by Madison Faye
The last time this all came to a head, I actually had to find out the details through the gossip chain a week later. Paul and my father got into blow-out fight in the living room, and Paul left roaring that it was “none of my father’s damn business.” He was gone for a week that time, but eventually came home to his pseudo-apartment above the garage. Eventually, I got it through Melanie Krupa that a friend of my father had sworn with his hand on a bible that he’d seen Paul’s new fiancée out on the town in Athens when he was there on business, making out with some other guy outside a fancy hotel before going inside with him.
That’s what that last fight was about—my father asking Paul if he was really sure about his plans for marriage, and Paul yelling back that it wasn’t his business. Last night was again about his marriage to Lizzie and how my parents just want to sit down with them both and talk about it. Mama says it got pretty heated, too.
“Pass the lemonade, Delilah,” Paul grumbles.
I reach for it, but my father growls lowly.
“Please.”
Paul frowns and looks at him. “What?”
“Please,” my father grunts. “We raised you in a good, Christian home, Paul, and we use manners in this house.”
“I’m twenty-seven years old, dad,” Paul grunts. “I don’t need to be lectured.”
“Twenty-seven years old, living in the apartment above your parents’ garage—”
“Jeb,” mama says quietly, putting a hand on his arm. He grinds his teeth and lowers his book, looking at Paul.
“And marrying a girl we don’t get to meet, who doesn’t seem to want to even acknowledge you have a family. That sum it up, Mr. Grown-up?”
“You’ll meet her, okay? I’ve been busy, dad,” Paul hisses.
“And we’re proud of you, son,” Papa grunts. “We are, truly. I’m so proud that a son of mine is building a church! Right here in Canaan!”
My mother frowns. “We are, honey, but Paul, it’s also like you’re leading this double—”
“Leave it!” Paul roars.
My father bellows and lunges to his feet. “You will mind your goddamn tone when you speak to your mother!”
I shiver, because my father using the Lord’s name like that is no small thing. Paul just starts to laugh, though.
“I’m a grown man, dad. You don’t get to speak to me like that.”
“Grown man, huh? Then how about you start acting like one!”
“Fuck you.”
The porch goes pin drop silent. My mother pales, and heck, so do I. My father’s face turns red, and then crimson, and then purple, before he slowly blows air out through his clenched lips.
“You need to leave this table, Paul,” he says icily.
Paul rolls his eyes. “Gladly.”
He stands, picking up his laptop and files, and he reaches for his sandwich before my father suddenly reaches out and slaps it out of his hand. Paul swears.
“What the fuck was that for?”
“You didn’t say grace, and you disrespected me, and your mother who made you that food,” Papa growls deeply.
Paul looks livid and slams his stuff down. He jabs a finger at my father’s chest, his teeth bared. “You’re not God, you know.”
“Lord knows I’m not,” dad hisses. “But you will respect me as your father.”
“Good luck with that.”
Paul grabs his stuff and starts to shoulder past my father, but Papa grabs his arm and yanks him back. “We are not through here!”
“Yeah, we fucking are!”
Before anyone can even react, Paul suddenly shoves my father square in the chest. Rage like I’ve never seen flashes over Papa’s face, and with a roar, he shoves back. Paul gasps and stumbles back, and the files in his arms tumble to the ground, scattering papers across the porch.
Instantly, the fire goes out of my father’s eyes as he realizes what he’s done.
“Lord help me,” he whispers hoarsely, closing his eyes before he shakes his head and opens them again. “Son, I had no right—”
“Fuck you!” Paul screams.
Papa looks broken, and he frowns as he stoops and starts picking up the papers. “Let me—”
“Don’t touch those!” Paul yells. “Don’t—”
“Paul.”
My dad freezes, his eyes glued to the piece of paper in his hands. He blinks, and then picks up another paper, and his face pales. Slowly, he looks up, staring at Paul.
“What is this, son?” he whispers hoarsely.
“None of your business.” Paul goes to snatch the papers, but my dad pulls them out of reach and stands. He blinks as he stares at them again, and then looks at my mother, and then back at Paul.
