All Chapters of FUCKED BY THE FAKE PRIEST : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Arnold’s guard led Father Damien through a hallway full of Anna’s portraits. He walked down the stairs and headed straight to an underground basement. He walked past a room that looked like a butcher house. Father Damien never thought a place like this existed in the mansion. He tried covering his nose from the stink, but it was overwhelming—the whole place was full of the smell of blood. He saw dried blood everywhere. He was surprised, then he remembered Arnold was a ruthless man who could kill a whole city by the slightest provocation.“This place stinks,” he complained, covering his nose with a handkerchief in his hand.The guard gave him a cold stare. He was used to the stench and didn’t bother covering his nose.They walked through the paths and entered a room with white lights all over. The interior of the place was ancient, every wall painted white and flooded with light. He looked up, searching to see if there was a surveillance camera, but he saw none. Arnold refused to put c

“The priest is missing. How…?” Carden asked.“What happened?”“That’s something I need to find out. Someone from his neighborhood said he saw some men dragging him into a car and zoomed off, but they didn’t see the men’s faces because they were wearing masks,” Fred added.“Oh my God,” Carden exclaimed. “This is bad.”“Yes, it is. And I strongly believe those are Arnold’s men. I know what Arnold can do. My fear now is that the priest doesn’t say anything about me paying him up for you to step in as the priest… or we are cooked.”Carden froze, fear slowly gripping him.“Not now. I haven’t started my mission…” He paused.Then continued, “I went to Mr. Arnold’s house for Anna’s prayers, and I sensed a lot.”Fred hummed, looking at Carden.“The other day at the charity donation, Mr. Arnold introduced Anna as his wife. I went for the prayer today, and Anna addressed him as her uncle. Now I’m confused. I don’t know who to believe,” Carden said, looking tense.“The scary part is that he beat

A car pulled into the mansion. “The priest is here,” Arnold heard. He walked up to welcome him. “What took you so long? Or did my driver delay you?” he asked, looking at the driver before returning his gaze to Father Damien. Father Damien knew he couldn’t tell the truth, or the driver would be bruised. He looked at the driver, who was already shivering in fear. “Not at all. He came on time. I had a prayer session with someone, so it was my fault.” Arnold nodded as he ushered Father Damien into the sitting room. “Take a seat, Father.” Damien did as Mr. Arnold sat on his throne chair. “What should I offer you?” Arnold asked. “Water,” Father Damien said, adjusting his glasses. “Just water?” Arnold asked to be sure. “Yes, Mr. Arnold. Water,” he replied. “Okay, if that’s what you want…” He signaled a maid standing close to him to get water and whiskey. He also signaled the driver to leave. The driver bowed and left. “How’s Anna?” Father Damien asked. Arnold froze, then spoke u

⸻ ⸻ “Oh my God…” Father Damien froze at the threshold of the room. The air inside was thick, stale, carrying a smell he couldn’t place at first—old paint, dust, something metallic. The walls were lined with portraits, dozens of them, stacked and hung without order. Naked women. Some painted softly, others brutally honest. None looked willing. At the center of the room, on a low table, sat a human skull. Real. Father Damien’s breath caught in his throat. He took a step forward, drawn by a sick curiosity, when suddenly a large hand clamped onto his shoulder. His heart jolted. One of Arnold’s guards loomed behind him, eyes cold, unreadable. “N-nothing,” Father Damien stammered quickly. “I was… I was looking for Mr. Arnold.” The guard said nothing. He only shoved the door shut with finality, sealing the room—and its secrets—away. He hadn’t noticed the last portraits hidden at the back: images of a man and a woman, intimate, unmistakable. “I’ll… I’ll just go back to my seat a

⸻ For a heartbeat, no one moved. Arnold’s eyes flicked from Father Damien’s grip to the faces of his guards. Surprise hardened into something darker—amusement, then fury. “You forget yourself,” Arnold said quietly. Father Damien didn’t release his wrist. His fingers tightened instead, steady despite the storm raging inside him. “You will not touch her again.” Father Damien wished he had challenged Arnold the previous day. Those bruises were still fresh in his memories, and he couldn’t stand by and let it happen again. A murmur rippled through the onlookers. No one had ever spoken to Arnold like that. Not here. Not ever. But Father Damien had stopped him. He even heard his hands, showing not a sign of fear or remorse for what he did. Arnold laughed softly. “You see this?” he said to the guards, still staring at Father Damien. “The priest thinks he commands me.” Damien wished he could release some anger on him, but the men Arnold controlled were far more powerful than him, a