Like the outside, the inside of the church reminded me of a gilded homage to the gods. Tall white columns lay flush against the walls with ivy vines intertwined around the posts. The floor was covered in a white and gray marble. A display case filled with religious items sat just inside the door. Sitting beside it was a rack filled with brochures for church activities.
A woman stopped us before we could enter the chapel. “We like to have all the new people sign the guestbook.” She beamed at us as she held out a gold pen.
Jonah took it and scribbled down his name and address, then handed it to me before I could formulate a protest. I stared at the long list of names and addresses and froze. I didn’t want to give these people my information. Jonah nudged me, dipping his head toward the book. I glanced at Kara, and she too gave me a look that said, ‘do it.’
I swallowed the cynical reply on my tongue and wrote down my name and address, omitting my apartment number. Let them figure it out. It wasn’t until I started to turn away that I noticed Jonah had written a bogus address.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to keep my ire contained, and Jonah shook his head and mouthed, later. Damn right we would talk about this later.
Once Kara had signed the book, we continued inside.
Light wooden pews with red cushioning curved in toward the altar—or pulpit—as if they were being moved by some unforeseen force. A strange earthy scent hung heavy in the air. I held back a sneeze as we moved to the center of the room and found the last of the available seats.
Only to have my nose assaulted again. The man next to me—late forties, greasy dark hair streaked with gray, wearing a wrinkled dark blue suit—smelled like he’d bathed in motor oil. When he shifted, I got the faint whiff of peppermint and a spicy aftershave that was trying to compete with the oily smell.
I will not be cynical. I will not be…fuck!
I turned to Kara. “Can we change places?”
She looked around me, wrinkled her nose, and shook her head. Dammit. There was no way I could keep my mantra in my head and block the man’s scent at the same time. Especially not with old memories pushing their way to the surface too.
Jonah leaned over and whispered, “There are only a handful of people dressed like those girls.”
I turned and surveyed the crowd. Hushed voices overflowed the large space, echoing off the walls. He was right. Most of the people were dressed in either suits or dresses. Only a few individuals wore the white lacy number that Sara, Juliette, and Bridgette wore. And it was only the women. I didn’t see any men wearing white. Come to think of it, I didn’t see many men at all.
Jonah told us most cults had more women than men. Because underneath the ramblings of a professed profit was really a deviant mind that used his charm to cajole women and young girls into sleeping with him. Seeing all the women in white all but confirmed this.
I spotted the Young family sitting in the front pew.
Andrew Snow had compiled information on seven families on Tulare Island he believed practiced blood magick. The Young family were among them. While he was able to determine their magick, he had little in the way of personal information on them. We had to fill in the gaps in his research.
Salome, the oldest at twenty and an earth mage like her sister Oralee, stood, arms crossed, watching the crowd. Rachel had managed to find her class schedule at Red Oak University when she hacked into the data base, and it seemed Salome wanted to be a teacher. Unlike the rest of the girls in the crowd, she wore a simple blue dress. It complemented her blue eyes.
Her sister Oralee stood next to her. While she didn’t wear the white frock, she was wearing a tight white dress that stopped just above her knee. Large gold hoops adorned her ears. She wore her dark brown hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. She looked bored and a little irritated. While she had graduated from high school, she had yet to apply for college.
Vidette, a faith mage like her mother and sister Hedia, sat with her back to everyone. She was supposed to graduate this past year but dropped out before she could complete school. The youngest, Hedia, sat next to Vidette, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder. At fourteen, she spent more time in the principal’s office than she did in class.
Their only son, Xavier, stood near the stage with a smirk on his face, his eyes wandering over everyone. He was the only one of their children who didn’t have magick. If I had to guess, being the only male child, he might resent that. At least that was what I was getting from his body language. Like he was above everyone and everything. Men often went through that phase in life. Some settled into it like it was their calling in life. I’ve encountered quite a few of them in my vast-experienced dating life.
When I asked Rachel about the family’s array of magick, she said it was possible. Especially if Gavina’s ancestors had mixed with other magick families. The same way a child could be born with blue eyes when both parents had brown eyes. Somewhere in their family history someone had earth magick and that trait, through DNA, would have been given to the child.
From their indifference, I had to wonder if the Young children even took part in their parents’ activities. None of them seemed interested in being here. That had to be important. I filed the observation away for later examination.