“It’s just church stuff,” Paul mutters.
“The church going to be in Costa Rica, son?” Dad chokes out.
“Give me those.”
“Paul?” mama whispers. Her face falls as Papa hands her the papers, and she gasps sharply. “Honey, what… what is this?”
“It’s a land deal in Costa Rica, isn’t it,” Papa growls quietly, looking at Paul. “Son, what is this?”
“It’s nothing!” Paul snaps.
“Son,” Papa whispers quietly, his face pale. “You’ve told people—good, working people who gave you their hard-earned money—that the church would be here. Your mama and I gave you money, because Canaan needs a—”
“Give me that!”
Paul lunges and snatches the papers out of papa’s hands before reaching out and plucking the other one’s from mama’s. He furiously stuffs them back into his file folders and snaps them shut.
“Paul!” Papa roars.
“Fuck off!”
My father blinks in shock, and my mother starts to cry. I feel numb, like I’m watching this on TV or something, and I reach over to hold my mother.
“You wanna talk about the wedding? That it?” Paul yells. “Fine! It’s tomorrow, at Gabriel Marsden’s tent. Come if you want, I don’t fucking care anymore.”
With that, he turns, and he marches off the porch and around the side of the house towards his car. I squeeze my mother before I jump up and bolt after him.
“Paul!” I yell, chasing him. “Paul!”
“Don’t,” he hisses, suddenly turning on me in the driveway. “Just don’t, Delilah!”
“Paul, just why are you—”
“Oh go run off to your preacher, Delilah,” he snaps.
I stiffen. “What?”
He rolls his eyes. “You think I’m an idiot like them? As if I didn’t sneak out and go meet up with girls all through high school?” He snorts a cruel laugh. “I know what a walk of shame looks like, Delilah.”
I turn crimson, and I start to stammer. “That’s not—”
“I don’t care,” Paul says flatly with a shrug. “I really, truly don’t care.”
I swallow. “And Gabriel’s really marrying you tomorrow?”
“Yep.” He smirks. “Guess he didn’t mention that, did he?”
I chew at my lip, eyeing my brother. “Are you building a church in Canaan, or aren’t you, Paul.”
He looks away. “Delilah—”
“Answer me!”
He turns back to me, scowling. “No. I’m getting the fuck out of this fucking town, and if you’re smart, you will, too.”
I balk at him. “By ripping people off? By ripping mama and papa off?”
He laughs. “Cast the first fucking stone. Go talk to Preacher Gabriel about ripping people off, he’s more of a pro that I’ll ever be.”
“Paul, that’s not—”
He laughs. “You really want to defend him? C’mon, Delilah. Ask him about Lockton, South Dakota. Ask him about Worthington, Minnesota. Oh, see if he wants to tell you all about what happened in Jessup, West Virginia, that’s a fun one.”
I blink, my pulse racing. “What?”
“Ask him why they ran him out of town on a fucking rail, Delilah,” he snaps. “Maybe it’s because he bled them dry? Or because he fucked the mini
ster’s wife, or the mayor’s daughter.”
My face falls, and he just shakes his head.
“You think Gabriel is just trying to make a buck? Just selling some pseudo-religious bullshit to hillbilly and podunk towns like Canaan?” His eyes narrow. “He’s a parasite, Delilah. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay away. But do what you want, I really don’t care anymore.”
I start to tear up, and I look away. Paul sighs.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Delilah,” he says quietly. “But if you’re gonna cast me as a sinner, go look at the devil sitting under that tent.”
Chapter Fifteen
Delilah
I push the tears away as I step out of the truck. It’s been hours since Paul ran off, but I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t stand pacing my room, or helping my father calm my mother down. I’ve told myself a thousand times that Paul was just spouting nonsense, and that Gabriel really isn’t involved with any of this. I’ve told myself that the stories Paul eluded to are all made up hearsay and rumors, or just something Paul’s made up himself to be cruel. But hours later, I can’t stand the not knowing anymore, so it’s here I’ve fled to.
