed. “Judah?”
Malcolm stepped out of the doorway and into the room Jon was in. Lucas nearly fell as they moved forward, but Malcolm kept the boy on his feet. Jon cursed himself, knowing that stumble would have allowed him to take a shot if he’d been ready.
“Don’t you say his fucking name. He didn’t deserve to die, and I’m going to make sure you pay for it.”
Judah had clearly meant a lot to Malcolm. Perhaps he’d been related to him, like brother or a cousin. Jon didn’t care, though. He just wanted Lucas to make it out of here alive and get back to his mother, even if it meant that Jon had to sacrifice himself.
“If you want to make me pay for that, then so be it. But let the kid go.”
“Judah and I… we wanted a child of our own. But that doesn’t get to happen now because you killed him. And that’s why I have the boy here—to fulfill that destiny, even if Judah can’t be here with me.”
It hit Jon then why Malcolm was so angry with him. Judah hadn’t been Malcolm’s brother; he’d been his lover. That’s why Malcolm had made this beef with Jon so personal. Jon could also tell from the way Malcolm was reacting that it wasn’t going to be enough for the man to simply shoot him. Malcolm would want him to suffer. Jon wondered if he could use that to his advantage.
“That boy is going back to his mother,” Jon said.
“His mother will be dead in the morning.”
Lucas’ lips parted slightly, and his face grew puffy. This was apparently the first time he’d heard the news of Malcolm’s plan. Luckily for Jon, he knew better.
“Will she?” Jon asked, grinning. “And how do you expect to kill her when she isn’t even here?”
Malcolm swallowed, and his eyes got an empty look. Clearly, he couldn’t find words.
“You might want to think about getting better guards, or at least maybe let a few less people sleep at night.”
“You son of a bitch,” Malcolm said. “You’re all going to pay.”
“Yeah? You keep saying that. But why don’t you prove it?”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow, adjusting his stance. He kept a tight grip on Lucas, shielding at least half of his body behind the boy—too much for Jon to risk taking a shot.
“If you think you’re so tough, let’s put these guns down and see who the better man is.”
Malcolm grinned. “And how do I know you don’t have another gun on you? You could just shoot me once I put this gun down.”
Jon used his free hand to gesture around the room. “I think that’s a chance we’re both going to have to take.”
Jon could see in Malcolm’s face that the man was thinking deeply about his next move. But then Malcolm nodded.
“Alright,” Malcolm said. “If that’s how you want to do this.”
He pulled the gun away from Lucas and took a couple of steps to his right, keeping the boy in front of him so Jon still didn’t have a clean shot. He then opened a drawer and tossed the gun into it. Closing the drawer, he stepped back to where he’d been before.
“Don’t try anything,” Malcolm said. “I can snap his little neck in a heartbeat. Now, put your gun down and take that knife off your waist.” He pointed to a dresser behind Jon. “Put them in there.”
Stepping backward, Jon kept the gun aimed at Malcolm and then used his other hand to remove the knife from his waist. His back hit the dresser. Without turning around, he opened a drawer and set the gun and the knife inside.
Once Jon stepped forward again, and had moved away from the dresser, Malcolm loosened his grip on Lucas. Lucas took a step forward, but Malcolm grabbed onto his shoulder.
“Into the room, boy. Sit on the bed and don’t move. I want you to watch me kill your mommy’s dear friend here.” Malcolm guided Lucas behind him, and the boy did as he’d instructed. He sat on the bed while Jon and Malcolm stood with no one else between them. Malcolm removed his glasses and set them on top of the table where he’d put the gun.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Malcolm said, reaching under his shirt.
Jon took a couple of steps forward. He made fists with each of his hands.
“Then, let’s not waste anymore...”
Tilting his head slightly, Jon looked at the jewel at the end of Malcolm’s necklace. Malcolm held the familiar purple gem between two of his fingers and rubbed it as he said something to himself.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Jon asked.
But Malcolm didn’t bother with an answer.
He lunged toward Jon, both his hands in fists.
41
Jon was so distracted by seeing Carrie’s pendulum around Malcolm’s neck that he didn’t react when Malcolm came at him. The punch landed firmly on Jon’s left cheek and sent him backward a couple of feet.
As he tried to focus and regain his composure, Malcolm came at him again. This time, he pushed Jon, sending him stumbling back into the dresser. Jon hit the corner of the wood, sending a sharp pain up his back. Malcolm took advantage of a stunned Jon, connecting with another punch to Jon’s cheek.
“You gonna fight back? You’re supposed to be some tough guy.”
Jon stood up straight, running the back of his arm across his mouth. He looked down at it and saw blood. Malcolm laughed.
“Bleeding already? This is going to be easier than I thought.”
“Where in the hell did you get that pendulum?” Jon asked again.
Malcolm still ignored the question. He instead came at Jon again.
This time, Jon ducked the punch. Malcolm’s momentum turned him almost all the way around, and Jon caught him with a fist to the kidney. Malcolm cried out in pain, and Jon pushed him into a table. Malcolm crashed into the t
able, taking it down to the ground with him.
“Answer me!” Jon said. “Where did you get it?”
Malcolm pushed himself up to his feet, breathing heavily. “Go to hell.”
Then, he ducked his head and spear-tackled Jon. His shoulder buried into Jon’s gut, knocking the breath out of him. As the tackle sent both men down onto the floor, Jon managed to wrap his arm around Malcolm’s neck and lock him into a chokehold. Even with Jon crashing onto his back and Malcolm’s weight on top of him, he managed to keep hold.
With the man down and unable to move, Jon looked over at Lucas. The boy sat on the bed with tears pouring from his eyes as he watched the violence unfold in front of him.
“Run!” Jon yelled to the boy.
Lucas didn’t move. He remained frozen where he sat, his body trembling. Malcolm fought harder after Jon told Lucas to run. He landed a couple of shots to Jon’s side. The man was strong, and Jon wasn’t sure how long he could hold him.
“Go!” Jon said. “Now!”
The young boy finally stood and moved to exit the room. He walked at first, unable to take his eyes off of Jon. He looked like he wanted to help, but all Jon wanted was for the boy to leave. He hoped Lucas wouldn’t go far, but he wanted him out of the room so that Malcolm wouldn’t try to hurt him again. Lucas didn’t try to help, and instead left the room as instructed.
Jon tried to tighten his grip on Malcolm, hoping to choke the life out of him, but the man fought. He hit Jon harder and eventually managed to wiggle his way out of the hold. Malcolm then repositioned himself, blocking Jon’s attempted blows. He was soon on top of Jon and had the leverage.
Malcolm landed a couple of punches to Jon’s face before Jon could get his hands up and block them. The man continued to swing, and Jon kept his hands up, awaiting an opening. He found one and punched Malcolm in the stomach. It knocked the breath out of him, and then Jon landed a fist on Malcolm’s nose. The crack reverberated through Jon’s ears, and Malcolm went limp. Jon was able to push him to the side.
Dead South | Book 3 | Dead Hope Page 13