Sara, carrying three books, made her way toward us. She smiled at a few people along the way. Juliette stood in the front with a group of other women, her gaze transfixed in our direction. Her sister stood next to her. I followed her line of sight to Jonah. He rubbed his chest as he watched her. Almost as if he, too, was transfixed.
“Jonah,” I said. “What’s going on?”
He shook himself and turned to me. I raised a brow in question.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just…” He turned back toward her, but Sara stood in his way.
“I noticed you didn’t have our Holy Book.” Sara handed the books to Jonah. “You can use these for the sermon and pay for them before you leave.”
“Pay for them?” I asked, as I took a copy from Kara. The Wisdom of Boyd: A guide to Spiritual Enlightenment and Worship. Seriously?
“Yes, of course,” Sara said as if it was a given.
“Why the—” I started. Kara placed her hand on my arm.
I will not be cynical. I will not be cynical.
“That will be fine,” Kara said.
No, the hell it wouldn’t. I wasn’t paying for this shit.
“Enjoy the sermon,” Sara said, cut her eyes at me, and walked away.
Bitch.
“I’m not paying for this book, Kara,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I’ll take care of it,” Jonah said. He glanced at me. “We need to secure an invite, remember?”
My mouth moved, but no words came out. I wanted to argue. My fists clenched on my lap, the short nails biting into my skin—most likely breaking the surface. While my head pounded, a lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it down. He was right. I tried to fill my head with my mantra again, but it wasn’t working.
Why the hell was I getting so emotional?
Oh, I knew why. Because long-buried memories were surfacing, and I couldn’t do anything to stop them. I toyed with my charm bracelet, trying to find comfort. The bracelet had been a gift from my father when I was nine. The charms on it—an ankh and a fleur-de-lis—represented my parents.
Jonah studied me, waiting for a response. Finally, I nodded and turned away before he could see the tears filling my eyes. I sucked in a deep breath and willed the pain away.
Rubbing my suddenly chilled arms, I faced forward and let my mantra fill my head. He was right; I needed to pull myself together.
Come on, Nicole. You got this.
I didn’t have this. Dammit, I should have told Devlin I changed my mind and wouldn’t go. But then he would have asked why, and I would have stumbled around for a plausible reason that didn’t require me to relive the past. Alek would have pulled me aside and stared at me, willing me to tell him. I wasn’t ready to share my past pain with anyone.
She’d told me once that Jonah didn’t do undercover work. Yet, he had volunteered to do this assignment. Come to think of it, he had suggested I help.
I glanced over at him.
Curiosity wormed its way inside of me, a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil that had started gnawing at my insides and unlocking the long-buried trauma I needed to ignore.
Why did he want to go undercover at church? True, he was a faith mage, but he could have stayed on the sidelines and offered support like he’d done when Devlin, Rachel, and I were at Tribec. Was there something in his past that he needed to atone for? Devlin had alluded to Jonah having a troubled past when he’d first talked to me about what his team did.
Before I could ponder it further, a rush of excitement ran through the crowd. We turned and watched Boyd and Gavina Young make their way up the aisle toward the dais with smiles plastered across their faces.
Confidence oozed off the short round man as he strode forward wearing his white robe with gold embroidery running down the front. I was somewhat surprised to learn he didn’t have any magick. I would have thought it was a requirement for running a cult. But what he lacked in magick he more than made up for with his gift of gab. Boyd had spent his youth in and out of juvenile detention. And his adult life running cons. Despite his shady past, he was never the one in the spotlight when the church came under scrutiny. It was always Gavina.
Gavina walked next to him—arms linked—looking regal and refined, a slender woman with long raven hair that hung around her body like a veil. The front had been pushed up in a tall bump making it look like a crown.
Boyd took his place behind the lectern while Gavina sat behind him on a marble chair with red cushioning.
Boyd looked out over the congregation with his large hands gripping the sides of the polished wood.
“It’s great to see so many new faces here today,” he said, his voice filled with false joy. “So many people ready to receive wisdom.” He paused, morphing his face into a mask of skepticism and concern. “But how many of you will deny that wisdom?” He paused again. Staring. Waiting. I had to hand it to him, he even had me a little curious. “Would the new members please stand? Show the congregation—your fellow brothers and sisters—who you are.”
