The Last Sunday Read Online Free PDF Page B

in for one hell of a ride.”
    The headline of the article flashed on the screen: PASTOR HEZEKIAH T. CLEAVELAND INVOLVED IN SECRET HOMOSEXUAL AFFAIR .
    â€œThere it is,” Lance said. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for,” Cynthia said with a smile. “Now, stop wasting time. Let’s send it.”
    â€œOkay, Mrs. Pryce. Just press ENTER and you’ll be one step closer to being queen of New Testament Cathedral.”
    Cynthia returned her seat to its upright position. With her clothes still disheveled, she pressed the key without saying a word.
    After a message appeared on the screen, confirming the article had been sent, Cynthia looked at Lance and firmly said, “Now, pull your pants up and get out of my car.”
    The events of that night were etched in her brain. As Cynthia sat in her den, now months later, staring at the oversize head of Samantha Cleaveland on her television, she had no remorse for using her body to expose the story that would have brought down the Cleaveland dynasty. Her only regret was that the contemptible reporter and Hezekiah hadn’t lived long enough to make her sacrifice worthwhile. “If that little bastard was still alive, I’d fuck him again, and anyone else, if that’s what it would take to get rid of Samantha Cleaveland,” she said aloud.

Chapter 3
    Scarlett Shackelford stood in front of the stove in her kitchen. An apron splattered with yellow sunflowers was cinched tightly around her slender waist. Steam rising from the stove formed a glistening layer of moisture on her forehead and cheeks. A pot filled to the brim with freshly washed collard greens, crushed garlic, sliced onions, and chicken stock simmered on one burner, and a one-inch-thick rib-eye steak sizzled on another. Steam from a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese bubbling in the oven poured from a vent on the side.
    The evening sun reflected off every surface in the bright and cheery kitchen. White-glazed tile countertops held stainless-steel appliances, a neatly lined row of cookbooks, and a ceramic rooster cookie jar that required beheading before it would yield its sugary treats.
    The three dishes were all her husband’s favorites. Scarlett was desperate to keep her man, and she knew that one way to any man’s heart was through his stomach. It had been weeks since the fateful day that David had coldly announced to her that he was in love with Samantha Cleaveland. As she stood in front of the boiling pot, she could still see the loathing in David’s eyes. As she stirred the greens and recalled the slap she had planted on his expressionless face, her hand stung.
    â€œCan’t we talk about this? I’ve told you I wasn’t in love with Hezekiah. I love you,” she had pleaded on that day, only three feet from where she now stood. “Why can’t you just accept that and allow us to move on?”
    â€œThis isn’t about you for once, Scarlett,” David had responded.
    â€œI told you I lied to you for Natalie, not for myself.”
    â€œI don’t believe that, and on some level I don’t think you believe it, either,” he said coldly. “You lied because you wanted to cover your tracks and preserve the ridiculous victim routine that you’ve used your entire life. You slept with Hezekiah because you wanted to. He didn’t rape you. You were an adult. I don’t buy for a minute your ‘young and naive’ excuse. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted him, and Samantha called your bluff and put you back in your place.”
    â€œHow dare you? I was the victim. I walked away on my own because I didn’t want anything from them,” Scarlett replied indignantly.
    â€œCorrection, darling. You walked away because you knew you couldn’t get the one thing you wanted—Hezekiah. Then the wounded little girl nonsense was