Messiahs The King & Slater Series Book Seven Matt Rogers Copyright © 2020 by Matt Rogers All rights reserved. Cover design by Onur Aksoy. www.onegraphica.com Contents Reader’s Group Facebook Page Books by Matt Rogers Preface Prologue 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 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91 Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Chapter 94 Chapter 95 Chapter 96 Chapter 97 Chapter 98 Chapter 99 Chapter 100 Chapter 101 Chapter 102 Chapter 103 Chapter 104 Chapter 105 Chapter 106 Chapter 107 Chapter 108 Chapter 109 Chapter 110 Chapter 111 Epilogue Afterword Afterword Books by Matt Rogers Reader’s Group About the Author Join the Reader’s Group and get a free 200-page book by Matt Rogers! Sign up for a free copy of ‘BLOOD MONEY’. Meet Ruby Nazarian, a government operative for a clandestine initiative known only as Lynx. She’s in Monaco to infiltrate the entourage of Aaron Wayne, a real estate tycoon on the precipice of dipping his hands into blood money. She charms her way aboard the magnate’s superyacht, but everyone seems suspicious of her, and as the party ebbs onward she prepares for war… Maybe she’s paranoid. Maybe not. Just click here. Follow me on Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/mattrogersbooks Expect regular updates, cover reveals, giveaways, and more. I love interacting with fans. Feel free to send me a private message with any questions or comments. Looking forward to having you! Books by Matt Rogers THE JASON KING SERIES Isolated (Book 1) Imprisoned (Book 2) Reloaded (Book 3) Betrayed (Book 4) Corrupted (Book 5) Hunted (Book 6) THE JASON KING FILES Cartel (Book 1) Warrior (Book 2) Savages (Book 3) THE WILL SLATER SERIES Wolf (Book 1) Lion (Book 2) Bear (Book 3) Lynx (Book 4) Bull (Book 5) Hawk (Book 6) THE KING & SLATER SERIES Weapons (Book 1) Contracts (Book 2) Ciphers (Book 3) Outlaws (Book 4) Ghosts (Book 5) Sharks (Book 6) Messiahs (Book 7) LYNX SHORTS Blood Money (Book 1) BLACK FORCE SHORTS The Victor (Book 1) The Chimera (Book 2) The Tribe (Book 3) The Hidden (Book 4) The Coast (Book 5) The Storm (Book 6) The Wicked (Book 7) The King (Book 8) The Joker (Book 9) The Ruins (Book 10) “The inclination to aggression is an original, self-subsisting, instinctual disposition in man.” Sigmund Freud Prologue Water ran down the man’s bald head. Water taken from the rapids of a nearby river in the Thunder Basin National Grassland, untrammelled by human interference. Water from the earth itself, in beautiful northeast Wyoming, some of the most quiet and serene land in the United States. A modern frontier, home to those savouring solitude. You can lose yourself in the grasslands, in the prairie, simply because you don’t wish to be disturbed. Or you can find the barren stretches deliberately, because you don’t want anyone to see what you’re doing. Maeve Riordan hovered over the bald man, her shoulders back to accentuate her posture. He knelt with his head bowed, as if unworthy of catching a glimpse of her. She reached down with a perfectly manicured finger, touched it to the base of his jaw, and tilted his head upward. He stared up at her with unrestrained amazement. Her voice trance-like, she said, ‘Are you ready to join the cause?’ He nodded, tears in his eyes. She bathed him in a smile, offering warmth he’d longed for, warmth that had always eluded him, leaving an acid heart in its absence. ‘Then you are home,’ she said, monotonic. ‘Mother Libertas welcomes you.’ The tears flowed freely, mixing with the river water, further wetting his face. She said, ‘Are you ready to recite the creed?’ He nodded against her finger. ‘There’s nothing I want more.’ ‘First…’ She reached into a small pocket of the farm dress that flowed down below her knees and withdrew a glass vial, no bigger than her index finger. Within was a cloudy substance, maybe a dozen millilitres in total, golden in colour. Like sweet nectar or honey. Artificially tinged, but he didn’t need to know that. Neatly imprinted in the glass of the vial was the word: BODHI. She unscrewed the tiny cap and handed it to the man as delicately as she could. ‘What is this?’ he said. ‘It will set you free.’ Her words were verbal nectar to complement the physical substance, and he drank it down without hesitation. Maeve’s husband’s complex food engineering process made the stuff taste like the sweetest candy, with no hint of the bitter pharmacological concoction constituting the bulk of the vial. He’d honed and refined the blend over the years until it was indescribably good, like an orgasm to the dopamine receptors. It would hit the new disciple like nothing he’d ever felt before. But the barrage of drugs took time to bind to receptors, so she lowered the bald man’s head back to the floor and whispered soothing reassurances in his ear, coaxing him back into a meditative state. She waited twenty long minutes, then brought the same finger back to his jaw. His eyes flew open. They were swelling with … something. Soon the compound would have him in its seductive grasp. She said, ‘It’s time for the creed.’ Squeezing his eyes shut again, he shivered in anticipation. Maeve whispered, ‘Mother, lift me from despondency.’ He echoed her words. ‘Mother, lift me from despondency.’ ‘Mother, free me from complacency.’ ‘Mother, free me from complacency.’ ‘Mother, bloom my power.’ ‘Mother, bloom my power.’ ‘Mother, bloom my spirit.’ ‘Mother, bloom my spirit.’ ‘Mother, give me strength.’ ‘Mother, give me strength.’ ‘Mother, be with me.’ ‘Mother, be with me.’ ‘Mother, awaken.’ The man’s voice rose. ‘Mother, awaken.’ ‘Mother, awaken!’ ‘Mother, awaken!’ ‘MOTHER, AWAKEN!’ His echo of the last command was a scream to match hers. ‘MOTHER, AWAKEN!’ She gripped him by the throat, applying just enough pressure to send the blood rushing to his face, took a knee in front of him, and stared deep into his eyes. She didn’t look away. She didn’t waver. To do so would ruin the illusion. She bared her brilliant white teeth. ‘Do you see, my child? Do you see?’ The Bodhi hit him in all its glory. He cried irrepressible tears of joy, laughing and moaning until the whites in