People rose slowly from their seats. I glanced around and counted close to forty. Finally, Jonah and Kara stood. I remained seated. Besides, I wasn’t ready to receive any of Boyd’s bullshit wisdom.
Jonah and Kara looked at me with concern in their eyes. Dammit. I stood.
Boyd continued, “Tell me. Are you all ready to receive my wisdom?”
Murmurs filled the space. I mentally flipped him the bird.
Boyd gestured for everyone to sit.
Again, he paused for effect. I wondered if he practiced this song and dance in front of a mirror. “We grew up poor.” He shook his head, gripping the side of his lectern. “No money for even our basic needs. We relied on charity and the good will of our neighbors.” A tear slid down his face. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes.
I wanted to call bullshit, yell at him that it was too early in his act to turn on the water works. How the hell could people be so caught up in this crap? Kara squeezed my hand. It was like she was reading my damn mind.
She leaned over. “Remember your mantra,” she whispered.
I will not be cynical. I will not be cynical.
“One day, while walking home from school, a voice whispered to me.” His mouth turned up into a knowing smile. “It told me that I had been chosen to spread its word and I had to convince my parents to move out of our town and into the next one.” He stopped and drummed his meaty fingers on the podium, staring at each person in turn. “I asked this voice how we were going to do that with no money. It replied, ‘I will provide the way.’ So, I ran home and told my parents exactly what it said.” He smiled, again looking around the room. “You can guess what my father said. And my backside was good and worn by time he finished saying it.” Everyone laughed as if on cue. “But I didn’t give up. I kept at it. Until finally, he agreed maybe we should move.”
Boyd moved from behind his lectern. “And I promise you,” he said, raising his voice as if he were shouting to the heavens. Some of the congregants stood, lifting their hands up to join in his rapture. “The very day we settled in our new home was the day our lives began. No more struggle. No more worry. And from that day forth, I have been blessed with more wisdom. More knowledge than I could ever hope to use in one lifetime.” He lifted his book again. “And it’s all right here.”
The congregation applauded. And I crossed my arms over my chest. His story sounded so much like every other con artist’s bullshit and lacked any substantive detail. He should have come up with a better story; at least given us the reason his father changed his mind. And who suddenly has no more problems? If I spotted a suggestion box on my way out, I was so going to give him some critique notes.
As Boyd waxed on, Gavina’s gaze roamed over the congregation, hungry, like she was scenting out fresh meat until finally settling on me.
We locked eyes, and the room shifted. My heartbeat slowed, keeping rhythm with the second hand on a clock. I tried to turn away, but her dark eyes held me there. Heat pooled in my stomach and warmth spread all over my body. I remembered this feeling. Sexual. Tender. But I’ve never been attracted to women. Yet, Gavina kept me rooted in place, snared in her seductive web. Boyd’s voice grew smaller and smaller as if I were sinking into a pit. Getting further away from him until all I heard was the roaring of my own blood in my ears.
“I can heal you,” a feathery voice whispered, waking the mark inside my head. “I will heal you. Just let me inside.”
An invisible finger ran down the side of my face and the phoenix’s wings opened.
When I was child, my mother had bargained with an Old One to block the part of my brain that would allow me to access my magick. They had placed a mass of darkness, a sort of magickal seal, around it. To keep it place, they put an elaborate mark in front of it—a golden glyph of a phoenix outlined in red with a fleur-de-lis rising behind the mystical bird. The entire mark was enclosed in a shen ring. Outside the ring were hands, held up as if in prayer. Many different types of wards had been used but given what Alek told me of magick wanting to be used, I understood the need for the intricate design.
It also explained the tidal wave of power that was now constantly rushing through me—waiting for me to wield its power.
Alek was the first to try and use magick on me and paid the price with pain. He wanted to stop the onslaught of memories flooding me when a fissure split down the black mass, creating an opening that gave me access to my power. And now, as Gavina cried out, it seemed she would pay the price as well. She sucked in a breath, the sound so loud it echoed off the walls. As she struggled for breath, she kept her eyes trained on me. Her kids followed her line of sight to see what was causing their mother pain, Boyd whipped around and looked at his wife. Hushed, worried voices filled the church, sounding like an infestation of bees.