My heart is ripping in two as it beats like a drum, and tears streak my cheeks as I race across the field to him. But this time, I’m running to him for a very different reason. This time, I want answers.
“Gabriel!” I yell as I storm into the tent. It’s empty, and I scowl as I march back to his little office area. I whip around the corner, but it too is empty. My eyes land on the tub, and in spite of everything, heat teases through me as I remember what we did here last night.
The scene of the sin, so to speak.
I shiver, raking my teeth over my lip as I run out of the tent and over to the Winnebago. I don’t know, I just yank the door open. But it too is empty.
“Where the hell are you?” I hiss to myself as I storm back out. I frown and walk around the side of the Winnebago, until suddenly, I spot him. Gabriel’s out a ways into the back field behind his little set-up, standing in jeans and a t-shirt with his back to me, looking up at the setting sun.
“Gabriel!” I yell as I start to run towards him. He turns, and he grins before he sees the stormy, cold look on my face, and his smile fades into a frown.
“Delilah—”
“Are you working with my brother?!” I snap, jabbing him in the chest before he wraps his arms around me.
He frowns. “What?”
“Are you or aren’t you?!” I yell. “Do you know what his plans are?!”
His frown deepens. “Delilah…”
“Do you or don’t you, Gabriel?!” I half-sob in anguish.
He swallows, and his jaw clenches. “Yes,” he growls. “I do.”
The tears flow, and I turn, shaking my head. I feel him move towards me, but I whirl around and shake my head at him, backing away.
“No,” I gasp. “Gabriel, I can’t—”
“I just found out, Delilah,” he growls. “This afternoon. I’m not ‘working with’ him, if you’re implying what I think you are.” He glares at me. “Yeah, your darling brother is trying to rip off your whole damn town.”
“And when exactly where you planning on sharing this?”
He growls. “When I was done standing out here, like I’ve been for fucking hours, trying to figure out how to tell you that your own brother is a scamming piece of shit trying to bleed your hometown dry with a shell game con! When I figured out how to tell you in a way that would break your heart the least,” he snaps. “That’s when!”
I simmer, my chest heaving as we stare at each other, three feet apart.
“Are you in on it?”
“What?” he grunts. “No, Jesus Christ—”
“Tell me what happened in Lockton,” I spit.
He frowns. “What?”
“Or Worthington?” I sneer. “Or how about Jessup, hmm?” I hiss.
Clarity spreads horribly over his face, and he leans back on his heels, nodding slowly with a grim look on his face. “So, I guess Paul went ahead and planted those seeds in your head, huh?”
“Well?!” I bellow.
“What do you want me to say, Delilah?!” he roars back. “That I was a fucking monk? A saint, before I met you? Well, I wasn’t, sorry. I’m six years older than you, and I’ve been scrounging my way through the world with no parents, no fucking parachute, no loving, wholesome town, and no blind faith my entire fucking life! But those places? You want to know about Lockton?”
I start to cry as I look away. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, I’m telling you anyways. Wanna know why they kicked me out?”
“Gabriel—”
“Because the ministers wife took a little fancy to me, tried to get me to sleep with her, and when I said no, she didn’t take it too kindly. So she told the whole town I took advantage of her, and I almost got my ass shot off getting out of there! Worthington? You wanna hear about Minnesota?”
“Damnit, Gabriel—!”
“A mayor’s daughter with a crush, Delilah. That was it. She wrote a fictional story about us in a fucking diary, and her mom read it.” He swears under his breath., “For Christ’s sake, Delilah, she was sixteen.”
“Well I’m eighteen!” I snap.
“Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Fine, let’s keep going,” he snaps. “West Virginia? I caught a couple of shitheads beating up on an older black guy and spewing racist shit, so I kicked the fuck out of them. Turns out one of them was a city councilman’s son, and that racist little shithole of a town decided to claim I was ‘preaching sin’ and again, I almost got my ass shot off.”
He sighs. “Goddamnit, Delilah, look at me.”
