Magdalene

by Moriah Jovan

  Mitch could feel the muscles of his shoulders, arms, back tightening, ramping up the way they did before a particularly laborious task in the foundry, the way they had when he’d beaten Elder Snow into a French hospital.

  Greg grabbed Mitch’s wrist and touched Mitch’s knuckles to his jaw, just before Mitch jerked it away. “It’d be so easy. You’re a lot bigger than me, Mitch. You could lay me out flat with one punch, because when it gets right down to it, you’re just another loser steel worker, exactly like old man Monroe always knew.”

  “And you’re a petty thief.”

  Sitkaris threw his hands wide and cackled. “Ah, he speaks. Tell me. Is that worse or better than spreading your legs for anybody who can afford you?”

  The natural man, the bad boy, the animal Mitch had kept on a tight leash for the last twenty-five years— It was howling now, wanting to defend his wife, but Cassandra wouldn’t want him to defend her. She would calmly point out that with payments of jewels and art, property, cars, and cash, she’d made far, far more than what she’d reported to the IRS in her official occupation of “investment consultant.”

  Then Sitkaris would soon find himself in some situation out of his worst nightmares, his fate custom-built for him by a woman who didn’t hesitate to punish her enemies—and Mitch would bet his last dime she already had something in the works for Greg.

  Mitch turned and walked away from him, back down to his office to pick up his things, but Greg followed.

  “Does she eat pussy too? What am I saying? Of course she does. I’d pay to see that, oh yes I would.”

  No, he would not hit Greg.

  He would not.

  Help me, Father.

  “Go home, Greg.”

  Mitch locked his office and strode down the hall, trying to get away from Greg before he shoved his fist down Greg’s throat.

  “Not until you give me a reason to have you arrested. Too bad I couldn’t get your hired wife for kidnapping. I don’t know how she did it, but I’ll have to thank her for getting those two whiny cunts out of my house—though unfortunately before I could get Hayleigh to write her own, ah, confession.” He paused. “Eh, well. You win some, you lose some. Now that my dick’s recovered from Cassie’s claws, I’m seeing the potential of something less...nerve damaging. Do you think she’d do it to me again? Only softer this time?”

  Elder Snow. Elder Snow. Elder Snow.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—crack now.

  “Oh, c’mon, Mitch. Hit me. Icing on the cake. What could it hurt? You’re out on your ass, and you still don’t have anything on me. I told you not to fuck with me, Mitch. I warned you, but you didn’t listen.”

  Mitch locked the building’s doors once Greg had exited just behind him, and turned to stride to the parking lot, his car. Safety.

  For Greg.

  Because Mitch was about to kill him.

  “Whatever. If you can afford to drop a couple, three million on a glorified Beetle, I can’t see why you wouldn’t drop sixty million for a whore like Cassie.”

  “Greg.”

  “Hit me,” he snarled as Mitch opened his car door, threw his things over to the passenger side, and dropped into the bucket seat. He held the door when Mitch tried to close it. “Hit me, you motherfucker. Don’t just sit there and take it.”

  Patience, boy.

  Mitch turned the key and revved his engine. “Good night, Greg.”

  Greg’s willingness to be harmed to advance his cause didn’t extend so far as to step in front of a race car in motion.

  Mitch squealed out of the parking lot, cranked the ZZ Top, and went on a long, fast drive.

  •

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

  Mina would never have demanded Mitch account for his whereabouts, much less screamed it at him the minute he walked in the door. He snarled and opened his mouth, then really noticed her.

  An elegant red silk robe flowed around her long legs, her feet were shod in high-heeled black marabou slippers, her disheveled black hair swung around and past her shoulders. She had her arms wrapped around herself, her nose and eyes were red, there were discarded Kleenexes all over the library floor, and a bottle of some type of alcohol stood in the middle of a coffee table next to a kitchen glass.

  Cassandra glared at him, but the trembling mouth, the wet face, and the sniffle all ruined the effect.

  “Supposed to be home by ten, out there with your phone off, driving that—that—death trap—you call a car, and here it is three o’clock in the morning— Come walking in like you don’t have a care in the world—”

  His arms were suddenly full of woman, warm and wonderful, who wrapped herself around him, clung to him, buried her face in his neck, and sobbed as if he’d broken her heart.

  Mitch’s anger and tension drained with the feel of Cassandra’s legs tight around his hips and her fingers in his hair, closing into fists as if to keep him from leaving her ever again. He held her to him, her distress doing what hundreds of miles of high-speed driving hadn’t done.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t think she heard him. He sighed and carried her to the door, flipped off the lights, then carried her upstairs while she cried.

  * * * * *

  Korban Pesach

  April 20, 2011

  I awoke sprawled out on my lover’s chest, my eyes stinging and my mind recoiling in horror at what I’d said and done last night. His scent was in my nose, his hand caressed my back, his strength lay under my body, that strength that pleased me so well.

  “I was drunk,” I blurted.

  “I know,” he murmured. “And I was angry.”

  “I’ve never done that before. Ever. It’s not my business what you do.”