Her children rose from the front rows and converged onto the dais.
Xavier turned his head slowly until his gaze landed on me. I expected to see anger, but he only smiled. Not handsome. But intriguing. And obviously not too concerned about his mother. His sister, Vidette, said something to him, and he turned back to his mother and slowly got up, taking his time as he joined his siblings on the dais.
Gavina continued to wheeze as if someone had their hands around her neck—squeezing. Boyd went down on his knees in front of her and their flock of girls in white moved toward the dais as if summoned. All the while, her eyes remained fixed on me. Accusing. Finally, her head shifted slowly away as she murmured—her mouth moving sluggishly. Was she working a spell?
I leaned toward Kara and whispered, “She tried to attack me.”
“Yes,” Kara said, glaring at Gavina. “Are you all right?”
I rubbed my head, trying to dislodge the residual pain. “Fine,” I said, my voice trembling. Raw emotion clogged up my throat. I bit back the tears that were forming and latched onto anger, letting it infuse me with strength. “I hope that bitch suffered,” I gritted out.
Kara squeezed my hand. But I didn’t look at her. Instead, I kept my eyes focused on Gavina—letting my gaze go distant as I studied her aura. I’d expected to see a gold sheen covering her body, but instead found steel gray. I nudged Kara. “Something is off with her magick,” I whispered.
Kara stared at Gavina as one of the girls in white gave her some water. After taking a long sip, she pushed them away and leaned in to talk with her husband. He nodded a few times and then returned to the lectern.
Kara looked at me, confusion in her eyes. “Maybe she’s not a faith mage,” she said and turned to study Gavina again.
I didn’t know. And there was no way we could question it now. I scanned the rest of the family—noted their auras as well. When I came to Xavier’s, I almost gasped. He didn’t have one. In its place was a void. I looked deeper and saw his soul pulsing inside of him.
I checked Boyd, wondering if a person without the ability to use magick in fact did have no color to their aura, and found a pale gold light surrounding him. I had to squint to really see it, but it was there. So why didn’t Xavier have any color inside his aura?
“To heal oneself and accept the wisdom,” Boyd continued, pulling me out of my thoughts. Oh, okay. They were going to pretend like nothing happened. “You must give in. Let the desire to be whole fill you.” He paused, looking around at his audience. They had returned to their rapt state, watching him as if he truly were some sort of god. I chanced a look at Gavina and found her staring out at the crowd, her mouth moving again in what I was coming to believe was a sort of spell. Which made me even more curious as to what kind of magick she had.
“We need a path in these dark times to find light and satisfaction and prosperity.”
I’d heard those exact words before.
The more he talked, the more the room spun. Until finally, his voice grew deep…morphing into Pastor Jeremiah’s.
I blinked and was no longer in a gilded cathedral sitting next to Kara. Now, I lay in my underwear on a cold slab of concrete, shivering. But not from the cold—from fear.
My aunt stood next to me, speaking in an urgent whisper. And I watched her through a haze of tears.
“We need a path in these dark times to find light,” Pastor Jeremiah said, gazing down at my body with a hungry look in his eyes.
Someone grabbed my arm, jarring me from the memory. Before I could cry out, Kara slapped a hand over my mouth. I closed my eyes, pushing the rest of the flashback down. Fuck, I mouthed behind her hand. She smiled, but I still saw the concern in her eyes.
“Old memories,” I whispered when she took her hand away.
Jonah lifted his eyebrow in question, and I shook my head.
“It is for that reason we have gathered.” Boyd’s voice pushed the last of my memories away.
Everything in me wanted to run out. Scream. Something. Being in here was tearing me apart. I couldn’t keep the memories away. Why had they started surfacing? Was it because they had been on my mind? Was I responsible somehow? Like when someone says, ‘Don’t think about elephants,’ and then that’s all anyone can think about. Only, no one told me not to think about the past.
I shifted around in my seat, anxious, and took in the rest of the congregation.
Spellbound in the melodious words coming out of Boyd’s mouth, hardly anyone moved. Small smiles played across their faces as Boyd promised them a path forward. The only ones not caught in his web were the women in white. They were too busy studying the faces of everyone in the room—like ravenous wolves scenting blood.
