Relentless Read online

  Relentless:

  Redeemed Series Book 1

  Patricia Haley and Gracie Hill

  www.urbanchristianonline.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Relentless: Redeemed Series Book 1

  Relentless is also available as an eBook

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  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

  Readers’ Group Guide Questions

  Acknowledgments

  Authors’ Note

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  Relentless:

  Redeemed Series Book 1

  by

  Patricia Haley and Gracie Hill

  Relentless is also available as an eBook

  Also by Patricia Haley

  Mitchell Family Drama Series

  (Listed in story line order)

  Anointed

  Betrayed

  Chosen

  Destined

  Broken

  Humbled

  Also by Gracie Hill

  Where the Brothers At?

  Sorrows of the Heart

  The Kitchen Beautician

  Saved, Sanctified and Keeping My Secret

  Patricia dedicates Relentless to the memories of

  three beloved father-figures who were supportive,

  encouraging, loving, and faithful men of God.

  Deacon Robert (Bob) Thomas, Jr.: (1928–2013)

  Uncle Clifton (Cliff) Tennin, Jr.: (1930–2014)

  William Ronald (Pop) Fisher: (1943–2014)

  Gracie dedicates Relentless to those who have

  storms raging in their lives and are still wounded by

  past hurts which prevent them from being whole.

  The winds of adversity will change.

  God can calm the tempest storms in your life.

  On that day a great persecution broke out

  against the church . . . he dragged off

  men and women and put them in prison.

  —Acts 8:1, 3

  Chapter 1

  Adrenaline surged. There wasn’t any greater satisfaction than hearing the jury foreman belting out the verdict, “We find in favor of the plaintiff.” The sum of the judgment didn’t quench Attorney Maxwell’s legal thirst; although $12 million wasn’t bad for a day’s work in court. Best news was that there were plenty more cases to come. So long as corruption continued slithering into the church, he’d be a man on a mission. Anticipating the battles he’d get to fight sent exhilaration surfing through his body that he could ride indefinitely.

  Maxwell saw the wave of reporters waiting on the courthouse steps as the bright spring sunlight refused to be hidden. He jiggled the knot on his tie and straightened his Armani suit coat, which didn’t need much help. It always fit perfectly, as expected, consistent with the rest of the life he’d carefully and purposefully crafted. “Are you ready to face the crowd?” Maxwell asked his client.

  She grabbed his arm, shaking. “Do we have to go out there? Now that we’ve won, I just want to get out of here.”

  Absolutely not was what he should have told her, but there was no need for further convincing. He’d proven that his plan worked best. She was walking out with a civil case victory against the almighty Reverend Morgan, the so-called anointed leader of one of the largest ministries in the tri-state area. Whatever he was supposed to be, reverend, minister, doctor, or bishop, the well-deserved label of being a bona fide predator could also be added to his bio. No way was Maxwell going to pass up a prime opportunity to shout their victory over the airwaves. He’d send a message to the other perpetrators. There would be no rest as long as Maxwell Montgomery was alive and breathing. Churches were on notice and they’d better take him serious.

  He expeditiously ushered his client toward the door. She gave some resistance, which didn’t deter his movement. Six months ago she was deemed a fired disgruntled employee who was raising false allegations against one of the most prestigious ministers in Philadelphia. He kept pulling her toward the door, with the media closing in. Thanks to him her inappropriate interaction with Reverend Morgan had been legitimized. It was no longer her fault, and on top of it, she was going to get $12 million, less his 40 percent cut. Far as he was concerned, she didn’t get a say in how the rest of the day was going to play out. He forcefully pushed the door open leading from the courthouse and braced against the gust of wind.

  The clicking sound of cameras, microphones shoved near his face, onlookers lining the steps, and incoherent chants equaled mayhem for most. But, the controlled chaos was a work of beauty to Maxwell. His client was squeezing his arm so tightly that he had to peel a few of her fingers back to loosen the grip.

  “Do you feel vindicated?” one reporter blurted out.

  As his client stammered, Maxwell jumped in. Microphones homed in. “Justice was rendered today. The past six months have been a pure nightmare for my client. Her reputation has been maligned. She’s been hounded by church members simply because she was willing to come forward and expose the truth. She should be praised for her courage, not demonized, and today is the first step toward her getting back to a normal life.”

  “Were you really expecting to win such a substantial settlement from a church?” One reporter asked.

  “It’s the only fair outcome; doesn’t matter if it’s the church or the Vatican, wrong is wrong, and we have the court of law to right those wrongs,” Maxwell echoed, fueled with satisfaction.

  “Do you see this as an indictment against religion?”

