The Believers (The Breeders Series - Book 2) by Katie French Read Free Book Online

on him. “Wow. You sound just like Arn. And yet, neither one of you is my daddy.”
    He cringes. Beside him, Ethan's head sags. Bringing up my dead stepfather is not a great way to make a point. I throw myself into the plastic chair and blow out a frustrated breath.
    “So, what do we do?” I ask, tugging against the twine around my wrists. Unfortunately, Andrew seems to be the best knot-maker in New Mexico.
    Clay scans the room. “Wait and see. We got no weapons.”
    “Yes, an-and they have knives,” Rayburn stutters. He scratches his chin against his shoulder and blinks at me through his smeary glasses.
    “What if they want to eat us?” I ask.
    “Riley!” Mama scolds, looking at Ethan. He blinks up, eyes wide.
    I nod at my brother. “He may be eight, but he's seen a helluva lot in the last few weeks. I think he oughta know what we're up against.”
    My mama shakes her head. “They’re not cannibals.”
    “B-b-but those bones,” Rayburn says with a shudder.
    “That's not helping.” Mama gives Rayburn the same disapproving stare she usually saves for me.
    “Speculatin' is about as good as castratin' a mare,” Clay says, rolling his shoulders back. He scans the room, meeting our eyes. “I'll get you out. I'll find a way.”
    His brass-balls confidence is one of the things I love about him, but deep in my heart, I can't believe him. He's barely healed from being shot up, his right hand is a mangled mess of hamburger, and his last attempt at drawing from the hip was a disaster. I won't say it, but I can't count on Clay to get us out of this mess. This time it'll be all up to me.
    The inner door draws open. We all turn, jaws dropped. Through the dim light, a woman dressed in a white robe steps out.
    Ethan gasps. We all do. She's nearly old as Auntie with long gray hair brushed to a sheen flowing down her back. Her feet are bare. One pale hand sweeps toward the door and her sleeve ruffles in the breeze.
    But what my eyes are really drawn to is the pregnant belly rounding out of her gown.
    “Come,” she says, her gray eyes narrowing. “The Messiah will see you now.”

    CHAPTER FIVE
    We all stare, unable to move. The pregnant woman waves us in.
    “Get up. You do not want to keep the Messiah waiting.” When she frowns her face looks like beaten leather.
    Clay stands and we all follow. He limps to the doorway and lines up in front of the pregnant woman. “We're ready,” he says in his man-in-charge voice.
    She leads us into a room where candles glow on every flat surface. The air is stale and smells of burning sage. It takes all my willpower not to choke on it. The room reminds me of a market store for oddities. Every nook and cranny is chalk full of trinkets: stacks of yellowing books, crinkled scrolls, and religious relics. At least twelve crucifixes litter the area, including the seven-foot-tall wooden cross that dominates the far wall. Strange items lurk on a shelf to the right: a jar with a bulbous animal fetus floating in yellow liquid, a golden statue of a woman with six arms, and a shrunken head in a shadow box. On the other wall, dozens of paper calendars are pinned, overlapping one another. They've been marked and circled in something that looks like dried blood. The door clicks behind us and the hairs on my arms stand up. I lean into Ethan until I can feel his elbow at my hip. I'd throw my arm around him if my hands weren't bound.
    The Messiah steps out of the shadows. The flames highlight his features: the long brown hair, the matching beard, the white gown that drapes over him like a silk curtain, showing off every muscle. Facial sores peek through a coating of make-up—a scab below his ear the size of a quarter, a red blister below his left eye. He stands in front of us, his chin up, his eyes closed, his lips moving in some sort of prayer. Finally he spreads his arms wide, his sleeves fluttering.
    “My friends,” he says, his eyes still closed, “the Gods spoke to me about your coming. It