I let out a groan and force my eyes open despite the searing pain. It’s dim in front of me, but light dances across the floors, ceilings, and walls. The lighting in the space is delivered by hundreds of flickering candles, but it’s not romantic. It’s terrifying. I twist my neck, trying to see what I’m tied to. As I take it in, utter terror grips me and my stomach lurches. I’m onmy knees, my arms tied behind my body and bound to a wooden pulpit.
A sacrificial offering, tethered and utterly vulnerable. I glance down my body and see that I’m still wearing the strappy top and shorts.
I know where I am. I’m at the front of the Prophet’s church. Trapped and tied in the very last place I ever wanted to visit again. Laid out before me are all the empty wooden pews that will soon be filled with his worshippers. I glance out of the stained-glass window. It’s still dark outside, but I doubt it will stay that way for much longer.
The aching in my heart is worse than the aching in my limbs. I ran and escaped. I found so much light, but despite everything I did, all I survived, the dark still pulled me back.Heis the dark, the Prophet, and he will always drag me back down. Alive, dead, it doesn’t matter, that bastard will never let me have peace.
As the despair threatens to pull me into sweet oblivion and darkness, a small sound to my side jerks me back to full consciousness.
I realize I’m not alone.
“Daisy?”
I turn my head with difficulty to look at her and stifle a gasp.
Like me, she’s been tied to the wooden pulpit at the front of the church. Her eyes are shut, her head hung, but her eyelids flutter upon hearing my voice.
“Daisy. Wake up. You have to wake up.” There’s a desperate urgency to my voice. I can’t be alone in this. She needs to snap out of it so we can try to figure a way out together.
“What?” she murmurs. “What’s happening? Where are we?”
“The Prophet is what’s happening. He’s snatched us.”
Her eyes snap open and she lifts her head slightly. “What? No!” She pulls at her bound wrists, suddenly frantic.
I have to ask the question, even though I know it will hurt her, but the burning fire of it is forcing its way out of me. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
She stares at me, aghast. “What? No, of course not.”
I know what the men will be thinking, and I have to admit, it does look bad. “You didn’t come and find me because the Prophet asked you to, and led me back here?”
“Never. I swear to you, Ophelia. I would never do such a thing. My family will be here soon, and if they do what the Prophet wants, they’re all going to die.” Her eyes flood with tears. “I wanted to stop him, I swear.”
I want to believe her, but my mind is full of doubt. Full of fear and confusion and self-loathing that despite it all, I am back here again.
My thoughts turn to the Preachers. If the Prophet and his men managed to snatch us, what did they do to my men? Icy water pours through my veins. Could they be hurt? Or worse? Oh, God, the thought is too much to bear.
“What happened to the others?” I cry. “Do you know?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything after leaving the RV.” She barks out a sob, her head hung once more as if she can’t hold up the weight of it. “I’m so stupid. I should have stayed inside. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
Despite my own situation, a part of me wants to comfort her. Her voice is full of defeat and despair. Do I believe her when she says she had nothing to do with this? I want to. If she was involved, would she be tied to the pulpit as well? Surely the Prophet would have her by his side, triumphant, and use her as something else to torment me with. Knowing him, he’d use her betrayal to throw in my face and make me despair. Anything he could use to weaken me and force me to submit to him would be a weapon in his armory.
Unless… what if he’s using Daisy as a pawn, and she did help him, but now she’s in the same boat as me? Because if I know one thing, it’s that she’s ultimately disposable to that man. He might have tricked her, had her carry out his dirty work, only to end up tied to the pulpit, same as me. Maybe her despair is because she’s been tricked herself?
Oh, God, I’m driving myself crazy.
I’m sick with fear at the thought of seeing him, face to face, though I know it’s going to happen. It almost feels inevitable that we’d end up here. With the information Daisy had about him wanting me long before he ever actually set eyes on me, perhaps it was always going to end this way,
I realize with a jolt that I should have told my men. In not giving them that information, I’ve withheld an important part of the puzzle, and they don’t know all the facts about how deep the Prophet’s obsession is.
Sounds come from the large wooden door at the far end of the church, and I freeze, even the air in my lungs stops moving. Oh, God, is this him?
The door opens, and Noah steps inside. He’s a huge man, and one of the Prophet’s most loyal, close guards. Not that the Prophet would ever call them that—no, they’re his disciples—but that’s what they are. A close-knit group of men who do his bidding and will protect his life, even laying down their own for him.
“Well, well, well.” The smile that stretches across his face is evil. “Look who it is. Thought you’d run, did you? Thought you could get away from us?” He shakes his head, but the smile never falls from his face.
A second figure steps into the church, and my stomach plummets. He’s a tall man, well over six feet, and is lean with it. His near black hair is streaked with silver and is combed back from his face with some kind of product, leaving it slick andshining like a crow’s wing. It’s receding at the temples, giving him a widow’s peak, but he’s not vain about it. His jaw is square and strong, his lips thin and pinched. But his eyes have always been his most dramatic feature. They’re ice-blue and framed in thick, black lashes. When he focuses his gaze on you, it’s as though the rest of the world vanishes.
