“Oh, no. Our chief solely needs the very best for all of us. He needs us to dwell our greatest life. And he does all he can to assist us arrive at our non secular and bodily nirvana.”

There he went once more. Like she’d pressed the proper button to get the programmed reply. Eerie.

“You certain you wish to be part of?” A touch of suspicion crept into Randall’s eyes. “You don’t appear to assume very positively of us.”

“Oh, I simply don’t perceive all of it. And I’ve been burned earlier than.”

He nodded. “I get that. I’ve, too. However you’ll actually prefer it right here for those who keep.” He gave her what was most likely speculated to be a captivating smile. “I’ll be sure of that.”

“Thanks.” She managed a pleasant expression as she began to place distance between them. “Catch you later.”

She set free a protracted breath as she left the reward store. Mission completed, hopefully. However the place was Hawthorne?

She checked her watch. Thirty-five minutes since he’d peeled off to speak to Sam’s mom. Had he gotten into hassle?

Appeared arduous to consider in a spot crammed with such completely satisfied, pleasant folks. However one thing about Randall’s programmed responses made her see one thing totally different as she seemed round now. Noticed the folks standing in small teams and speaking or strolling by with books, all in matching white robes. Giving her matching white smiles each time they noticed her watching.

Was all of it programmed? Calculated to get folks to affix the neighborhood?

Hawthorne appeared to assume there was some hazard at Greatest Life. And he ought to know. He’d grown up there.

Jazz’s nerves began to tingle because the small hairs on the again of her neck stood on finish.

What if that hazard had caught up with Hawthorne?

Hawthorne twisted his wrist that was tied to a metallic rail secured to the wall. The face of his watch was arduous to learn within the dimly lit room, so he introduced his free hand round to press the button for backlight.

Practically twenty-five minutes since he’d been introduced into this room by the Helpers and left there. His cell was a small rectangle. Darkish, clean flooring and white partitions with minimal lighting like a haunting interrogation room from a TV present. A metallic desk stood in the midst of the rectangle.

Except he missed his guess, the Helpers have been getting Patch. Which was the one purpose he hadn’t ditched their maintain as quickly as they’d tried to escort him from Mrs. Ackerman’s dwelling.

It went in opposition to the will of each fiber of his being to acquiesce. To faux he was as helpless because the scrawny boy he’d been the final time a Helper had pulled him out of sophistication and introduced him to a room like this. For steerage, they’d mentioned.

Being compelled to kneel on a tray of rocks for ten minutes along with his arms tied behind his again was hardly steerage. And all as a result of he’d dared to query his trainer’s instruction on the significance of obeying the celebs and the celebs’ emissary, Desmond Patch.

When he’d instructed his mother and father, his mom had put ointment on his knees. They’d mentioned they hoped he’d realized from the expertise. And that Desmond Patch was at all times proper and was educating Hawthorne the trail to dwell his finest life.

Effectively, Hawthorne was dwelling his finest life. Away from Desmond Patch.

And he didn’t must show he was proper anymore. Didn’t must show he was stronger than these goons and much from helpless. There’d be alternative for that later. When the time was proper.

Now, he would take full benefit of this transformation in circumstances. He’d landed a non-public interview with Desmond Patch. And he hadn’t even needed to make an appointment.

A click on sounded. In all probability somebody unlocking the door.

Mild spilled into the room from the hallway.

A shadow crammed it. A silhouette he’d acknowledge anyplace. Desmond Patch.

The cult chief walked into the room along with his even, dramatic stride. Then he pivoted in a single movement to slam Hawthorne with a stare.

Hawthorne hid the instinctive, inward flinch. A responding surge of anger shot into his chest. How may he nonetheless be afraid of this man?

He wasn’t. Not consciously. Nevertheless it was as if the little boy hidden someplace inside him had all of a sudden seen the monster from his nightmares and couldn’t assist however recoil.

However just for a second. Hawthorne, the grownup, met Desmond Patch’s stare with out blinking. All of the whereas looking these charcoal eyes.

Precisely what he’d thought. Calculating, chilly, however not 100% assured. One thing else lurked far again in that gaze. A touch of doubt. Perhaps even concern.

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