He screams, cradling the broken limb. “You’re damning us all.”
“No.” I drive the broken end of the cross into his stomach. “Just you.”
He gasps, face inches from mine. I twist the metal, driving it deeper.
“This,” I whisper as the light begins to fade from his eyes, “is for her.”
“God is—” His body goes slack, the cross protruding from his abdomen as blood spreads across the stone in a dark stain.
I don’t waste time checking if he’s dead.
Dakota needs me more.
I turn back to the altar where she lies, after grabbing the knife to slice through the makeshift restraints binding her wrists and ankles, bruises already forming.
Her skin is too cold, face too pale. A cut on her cheek, already clotting.
Please stay with me.
The back of her head is matted with blood, but the bleeding seems to have slowed. Head wounds always look worse than they are.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I tear strips from a nearby altar cloth, wrapping them around Dakota’s arm where the worst cuts are.
“Dakota.” Her name scratches my throat. “Wake up.”
Her body remains still.
I check her pulse. Steady but weak. Her breathing is shallow but regular.
“Come on, princess.” I cradle her face between my hands. “Naptime’s over.”
Still nothing.
My vision tunnels. Liam’s face superimposes over hers. Broken, gone, my fault.
Not again. Not like this.
I can’t lose another person.
Not her.
“Dakota.” My fingers tremble against her cold cheek. “Please.”
My fault then. My fault now.
I should have been watching her. Should have kept her close. Should have known that the psychotic reverend would do something like this.
“Julien?” Her eyelids flutter. “Wait.”
“That’s it.” I brush hair from her face. “You promised not to do anything stupid, remember? This definitely qualifies.”
FIFTEEN
DAKOTA
Young Julien, with grass-stained knees and missing front teeth, grins at me across the yard of Rosa’s summer home, waving.