  “Don’t apologize. You know I liked it.”

  Yes, he would. Because I’d given him too much information. What that information was, exactly, or how he would interpret it, I had no idea. I opened my mouth to ask, but—

  “I’m about to be released from the bishopric,” he said abruptly.

  Well. That had come out of the blue. I dragged my finger through the hair on his chest, swirled it around his nipple, which tightened. “Um, okay. Why do you think that? Besides the fact that you’re almost halfway through year seven?”

  He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”

  I sighed. His body was tense, more than it had been for the last couple of weeks. “You don’t sound as happy about it as I thought you’d be.”

  “It’s going to be very ugly.”

  I levered myself up to look in those pretty blue eyes, his carved face, and the laugh lines around the corners of his mouth...the dark sandy curls that he would probably get trimmed soon... Had I truly thought him ordinary once upon a time?

  “How long then?”

  “End of the week. Beginning of next.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Mitch looked at me soberly. “I can’t. This isn’t like...”

  “Your garments. Your covenants.”

  He started.

  “You know my meeting I had to go to two weeks ago? Lunch with Giselle. She was the only one willing to inform me of my eternal place in your life.”

  He pursed his lips. “Um, oops?”

  “Yeah. You’re so in the doghouse for that.”

  He waved his unoccupied hand. “Okay, well, then. Not like that. What’s going on— The— You know. Confidentiality.”

  “Not even with your wife. Your nonmember wife. Who has no horse in the race.”

  “Yup.”

  The fact that I understood didn’t make it hurt any less. “What time is it?”

  No answer while he fumbled with the clock. “Noon. Neither of us called in.”

  “I didn’t have anything pressing.”

  “Mmmm,” he murmured, shifting, turning me until we were on our sides facing each other, so close we were almost one. “I do.”

  I wrapped one leg over his hip, slid it down the back of his thigh while we kissed. “
Uh, I need to brush my teeth.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered as he nuzzled my jaw.

  “Let me rephrase: You need to brush your teeth.”

  “Too bad.”

  I would have laughed, but he pinched my nipple—hard—which made me gasp in both pleasure and pain. Oh, yes, the man did know how to push my buttons. He paid attention to my body, learned what it did to which touches and under what circumstances, what I particularly liked, and he remembered them.

  He cared about my pleasure, to the exclusion of his own if I allowed it.

  Ding dong.

  “Shit,” I hissed, because I knew he couldn’t ignore it. It would be someone from church, and as I had witnessed, being a bishop was just as demanding as being the CEO of a company that practically ran itself.

  Mitch rolled away from me and put his bathrobe on, padded out of our bedroom and down the hall.

  I waited for him to come back, which didn’t happen for long enough that I fazed out of my arousal and grew thoroughly disgusted with my personal hygiene.

  He was sitting on the bed naked, slumped over, when I got out of the shower. A torn envelope and a crisp piece of white letterhead folded in neat thirds lay beside him.

  I picked it up, saw the gold logo of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the upper left-hand corner, and began to read.

  Dear Bishop Hollander,

  The stake presidency is considering formal disciplinary action in your behalf, including the possibility of disfellowshipment or excommunication, because you are reported to have been found in fornication and adultery.

  You are invited to attend this disciplinary council to give your response and, if you wish, to provide witnesses who are members of the Church or other evidence in your behalf.

  The disciplinary council will be held on Thursday, April 21, 2011, in the stake high council room at 7pm.

  Sincerely,

  David Petersen

  President, Nazareth Pennsylvania Stake

  I thought my heart would explode. “Oh, my God.” I sat down beside him, my knees suddenly too weak to hold me up. My hands trembled. “How?”

  “It’s been a long time coming,” he said low.

  “Sitkaris.”

  He said nothing.

  “Do you really think they’ll—”

  “No,” he snapped, a steel edge in his voice. I couldn’t tell if he was lying to me or lying to himself. “They won’t. These men know me, so this is just to sort it all out.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “Yes, I can. Once we all get in that room together, they’ll know the truth.”

  “How?”

  “They’re men of God.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is Greg going to be there?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yes.”

  “And...you’re just going to wait for God to intervene on your behalf.”

  “Yes.” He paused. “He has to,” he whispered.

  * * * * *

  Tarry Here and Watch

  April 21, 2011

  Thursday evening we sat in the car in the church parking lot, waiting for seven o’clock to arrive. I clutched Mitch’s hand, hoping to give him some small measure of strength. I know when men need to talk, and Mitch was really no different than any other man who’d found comfort on my shoulder.

  Except that he wouldn’t take the comfort I offered him freely, and the longer he kept it in, the more tense he became until now, awaiting what amounted to an execution, his body was thrumming with anger.

  There was only one way to get to him, to leach off some of that tension, so I snapped, “Mitch Hollander, you will tell me. I did not sign up for this gig to be kept in the dark.”

  That caught his attention, and he looked at me strangely. “You signed up for this gig so I’d have sex with you.”

