Zero. Zero dollars and zero cents. Pastor had cleaned him out.

He was relieved that he’d moved a substantial amount of money over before he’d left for New Orleans the week before, but the relief was overshadowed by pure rage.

“Sons of bitches,” he snarled, closing the banking app on his new phone and reopening it, hoping for a different result. Of course it still read zero. That account had held fifty thousand dollars just days ago. He wished he’d cleaned it out himself, but he always kept his withdrawals low enough to avoid attention. He primarily used his Eden account to pay for his mother’s nursing home and Pastor knew that. Pastor always made sure the account had enough to cover the exorbitant fees.

But no longer. Ephraim stared at the screen, wondering what had tipped them off. Wondering when they’d realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to have been. He thought about the three calls Pastor had made to Regina’s while he’d been in New Orleans.

Fuck. The tickets. That was what had tipped them off. He’d bought the tickets with his Eden account.

God. I was so stupid. But he’d been rattled, seeing Mercy’s face on the screen, realizing that she was still alive. Seeing that his Miriam was dead, her locket taken into police custody. He’d been too rattled to think clearly and it was now biting him in the ass.

He’d figured that because he’d bought the tickets on his secure laptop—at least he’d thought it was secure at the time—nobody would know, but of course they were watching his Eden account. Or DJ was, the fucker. Ephraim could see him running to Pastor, whispering trash in his ear. They’d still be tracking him if he hadn’t smashed his old phone.

He froze, then turned the new phone off. They probably knew he was trying to access the account right now. They might even be able to track his location through the bank account. He had no idea if that was even possible, but if it was, DJ would have learned how to do it.

Ephraim knew he was probably being paranoid, but he was spooked and he hated it. Hated DJ for being a miserable worm with no sense of gratitude. Hated Pastor for taking DJ under his wing, for treating him like a son.

Their father-son relationship had started years before DJ’s actual father died. Waylon had dropped dead from a heart attack just days after Ephraim’s brother had been murdered, leaving DJ an orphan at seventeen years old. Pastor had swooped in then, taking DJ to live in his home, virtually adopting the little prick. Poor little orphan boy.

Ephraim snorted. Seventeen had been plenty old enough for DJ to take care of himself, but no one had the courage to tell Pastor that, Ephraim included. Because Pastor had declared that DJ would be his heir apparent when DJ had been only nine.

Right after Marcia had disappeared with Pastor’s real kids. Twins, a boy and a girl. Ephraim’s heart kicked in his chest. He hadn’t thought of Pastor’s first wife and kids in years. Marcia had been kind of a mom to him too, when Ephraim had been eighteen and scared and thrust into the role of a Founding Elder when Pastor had first conjured Eden.