The Priest Volume 2

By Kirsten Langston

Return to the saga of Michael Whales as he battles his lifelong foe, Nick Knight. In the midst of a gang war, Father Michael Whales must choose between his church and his family, his past and his future. As he fights to choose faith over revenge, Michael also fights his feelings for Gypsy, the only woman he has ever loved. As the violence on the streets escalates, Michael begins to exhibit strange powers, powers strange enough for the Vatican to take notice. Now, with the foreboding Cardinal Cross shadowing his every move, Michael attempts to control his thirst for revenge, his desire for Gypsy and his frightening new abilities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kirsten Langston
• Release date: Sep 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9780988538030

Kirsten Langston

Kirsten Langston is a lifelong resident of the San Francisco Bay Area. She is the author of The Mad Season Series and The Priest Series.

Book preview

The Priest

Volume 2

A Novel

By

Kirsten Langston

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Kirsten Langston

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: 978-0-9885380-2-3

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

The Priest is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Names, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

For the people who think they are alone.

You are never alone.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

Michael awoke to the sunlight streaming in his room, and for a moment he was sixteen again. Danny and Sammi were still alive, and he had yet to make so many life-altering mistakes.

He shook his head and realized when he was. His dreams had been strange the night before. He'd been in a huge glass high-rise, in what he knew to be Nick Knight's home. He was watching the man sleep and staying far away from the black aura that surrounded him.

Michael rolled over and heard the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. He waited, but no one answered and it continued to ring. He got out of bed and plodded across the floor. He picked up the old-fashioned phone from its cradle and put the receiver to his ear.

Hello?

Mike.

It was Kennedy.

What? Michael asked, immediately alarmed and yet somehow already knowing what Kennedy was going to say.

Gypsy, he said and his voice cracked.

She lost the baby, Michael murmured.

Yeah.

Kennedy was quiet. I don't know how we'll pay all these medical bills, first her parents and now this. She's devastated. All she's ever wanted was a baby and she's had such trouble, Kennedy stopped.

It's okay, Michael said in a soothing voice. I know.

Can you come? he asked. She wants you.

Me? Michael asked puzzled. He felt a sudden shot of desire that shamed him.

Yeah, Kennedy said tiredly.

Michael hung up and put on his black cassock; it felt heavy on his shoulders and he was tired of wearing it.

He went to Tommy's room, but he was not there, nor was Dimes in his usual spot on the couch. The door to Rose's room remained closed. Inside, all of her clothes and belongings stayed, gathering dust, waiting for a mistress that would never return. Michael turned away from it. He took the keys to Rose's old Cadillac from the hook in the kitchen. The car groaned protestingly, but started, and he drove himself into Rock City.

It had changed since he'd seen it last. Gone were the squat, brick buildings and abandoned, half-burned warehouses. Warehouses, he thought, where he'd shot speed and fucked countless girls. In their place were domes of steel and glass, high-rises that rose up from the concrete and extended into the gathering clouds, so far up, they seemed endless. Great lawns preceded government buildings made of marble. Green parks dotted every other block. The place was clean now - no more crews dominating every block, crackheads in alleyways and prostitutes on street corners. No, now the drug of choice was cocaine and the whores were three thousand dollars a night; Nick Knight had kept the city in his own personal brand of dirt, but he pushed it under the shining marble floors and kept it out of the great picture windows.

Michael pulled up to the county hospital. Tommy was smoking outside with Dimes; he spotted Michael and frowned as a black, chauffeured Mercedes pulled up to the curb. A man stepped out and buttoned his gray suit jacket. His hair gleamed in the weak sunlight and his eyes were shielded by dark glasses. Michael approached the car, recoiling as he skirted around it.

Father Whales.

The voice was smooth and confident. Michael recognized it immediately. He turned to face the man, his cassock flaring out as he did so.

Michael said nothing as he looked at Nick. He had changed; there was a thin veneer of respectability and an aura of power to him. Beneath it, Michael could smell fear.

Nick smiled, his bland features suddenly blinding.

I heard you were back.

Michael remained silent. Behind him, he could feel his brother and Dimes tensing.

I'm so sorry about your mother, Nick said politely.

Michael continued to say nothing.

When are you leaving? Nick asked with a casual air.

Michael shrugged.

Nick took a step toward him. Michael stood his ground. He wondered at the scene they made. The respectable businessman and the priest covered in tattoos squaring off under a cloudy sky as an ambulance wailed in the distance.