  Hm. Well, that was true. “Things change,” I muttered, and looked out the window.

  “What changed? Precisely?”

  I glared at him for not playing along. “You said you loved me. Isn’t that what people do when they love someone? Confide in them? What haven’t I done to earn your trust by now?”

  Mitch growled low in his throat, but then, instead of turning it back on me, he heaved a great sigh.

  “Greg and I—”

  I stopped him. “Spare me the ancient history. Prissy and I managed to figure out all the delicate politics.”

  “Of course you did,” he said dryly. “Where should I start?”

  “November. Why you fired Sitkaris from being Young Men’s president.”

  “He’s a thief,” he said shortly. “Had a tip he’d swindled a family in another ward. Checked him out. I know he did it; don’t know how. My people uncovered another couple of tidbits that led me to believe he’d been the linchpin of the Jep Industries operation.”

  I sat and thought about that a second or two. “All those players left the country. Why didn’t he?”

  “He got left behind. He wasn’t important enough to care about, and he’d keep his mouth shut because he’d go to prison if he said a word.”

  “So he was bitter about that, which didn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “Also bitter about not being bishop.”

  “Then you didn’t rehire him, so he not only didn’t have a job, he didn’t have his cushy side operation, no opportunity to steal from you directly, and still had to report to you at church.”

  “Until I released him. I had no other recourse because anything else I could do would require the stake president’s approval.”

  “Which he wouldn’t give because of how Sitkaris has cultivated his image and relationships in the stake.”

  He nodded. “I confronted him with what I knew, especially his part in bringing J.I. down, told him I’d find out what and how. He called my bluff. Pointed out to me that, among other things, since Knox and his family aren’t the Church’s favorite people in the world, and they’re part of my inner circle, it wouldn’t take much for him to be able to chip away at my credibility until I had none left. That was when I realized he wasn’t just somebody I didn’t like or get along with. He showed me a side I’d never seen before.”

  I pursed my lips and mused, “Sociopaths don’t bother to hide themselves once they know there’s no point. Especially if they think they have something over you.”

  He was silent for a second or two. “On our first date, when we saw him at the restaurant— I knew he was completely out of control. Trust me, I would’ve called a bishop’s court right then if I thought it wouldn’t have been a complete waste of time.” He tapped his knuckles on the window. “He went whining to the stake president, who called him to the stake high council.”

  “And your people?”

  “I’ve had them on him for the last six months. The four of us—Knox and Sebastian and Morgan and I, I mean—have been over every piece of paper they’ve dug up and I’ll tell you, if Knox can’t prove it, it can’t be proven.”

  I sat stunned. “Six months?”

  “Well, since Thanksgiving weekend, yeah.”

  “Mitch,” I growled, “you have been dealing with this alone all this time, letting your pseudofamily help you, but not me?”

  He started and looked at me. “Cassandra—”

  I glared at him. “I am your family now and I have connections they don’t have. Did you ever think of that? I’ve been begging you for the last month to talk to me, to tell me, to let me help you, but you couldn’t, you said, because it came under ecclesiastical confidentiality— But apparently not really, because they know and have known all along, but forget the wife, right? You know everything about me. I have never held anything back from you, but you still don’t trust me.”

  “Cassandra, it’s not like that.”

  “No, it’s like you thought you should hide the assholes in your church in case I assumed you were all alike.”

  “Cassandra—”

  “I’m not done! I�
��m not so ignorant I don’t know there are a few bad apples in every barrel, and that Sitkaris is your cross to bear. I knew what he was the minute he touched me and you knew I knew, but you still wouldn’t let me help you. You could’ve given me a little bit of credit and just told me. It’s not as if I don’t know what happened at Jep Industries down to the last detail, and it’s not as if I wouldn’t have understood that religion or spirituality or God or whatever has absolutely nothing to do with any of this.”

  He wiped his hand down his face. “I’m so sorry, Cassandra. I thought I was protecting you.”

  “Bullshit! You were protecting them. From me and my opinion of them. The same way you wouldn’t talk to me about your garments and your covenants and Mina, to protect them from me. Because you thought so little of me and my ability to comprehend what they meant to you and respect them on that basis.”

  His eyes narrowed at me. “Like you didn’t talk to me about your meeting with Giselle. Or what you did with Hayleigh and Amelia. Or that you went to my Relief Society president behind my back. Or what revenge you’ve got planned for Greg. Or that you nearly severed his most prized possession barehanded in front of an emergency room full of people.”

  I sniffed. “Well, I couldn’t take it all the way off or he’d have bled to death. Even I have my limits. And your child has a big mouth.”

  “He was very proud of you.”

  “He was drugged,” I groused. “I don’t even know how he remembered any of it.”

  “Check. Shall I go for mate?”

  I huffed. “Okay, then. Help me understand. How did we get from catching a thief in the middle of an affair to him presiding over your excommunication for adultery? Delicate politics aside, I thought you told me you have to have some kind of proof if the person wasn’t penitent.”

  He drew a long breath in through his nose. “They...have...proof. Of a sort.”