  “No one is above the law.” Maxwell broke the grip his client had and raised his arm. He knew which network had the largest viewing audience and intentionally pointed his finger directly into their camera and said, “I’m serving notice to the corrupt leaders out there. If you think the church is going to save you, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m coming for you and you and you.” Maxwell was charged, ready to sail out of the crowd and whisk back to his office to start the next case. He reclaimed his client and began maneuvering through the crowd.

  “Attorney Maxwell, is that a threat to all local clergymen?” a reporter asked.

  Maxwell screeched to a stop. “I don’t make threats, only promises.”

  “How many more lives are you going to ruin?” a voice shouted from the crowd. The mob was thick and Maxwel
l couldn’t see who was speaking. “You have ruined my family and our church.” As the woman got louder, it was like a pebble rippling in a pond. The crowd backed up and the media swarmed to her. “Who do you think you are, God?”

  She was a distance away, at the bottom of the steps, but Maxwell could see her clearly. It was Minister Morgan’s wife, the one he’d just beaten in court. He couldn’t understand why she was making a scene. She should have crawled out the courthouse’s back door in humiliation like her husband, glad that this had only been a civil case and not a criminal trial. Instead of accepting the jury’s decision, she wanted to go another round with Maxwell in front of the media. Even if he wanted to cut her a break, she wasn’t leaving him much choice coming at him in front of a crowd. He had to be swift and set precedence. Otherwise others might make the same mistake in the future of trying to undermine his mission of exposing bad church leaders.

  “I’m not the guilty one here,” he said burning his gaze into hers. He laid his palm onto his chest. “I can appreciate the outrage. We should all be outraged at the behavior we heard about earlier in the courtroom. If more citizens would turn their outrage into action, perhaps we wouldn’t have to rely on the court to solve church matters. Until that day comes, here we stand.” His blood was pumping, faster and faster. This was his platform and he was poised to capitalize, using the very words that his religious mockers glibly uttered from their pulpits every Sunday. It was a language they understood. “As a society, we can’t let leaders of any kind abuse their power and take advantage of people. The Bible says to expel the wicked man from among you.” He let his gaze slide back from the Reverend’s wife to the camera all along maintaining intense control while letting each word resonate. “I did my job. I sought justice for a victim.” Maxwell interlocked his arm with his client’s. The message had more oomph with the victim standing nearby. “Your husband isn’t above the law as we’ve seen in this courtroom today.”

  “You went after him for no reason. You’re working for the devil, and God is going to punish you.”

  Maxwell grinned and straightened his tie once again, reveling in the label. He’d grown accustomed to the routine. The church leader did something inappropriate, his wife and congregation stood by him to the bitter end like cows being herded off the cliff. That’s the way it had been for his family twenty-six years ago when they were driven off the cliff and not much had changed.

  “Maybe God will.” He chuckled. “But today your husband was the only one punished for his actions.” Maxwell stepped firmly down the stairs, satisfied until he heard another voice.

  “You hurt my father. You’re a bad man,” the little boy said clinging to his crying mother and burying his face into her side.

  Insults fueled Maxwell’s resolve. It confirmed that he was disrupting his opponent’s peace of mind, the first step in bringing them down. He was fully prepared to attack the reverend’s wife if for no other reason than being ignorant to her husband’s dealing. His mother and father had been ignorant to the fraudulent tactics of their pastor and no one gave them a break when it came to their sentencing. No mercy had been granted to them back then and none would come now for these people. But the boy was an unexpected factor. Who brings a child to court he wondered?

  For a split second, Maxwell was emotionally dragged back to the tiny town outside of Philadelphia where his security had been snatched away at age twelve, probably a few years older than the pastor’s son standing in front of him. At least Reverend Morgan wasn’t headed to prison; at least not yet, not like Maxwell’s father had. Maxwell shook off the nostalgia and hunched his shoulders as he pierced through the crowd, refusing to let anyone or anything curb his zeal, not even a little boy sobbing for his father. The little boy didn’t realize it now, but he’d be all right. Maxwell was proof of it. He’d survived while his father served time for fraudulent activity in the church. If his father had done the crime, maybe Maxwell would have been at peace with the outcome. The truth was that his father was only guilty of stupidity resulting from staying loyal to a crooked preacher and naively taking the rap for his transgressions. Maxwell rebelled. Those memories weren’t going to suck him into a funk. He pushed ahead having regained full control of his surroundings, eager to get to his office.

  Suddenly there was a thumping sensation smothered by oohs and aahs. The air felt light and the sky hypnotic. He seemed to be floating to the ground. Screams and a bunch of chatter faded out. Maxwell could see the people crowding around him. Every action was in slow motion. He wasn’t sure but guessed that this must be what peace felt like, being oblivious to pain, shielded from the chatter, naysayers, and circumstances. Maxwell’s thoughts crashed back to reality wielding a powerful headache with it, as he was instantly jerked out of the clouds of euphoria. He placed the palm of his hand against his forehead, pressing in and feeling the coolness right above his eyebrow. He didn’t need to see the blood to know it was there.