The parishioners reminded me of the employees at Tribec Insurance on the day I arrived for my interview. And the constant drone of their voices as they repeated the well-rehearsed script the company had provided them. They too had this sort of deadness about them. Like they were ensnared in a spell that drained them of all their free will. Which I later learned was actually true. Tribec Insurance had set up a ritual to drain the life out of their employees. The spell was called Athanasia and created by a Druid Priestess to help revitalize one’s life. Was the Young family using the same ritual?
Either way, Gavina had to be working some sort of spell on the congregation. Boyd’s ramblings just weren’t filled with much more than repeated promises of salvation. One could find those hollow words anywhere.
I glanced at Kara and Jonah. They, at least, were able to keep up the façade of attentiveness. After what just happened, I refused to keep up the pretense. Of course, that might mean we wouldn’t get that needed invitation to join their cult. But at that moment I was finding it extremely difficult to care. Devlin could yell at me later. Correction: Devlin would yell at me later.
I turned away from the sham, and my blood froze in my veins.
A few pews behind us.
Ronald Stewart.
I reached inside my purse, wrapping my hand around the gun Devlin had given me.
They told me I should leave it at home. I was happy I hadn’t.
And from one blink to the next, I realized it wasn’t him. He might have had the same slim build as Ronald, but the wrinkles around his brown eyes gave him away. Ronald, of course, didn’t have wrinkles, and his eyes were blue.
Gerald Stewart, Ronald’s father, sat in the church, staring daggers at me.
He tipped his head in my direction. My heart rammed in my chest so hard, I worried that everyone could hear its frantic pounding.
There was no way his presence here was mere coincidence.
Someone jabbed my arm and I glanced at the smelly man sitting next to me. He handed me a basket full of money. It took me a few seconds to understand why. I let go of my gun and fumbled for my wallet. Hand shaking, I pulled out a dollar. After setting it on top of the other bills, I gave the basket to Kara.
“Surely you have more to give?” the man asked.
“I need to eat, so no,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Nicole,” Kara whispered.
Fuck me.
I pulled a five out of my wallet and set it in the basket. “I am thankful,” I said through clenched teeth.
He patted my arm and smiled. “You are most welcome.”
That word again. In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t mind it. But here, at The Better Day Church, the word felt like a dagger. Underneath that cheerful uttering was menace.
“We can heal you.”
Please, not again.
The room spun and the walls started to close in, the ground seeming to shift beneath my feet. The cloying smell of the swamp pushed its way inside of me. I should have stayed out of this church. A single tear slipped down my cheek as my heart rammed in my chest. I should have banished these demons. But I didn’t have the strength. And all these years later, I still didn’t. I probably never will.
I stood up. The book Sara gave me clattered to the floor. Its thump filled the cathedral. Boyd’s voice cut off abruptly. Someone’s magick brushed up against my skin. I scanned the room. All eyes were focused on me, filled with scorn and hate—obviously pissed I’d interrupted the sermon. I wanted to yell it was all bullshit, but instead, I turned away from them and moved past Kara so I could make my way outside.
“Nicole?” Kara whispered.
“I need to get out of here,” I said, my voice thick with sadness and frustration. I pushed my way out of the row.
“Nicole,” Kara called again in a pleading tone.
I ignored her and rushed down the aisle. Sucking in a calming breath, I shoved open the door and emerged into the damp heat. If I could have ripped off my stupid ill-fitting dress, I would have. I didn’t care what Devlin said, I was not going to be able to do this.
An image of me on the altar in my aunt’s church flashed through my mind again and bile rose in my throat. I bent over, ready to throw up.
“Not very religious, Ms. Fontane?” His voice crawled over me.
I eased up and turned, taking in the sight of Gerald Stewart. He stood, leaning on a cane, just outside the double doors, his face blank while his eyes blazed with hatred.
“Well?” he asked.
“No. I’m not,” I said, finally able to dislodge my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
Beads of sweat gathered at the base of my neck, despite the chill that had settled there. I flexed my hand, trying to work some blood circulation back into it. I didn’t want to show the fear brewing inside of me.
“A murderer wouldn’t, I suppose,” he said in a pretentious tone.
His snide comment was like a slap across the face. And it was all the fuel I needed to push the irrational fear I had of him out of me. True, Devlin and the team—myself included—had killed his adult children. They deserved it. And no matter how many times I told myself that, it still troubled me. Not enough to regret it, just enough to concern me.
