Page 7 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“Which part?” He straightens and cocks his head. “The pussy or the cake?”

I keep walking.

“Think about it.” He catches up and elbows me in the ribs. “A lifetime membership. No reservations required. Just roll up, tongue out, and do God’s work until you can’t walk straight. You get to stuff your face with holy cooch, and not only does nobody care, but you’re also a goddamned hero when you’re done.”

“Cristo, dammi pazienza.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Give me patience.

He slaps my shoulder like we’re old friends at a bar, not two armed men creeping through gardens at midnight, hunting demons.

“Tell me you’re not hungry, Cisco.”

I close my eyes and see Mercy’s red hair. I see her hands twisting damp strands into a knot, exposing her graceful neck. The sudden vivid fantasy of my mouth landing on that skin nearly buckles my knees. I shove my hand in my pocket and exhale the moment my rosary beads tourniquet my palm, cutting the flow of arousal.

“I am not.” I push onward, increasing my pace.

“Wait!”

“Andiamo,” I growl, tossing a glance over my shoulder. Hurry up. “You have the stamina of a child.”

“That’s not what Leila said last night.”

“Can we focus on the job?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

We are almost at the final, unchecked location—the walled garden. I scowl at the approaching gate and open my senses. So far, I have felt nothing. No demons. No evil.

“You’re sulking like someone pissed in your holy water,” Zeke notes.

“Stop talking.” I turn on him. “Prepare.”

Don’t say “cat” until you have it in the sack, I hear the Cardinal say in my head.

The grumpy prick was my mentor at the seminary, my confessor, and the reason I became a priest. Well, technically, the exorcist Don Bianchi was the reason I became a priest. But Cardinal Valerio shaped me into who I am. He was usually right.

“Speaking of pissing in holy water,” Zeke continues, oblivious to my mood, “you gonna tell me why you lied about being Entity?”

“The Entity does not exist. We are simply⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re simply a trusted network of friends of the Vatican. Some friends they are, though, if Wes is shitting his pants thinking they’re going to kill him for taking Mary’s gospel.”

“I would never let that happen.”

“How would we know?” He scrutinizes me.

My patience is wearing thin. It’s late. Cold. And he is the least of my worries right now, so I stop and stare at Ezekiel. “You have something to say?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Okay.” This should be good. “I am waiting.”

He swipes a hand through his messy hair and averts his gaze. I am about to suggest we move this conversation to a more appropriate time when he turns back to me.

“I get it that you don’t want to wear my gift.” He gestures to his new Team Sinner T-shirt. “Not everyone can look this good in distressed cotton. But this Entity thing is bullshit. You’ve given us nothing concrete about where we stand with the big guys in Rome. Makes a man wonder if all that talk about love and truth was just for show.”

It feels like years ago, not far from where we stand, that I told him love made a man a better person. But to question my loyalties…