Damned If You Do Read Online Free

deal was a deal. He was bound by the laws of his own employment to follow through. And looking at Seth, he felt it hadn’t been a total loss. “I look forward to hearing you play again. Maybe something a little more uplifting next time?”
    â€œI’ll play something fun, just for you.” Seth stepped forward, his right hand held out. “It was nice meeting you, Mr.—I mean, Brother Abaddon.”
    It took every bit of Abaddon’s self-mastery to reach out and shake Seth’s hand. And once he did, it took every bit and then some to stay on his feet. Electricity tingled up his arm and down his torso, lighting a fire of longing in his loins. He sucked air through his teeth and thanked God—yes, actually thanked the bastard—for making Seth blind so he couldn’t see the effect he had on him. “It was nice meeting you as well,” he croaked as Seth dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tonight.”
    â€œPeace and love to you, brother.”
    â€œHell’s bells,” Abaddon mumbled, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Whatever you say, kid.”
    * * * * *
    The revival tent wasn’t the biggest Abaddon had seen, but it wasn’t the smallest either. It was approximately fifty by fifty feet, striped red and white. It sat at the end of a long field with an enormous banner erected over the entrance.
    Rainbow Revival Tonight
    Featuring Rev. Thaddeus B. Rawlins, Jr.
    All Worshippers Welcome!
    Nearly two dozen travel trailers formed a semicircle behind the tent, obviously the living quarters of the revivalists. Beyond them, Abaddon spotted several vehicles and two semi trucks sitting silent and empty, ready for the day the entire show packed up and moved on.
    Abaddon had been to more revivals than he could count. He’d encountered dozens of religious sects through the years, but none like this one. A lot of other revivalist groups held to a very modest set of rules with regard to appearance. Men had to wear long-sleeve shirts, and women wore somber, ankle-length skirts and never cut their hair. But Seth’s group seemed to take the “rainbow” part of their name to heart. The men wore corduroy pants, tie-dyed T-shirts, and horn-rimmed glasses. The girls tended toward dreadlocks and long, flowing, bright-colored clothes. They looked like a group of modern hippies, but unlike most “free love” groups Abaddon knew of, this group was remarkably chaste. Shirts were invariably modest, and every skirt ended below the knee. They were a mixture of opposite extremes—garish, yet conservative; devout, but still trendy.
    â€œWhat do you know,” Abaddon murmured to himself. “Hipster evangelists.”
    The area around the tent buzzed with activity. Men circled it, checking stakes and ties, securing it against any sudden winds. Women came and went, carrying chairs and giant carafes of water, coffee, and iced tea, getting ready for the evening’s performance. Generators began to kick on, filling the tent with light, making it seem like a giant firefly perched among ants. All seemed to be working under the direction of a tall, broad-shouldered black man wearing a purple boubou with elaborate gold stitching. His deep voice boomed over the grounds.
    The star of the show, as proclaimed by the banner, was Reverend Thaddeus Rawlins. He was about thirty, dressed much like the other men, except he’d added a corduroy jacket with leather patches on the sleeves. He also wore Birkenstocks with wool socks.
    Even their reverend was a hipster.
    Abaddon lurked near the periphery of the activity, hidden by the trees, waiting for the entertainment to begin. Nobody noticed him, although the eyes of the tall foreman seemed to circle Abaddon’s way far more often than he would have liked.
    Seth was nowhere to be seen, but the music started shortly after the first car appeared, obviously cued by some vigilant group member. It was “How