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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.

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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

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