I shiver, and I feel him step closer to me. I close my eyes and breathe, and slowly, I turn to look at him. And the very second I do, the anger floods out of me. The rage and the jealousy melts away, until it’s just him and I.
“But you know the real reason all those places went sour?” he grunts quietly. “Because I am the sinner you thought I was when you first met me,” he growls. “I am a con man, Delilah. I’m a grifter, and a thief, and a cheat, and a liar, and I’ve been pretty goddamn happy being every one of those things until the very second I laid eyes on you.”
I blink, and the world stills.
“What?” I breath quietly.
“I’m a phony, Delilah,” he says gently. “I’ve never found God, or religion, or salvation.” He reaches out, and his hands clasp my arms. “But I’m pretty damn sure you’re the salvation I’ve always been looking for.”
Damn.
I step into him, and before either of us can speak another word, I’ve slipped my arms around his neck and leaned up into him. His arms circle me, and I whimper as our lips sear together. My mouth opens for him, and I whimper as his tongue finds mind. His hands tighten on my waist, and I cling to him as I melt against his strong, muscled body.
“I’m yours,” I whisper softly.
“Delilah—”
“I mean I’m really, really yours,” I breath into his lips. He groans, and he kisses me deeply and powerfully as we slowly start to sink to the grassy ground. The sun glows over the horizon as he rolls me onto my back, reaches down, and yanks his t-shirt off. I rip at his belt, yanking his zipper down and feverishly trying to push his jeans down as he chuckles and takes my wrists.
“You first,” he growls. He pushes my hands above my head, pinning them there with one hand. His other slips down over my cheek, and my neck, and down between the valley of my breasts as I gasp and arch my back into his touch. His fingers find the first button of my sundress, and he pops it open. Then the second, and then the third, making his way down every single one until the whole thing slips open to the sides. I shiver, gasping as his eyes slide over my almost bare skin.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, almost in awe, as he leans over me and kisses me deeply. I moan, clinging to him and pushing at his jeans as his fingers sl
ip around me to unhook my bra. He slides it from me, and he growls as his mouth slips down my neck. I gasp, raking my nails gently over his muscled back and into his dark hair as he sucks and nips his way lower. He kisses over the slope of my breasts, and when he takes one aching pink nipple in his lips, I cry out in pleasure.
His hands skim lower as he kicks his jeans off, and his fingertips slip into the waist of my panties. He peels them down slowly as he kisses down over my ribs, and my tummy, and my navel, until I’m mewling in pleasure as his lips trail lower. He pulls my panties down to my knees and nuzzles lower between my thighs. I kick the panties away, and Gabriel growls as he spreads my legs open, baring me to his hungry gaze. He slips between my legs, his eyes blaze up into mine, and he moves in as I gasp in pleasure.
His tongue slides over my lips, and I moan, my hands sliding into his hair. His tongue pushes into me, spreading me open as he plunges into my opening, and I squeal breathlessly. He growls, and his big hands grip my thighs and push them wider apart for his eager tongue. He dances it over me, plunging deep and tasting me before he teases higher, to my clit. He sucks the aching nub between his lips, and my whole body jolts as he swirls his tongue over it.
“Gabriel…” I gasp, dropping my head back onto the grass and sinking into sundress at my back. His tongue delves into me, pushing and coaxing me higher and higher as my pulse races and my skin tingles.
This is no sin. This is no damnation. This is salvation.
He groans into me, teasing my clit in firm, swirling licks of his tongue, and he starts to slide a finger into me. I moan, writhing under his touch as he strokes his thick finger in and out, rubbing that spot just inside. His mouth on my clit and his stroking finger push me higher and higher, and suddenly, I can feel myself begin to tense and fall.
“Oh God, Gabriel!”
“I want to taste you,” he groans into me. “I want to taste this pretty fucking pussy when you come all over my goddamn tongue.”
It might be the filthy words, or the blasphemy. But I’m, pretty sure it’s just that the man I’m completely crazy about is showing me pleasure I’d never even dreamed of before I met him. I start to tense, and I start to fall as he sucks my clit between his lips and rolls his tongue across it.