“Tell me, Gerald, does sacrificing dozens of innocent people count as murder?”
He walked around me, purposely invading my space. I guess he expected me to flinch or move out of his way. Fuck him.
The bald man I spotted in the parking lot earlier walked up and stood next to Gerald. His dark gray eyes seemed to bore into my soul. I should have trusted my instincts when I first saw him. Because he, despite Gerald’s posturing, was the real threat.
Gerald spared the man a quick glance. “You will refer to me as Mr. Stewart.”
“Not on your fucking life, Gerald. Say what you came to say and leave,” I bit out.
He smiled. “Brash and stupid, just like Thomas said.” He shook his head. “I should have pushed him to get rid of you. Instead, I indulged Ronald once again.”
Which meant he knew what his sick son was up to and did nothing about it—only hired a nurse to watch him. A nurse who, in the end, became one of Ronald’s victims.
Gerald took a step forward, and I stuck my hand in my purse and wrapped it around my gun.
The man’s eyes narrowed, watching my movements like a hawk. He took a step forward, hands held loose at his sides as if he was getting ready to pounce. Gerald put a hand on his arm. “Don’t, Logan. Ms. Fontane isn’t a threat.”
Logan? I’d heard that name before.
The door opened behind me, but I didn’t take my eyes off Gerald or Logan. Instead, I pulled the gun from my purse and held it casually at my side. If either one of them moved forward, I was going to shoot them.
“Don’t, Nicole,” Jonah said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Gerald and Logan looked at him, dismissing me as if I wasn’t even there. Unbelievable. I was the one with the gun! Still didn’t know how to use it properly, but this close, I could definitely do some damage.
Kara moved up beside me and crossed her arms.
Logan turned to her, and a worried look crossed his face. He covered it quickly. But continued to stare at her.
I glanced over at her and fought hard not to flinch as well. Coldness crept into her green eyes making them appear black. She took the gun from my hand and put it back in my purse, her movements mechanical. All the while, she kept her cold, dark gaze glued on Logan and Gerald as if daring them to attack. Remembering her during the battle with Thomas and Lisa, how she was able to pull the soil up from the ground and wield it, and the look of pure glee on her face, I got the distinct impression she was hoping they would.
“You don’t need it,” she said, and smiled.
What she probably meant was I couldn’t use it, so why show it off. And of course, she was right. No matter how many times Devlin tried to help me with my aim, I just couldn’t get the hang of it. Everything I shot at, I missed. By miles.
Gerald cleared his throat. “Now that all of you are here, I can warn you together. When you maliciously killed my children, you took something that belonged to me. My wife mourns them. But I just want the Ark back. We worked too hard to secure that relic, and I want it returned immediately.”
I laughed. The Ark was used in a ritual to create the Old Ones—gods born out of blood and sacrifice. When we’d defeated his children in battle, the Ark had been lost. And we confirmed the police hadn’t taken it, either. So why did he assume we had it?
“We don’t have it,” Jonah said. “And even if we did”—he smiled and leaned in as if Gerald were two feet tall—“we wouldn’t be returning it to you.”
“Is that so?” Logan said, once again stepping forward.
Gerald stuck his cane in Logan’s path and stared up at Jonah. “We’ll give them some time to think about it.” He glanced at me. “I believe my son, Ronald, is quite taken with you, Ms. Fontane. You better pray he never returns to Tulare.”
“No, Gerald, you better pray he doesn’t. You already lost two kids. It’d be a shame to lose the last one.”
He shook his head and walked away, dismissing me once again. I really needed to work on projecting menace. I was getting a little tired of being underestimated.
As Logan spared me one last glance, it finally dawned on me where I’d heard that name before. It was during the conversation Ronald had engineered for me to overhear. Lisa had threatened to send Logan after me when they feared I was becoming too attached to Ronald and could possibly learn about their Harvest ritual. Ronald had managed to deter her.
At first, I believed it was in an effort to protect me. I learned later, he had plans of his own. He wanted us to expose his family’s blood magick practices so he could break the weak ties that kept his sick appetites at bay.
So, if Ronald, a serial killer, was worried about Lisa sending Logan after me, then the intense bald man definitely was a threat.
One who, I guess, knew Kara.