“Sentence for Life”
“You Are Not Your Past”
“The Cage”
Ican’t run.
The knowledge rots my stomach and eats at my nerves.
Alden’s arms feel like locks around me. I don’t fight him. Can’t take the risk he’d go back on his word.
Still, every muscle in me coils tight as he carries me, like I’m something precious, something his. My injured leg dangles uselessly. I’m still holding the cane to my chest like it’s my only lifeline to my kings. And my crown, of course.
I’d let Rory fuck my ass again if it meant he was holding me now. Any of them.
The sweater has Vincent’s smell, his touch everywhere. And I can feel my heartbeat thump against the cane, making me think of Jude in the mine. The sheer determination of taking down the Prophet melted into hopelessness, replaced by unbreakable, unconditional love. I couldn’t let him say it.
I need to believe he will say it to me later.
Alden carries me like I weigh nothing at all. Like he still knows my body. Still owns me. He lowers his chin, and I feel his gaze on me, his hot mouth along my brow.
I don’t look up. I’ve been avoiding him this whole time, avoiding everything. The scent of him curls around me, too familiar. Masculine musk, high-end cologne, leather. I hate it all.
Even in the mine, all I could make out was his silhouette. I was focused more on Jude, the pit—anything else but Alden.
“Look at me, Gabriella.”
I don’t respond. I don’t move a muscle. My defiance is one thing I can hold onto. I said I’d come willingly. But I promised him nothing else.
“Stubborn and willful as ever, I see.”
The words needle into me, meant as fact and insult. But I take them with pride.
My heart pounds as he carries me past cabins. Random pockets of fire flare through the trees. Vincent took Pew Pew and put him in the barn. He’s safe. They’re all safe. Nothing else matters.
My chest tightens. I’m never going to see this place again, am I? Never laugh with Seth in the greenhouse or play games. Never help Vincent with the goats or knit with him in his cabin. Never sit on Jude’s lap and listen to him read poetry. Never bake with Rory in that kitchen.
Alden ruined it. Fucking ruined everything. And on Christmas, no less.
My tongue screams at me to let it out, to unleash the acid poison. But I don’t. I’m saving my energy. Nothing like how I saved it for Raphael.
The Prophet carries me down a winding dirt road where headlights and siren lights flare. Military-grade black SUVs. Decommissioned Humvees. Other command and security vehicles.
“Everything will be well once I bring you home,” He croons while leaning closer. “Just as it should be.”
It takes all my willpower not to attack him as he kisses my forehead. What I hate more? The traitorous heat swelling between my thighs. Not just because he has that effect on women. Five-year-old memories surface. No, more like six.
Because of the mark on my neck, I was groomed for him, manipulated by him. Alden is a master at everything he does—from weaponry to public speaking to how he may hold and command a crowd. He seduces as much as he steals.
The soldiers and guards lower their weapons. Now, I realize they’re not official military. Or cops. They’re militia.
Of course. He has government connections, but he doesn’t want them involved. He lied through his teeth about the National Guard. I have no doubt he could call them, though.
It hits me like a tidal wave. I thank the girl from five years ago, the one who took more than the gold bars. She took the thumb drive.
Raphael has it. He’ll know what to do.
Alden approaches the command post with a crude but large tent next to the lead Humvee.