  “Attorney Maxwell, are you okay?” his client asked, bending down to pick up the rock lying on the ground. “Did anyone see who threw the rock?”

  No one responded.

  A flurry of cameras clicking, tapes rolling, and microphones poking into his face wasn’t as well received this time. Maxwell tried standing, refusing to be caught on TV in a weakened state. He would regain composure and show the assailant and everybody else how indestructible he was. Not even a boulder, let alone a rock the size of a ball of yarn, could shut him up. He placed his bloody palm on the ground and pushed up to stand. Halfway up his legs buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. Aahs radiated in the crowd.

  “Call 911,” his client screamed out, staying by her attorney’s side.

  “No, I’m good, just give me a minute. I’m fine,” Maxwell protested, wishing it were true.

  A reporter crammed a microphone within inches of his mouth. “Are you going to press charges?”

  “Are you going to wage a civil suit against the person who assaulted you?” another reporter asked drawing a few pockets of laughter from the crowd.

  Unwilling to accept defeat, Maxwell was determined to stand. He made repeated attempts with each ending in failure and landing him smack on the ground. It was a position he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding.

  Chapter 2

  A constant throbbing felt as if someone was banging a hammer against his head. The ringing sensation was an alarming reminder of the cowardly attack. Maxwell massaged his temples hoping to eliminate any feeling, a feat he’d become the master at doing.

  “I see you’re finally awake,” a nurse said entering the room holding a chart. “Quite a bump on the head you have there.” Maxwell mumbled in response but apparently not loud enough to interrupt the chatterbox as she kept talking. “Let’s see how you’re doing here,” she said, shoving a thermometer into his mouth and wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his forearm. She paused with her incessant gibberish until the blood pressure cuff loosened, indicating the test was complete. There was a small chance the nurse wasn’t a nuisance, but the pain surging inside his skull magnified light and noise, converting both to sources of extreme irritation.

  “It’s a little bump.” Maxwell touched the spot and quickly withdrew his hand while wincing. “Trust me, I’ve been through worse than this,” he stated trying to overshadow the effects of his intermittent whacks of pain.

  “Maybe so, but any type of trauma to the head can be serious for someone your age. I’m guessing that you’re, what, about fifty-five or fifty-six, right?” she asked studying his face and jotting on the chart.

  “What?” he blurted. Thoughts swirled. His sight was fuzzy but he wasn’t the blind one in the room if she guessed him to be fifty-five. “I’m only thirty-nine,” he demanded not sure if the tone was a result of anger, embarrassment, or simple shock. He was a pit bull in the courtroom, bowing to no one in defeat or fear. Yet, he felt vulnerable lying in the bed listening to this nurse, not even five feet tall, summing up his existence. He felt nake
d and tugged at the sheet slightly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. After working in the hospital for twenty-five years, I’m usually pretty good at guessing a person’s age.”

  The nurse was unaware of the current she’d sent raging through Maxwell.

  Initially shaken, his confidence kicked in allowing him to erase the low-grade vulnerability. He was invincible, had to be. He wasn’t going to toss aside years of hard work, literally thousands of legal hours because a blind old nurse made him temporarily question his mortality. Thirty-nine or fifty-five didn’t make a difference. Whatever number of days he had left would be spent doing what he did best.

  “Any blurriness or nausea?”

  “None of that. When can I get out of here?”

  The nurse looked over the chart. “I’m not sure what your doctor wants to do. I know we’re keeping you overnight, and we’ll know more when the doctor checks on you in the morning.”

  “I don’t need to stay overnight. Like I said, it’s just a little bump.” He couldn’t let some coward blindside him with a rock and believe it had made an impact other than driving him harder.

  “You have a concussion. So, we’d better keep you for observation. Better safe than sorry is what I always say.”

  As far as Maxwell was concerned, she’d already said plenty. He rolled over, no longer facing the nurse. “I’ll wait until the morning, but that’s it. I’m going home regardless of what the doctor says.”

  “You’ll be glad you stayed, Mr. Montgomery.”

  He heard her exiting the room, leaving him with his pride and a mound of memories. Hush swept across the room. Maxwell reflected on the mob of reporters at the courthouse earlier, angry church members, and other people who had no interest in the case beyond curiosity. Not everybody was going to appreciate his efforts, a fact he could live with as long as restitution was being served. He could say that his determination to seek justice was based on a deep-seated humanitarian desire to rescue victims, ones who didn’t have the ability to stand up against the slew of religious giants, but that would be a lie.