The Anti-Hero （The Goode Brothers, #1）
Sara Cate
For everyone who’s ever broken the rules and liked it
Dear reader
This is a story of a man who is betrayed by his faith and his father. His relationship with God and the church is complicated and at times, toxic. There are elements of religious trauma, homophobia, child abuse, and violence against women in this story. On the page, there is both cheating （not between main characters） and violence and physical assault. Please read with caution if any of these listed topics are potentially triggering to you. Your mental health and safety is important to me.
As always in my books, the kink and elements of BDSM
are entirely fictional and meant to be read as fantasy, not reality. There is degradation, masochism, bondage, and sex without a condom. Should anything in my novels serve as inspiration to you, you and your partner（s） are responsible for your own research and safety.
I hope you enjoy Sage and Adam’s journey of self-discovery, exploration, and religious recovery.
If the idea of getting railed in a church excites you, this might be the book for you.
Enjoy!
Love always,Sara
Prologue
Adam
12 years old
I saac offers me a bite of his banana, shoving a handful of mush toward my mouth, drool dripping over his chubby little fingers.
“Nom, nom,” I say, pretending to take a bite, and he laughs. He’s got those big front teeth on the top now, so he looks funny when he smiles, but he’s still pretty cute.
With those blond curls and big blue eyes, he looks just like Mom.
“Oh, Isaac, you’re a mess,” Mom says with a smile as she wipes his hands clean with a damp paper towel. Then she places a kiss on the top of his head, ruffling his hair. “Adam, will you help the twins get their shoes on? We’re gonna be late.”
She sounds frantic as she scoops my baby brother out of his high chair.
“Of course,” I reply, pushing my breakfast away as I stand up. Just as I start toward the living room, she touches my arm, so I turn toward her. She’s wearing a proud, loving expression as she touches my combed hair, thick with dried gel.
“You look so handsome.” Then she uses her thumb to wipe cereal milk from the corner of my mouth. Grabbing my napkin from the table, I quickly dab my face.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say with a smile.
The house is busy today. Mom and Dad have been planning for this day for months, but it’s still crazy. The seven-year-old twins are fighting about something upstairs, their footsteps thundering through the house. Dad is still up in his office. I can hear him on the phone, his voice booming with frustration, probably over something going wrong today.
I grab Caleb’s and Luke’s black loafers from the rack by the door, then I bound up the stairs to find them. I’m only two steps up when I hear Dad hollering.
“Lucas! Dammit! You got this shit all over my pants.” I freeze, my blood running cold with dread as I wait for the inevitable—Lucas’s howling cry.
“Melanie!” my father shouts, practically shaking the walls.
I’m sprinting now, eager to get my little brother away from Dad so he doesn’t yell anymore.
In the upstairs hallway, Lucas is lying on the floor, screaming his head off, red-faced and covered in yogurt and tears.
“Come on, Luke. Get up,” I say gently as I help him to his feet.
He’s holding his cheek as he cries, and sure enough, his hands are covered in white, sticky yogurt. He must have snuck it up here from breakfast, even though he knows that’s against the rules. I quickly shuffle him toward the bathroom to get him cleaned up.
His clothes are disheveled and he messed up his hair, so I try to fix it in a rush. Behind me, my dad stomps down the hall, looking furious. In the mirror’s reflection, I watch as my mother reaches the landing with Isaac in her arms.
Dad scolds her, shaking the empty yogurt cup in her face, while she nods in agreement with his berating words.
She shouldn’t have let him have food upstairs.
She should control these damn boys.
She shouldn’t have had so many fucking kids.
It’s hard to watch, and I don’t like the way Lucas gapes at him with fear. So I kick the door closed and recomb Luke’s hair while he cries, complaining that I’m pulling too hard.
“We’re going to be late!” Dad yells again.
He shouts those five words at least four more times before we get everyone loaded up in the van. And he mutters them again in frustration all the way to church—the new church.
Dad’s new church.
When we pull into the parking lot in the back, I stare up at the giant building and wonder how on earth this could be a church. It’s just bricks and drywall and paint. Our last church had beautiful windows and creaking floors and a comforting smell that you couldn’t find anywhere else in the world. Even on cold days, it felt warm.
But Dad looks proud as he walks ahead of us toward the back entrance, so when he smiles back at Mom, I try to smile along. He seems happy. This could be good for everyone.
Then, for a split second, he glances at me, giving me that beaming smile, and I don’t have to force my grin anymore.
When he turns back to the building, I pick up my pace so I can walk next to him.
There’s a man I recognize who opens the back door and welcomes us in as we enter. It’s huge in here, but a lot of it is still under construction. Straight ahead is a big open walkway, and I can see the front of the church from here.
We’re all walking fast now as more people join us. They’re the people who work with my dad, although I don’t really know their names or positions. They don’t talk to us much.
And I don’t pay much attention when they talk to Dad, giving him instructions and things to remember.
As a family, we meet together at the front of the church.
Large black doors loom ahead of us, and I stare at them in confusion. Those aren’t church doors. Not like our last church.
“Okay, so we’ll greet them outside before welcoming them in. Melanie, you lead the ladies to the nursery. Let them see you checking your boys in and then they’ll do the same.”
My father touches my shoulder and stares down at me.
“Adam, I want you to stand here and greet the congregation.
Understand?”
“Yes, Dad,” I reply proudly with a nod. I’m not nervous.
I’ve been the greeter hundreds of times at our last church. I can do this in my sleep. But as one of his employees hands me a box of programs, I stare at them, confused.
This is a lot more than we’ll need.
For the next few minutes, everyone seems to be running around frantically. One of the men my dad has worked with a long time, Mark, talks with him in private near the door. With nothing better to do, I eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Make sure to talk about that new club that opened down the street. We need to promote family values.”
My father nods while reading the paper Mark gave him.
“Yes, yes. House of sin…desecration of our good city. This is great.”
“Encourage tidings for this mission. As a community, we can have that club closed down,” Mark replies.
“Their donations would fund the legal team we need to pass this bill through legislation,” my father says.