I won't have you here too much longer, Nick said lightly. You buried your mother, now get out. This is my city.

Michael studied him as one would study an insect, detached and dispassionately regarding the outcome of this wretched creature.

The passenger side door to the sedan opened and a large man climbed out.

So, he still has his bodyguards, Michael thought to himself. In his paws the bodyguard held a large bouquet of flowers. Nick looked at the man and chucked his chin at Michael.

These are for Gypsy, Nick said with a wolfish grin. You'll see that she gets them, won't you?

The man thrust the flowers at Michael, who ignored them. He itched to jump on Nick. This is the closest he'd been to him since the day Danny died. Michael remained still, his face perfectly smooth and a bland expression in his gray eyes.

The man continued to hold the flowers out and Michael continued to ignore him. He assessed the bodyguard. He was stupid, Michael could sense. He was all brawn and no brains.

No? Nick asked with a smile. So rude, Father Whales.

Michael turned his back on Nick and walked up the steps to the hospital. It was the first and last time he'd ever turn his back on Nick Knight. Desire for revenge burned so brightly in his chest, Michael felt his heart contract.

He heard the engine of the car rev as the Mercedes drove off.

He nearly pissed himself, Tommy said as Michael approached them.

Dimes looked awed and a little frightened.

He's scared of you, Mike, Tommy said. He always was.

Michael shrugged.

Where's Kennedy? he asked.

Dimes will take you, Tommy said as the three men went in through the sliding glass doors.

Gypsy laid in the bed behind the curtained partition; she looked pale and her brown eyes were sad. Kennedy was beside the bed in a chair; he looked tired.

Michael approached them on ginger feet.

When she saw him, she smiled.

Hey, Mike, Kennedy said.

How are you? he asked, unable to focus on anything but Gypsy and the great waves of sadness that came from her.

I want you to bless it, she said. It wasn't big enough to- she stopped.

I understand, Michael said.

But you can still do something? she asked hesitantly.

Of course, he said softly, wanting to ease her pain.

Michael forgot about his friend in that moment. There was only him and Gypsy, and he knew he would slit his own wrists if it would stop her terrible grief. His chest started to whir and spin again and he put his hand over it, half expecting to feel a gaping vortex, but he felt only his own flesh.

There isn't any, I mean, she stopped again.

I know, he said. I can still pray.

Gypsy nodded, satisfied that he knew what she wanted. Her dark hair was glossy over her shoulders as she rested against the pillow.

Do you need anything? Michael asked Kennedy, aware, suddenly, that he was there.

Kennedy shook his head.

Sit with her for a minute, Kennedy said. I'm going to get some coffee.

Michael nodded and slipped into the chair beside the bed as Kennedy slipped outside the curtain. Absently, Michael rested his hand on the bed. Gypsy scooped it up in her own and he stared at his tattooed flesh cradled by her delicate hand. He dared not look up at her lest she see what was in his gray eyes.

For years, since he left, he thought only of Gypsy. He knew it was wrong, coveting his best friend's girl, but he couldn't stop himself. He never could. Celibacy was never a problem for him, because the only woman he really wanted, he couldn't have. So he contented himself with dreams of her; he wrapped himself in thoughts of Gypsy as he fell asleep at night and he prayed he'd dream of her.

Sometimes he did, and these dreams were poignant and painful and he hated them as much as he loved them. He never thought he'd see her again. He thought he was safe with his church and his dreams.

She drew her thumb across his palm absently. Michael looked at her through veiled lids; she was staring at their joined hands, a faraway look in her brown eyes.

The doctor isn't sure I can conceive again. He said it was a miracle I had gotten pregnant in the first place. Kennedy wants a child so badly. He was so happy.

You'll be okay, Michael said, knowing this was inadequate.

Of course I'll be okay, Gypsy said. I'm always okay.

Maybe you'll get pregnant again, he said, hearing the falseness in his tone.

Gypsy gave him a knowing look and dropped his hand back on the cheap hospital blanket.

Thanks for sitting with my girl, Kennedy said as he came back through the curtain.

No problem, Michael said.

Michael left the hospital and felt his chest constrict. Flooded as he was with all that was Gypsy, he barely remembered driving to the church in the Outlands. He eschewed the hulking cathedrals of Rock City, with their gaudy stained glass and drove to the small chapel at the river's edge. It was locked and he had to go to the caretaker's cottage for the keys.

He stepped