Chapter 15
Dylan
Music blasts through the speakers as I slam my fist into the heavy bag. I stripped out of my shirt at least half an hour ago, when it became so hot in here that I could hardly breathe. Not that it helped. I’m still suffocating.
I’ve been beating this thing up for nearly two hours now, and the edge I came here to burn off is still not gone. Honestly, it’s worse.
Because I looked up Heath Slater myself.
I may not have access to the systems Tucker does, but Google does a fine job of pulling up old news articles about the drug dealer who built himself an empire on the blood of innocents.
Given he hasn’t been arrested in over a decade, I’m assuming he’s managed to bring some law enforcement under his wing too.
Which is going to make him even harder to stop.
Marriage.
Gio Karver intended to sell his daughter to a monster like Heath Slater—and for what? What could Gio possibly have to gain by doing that? Is it all about the name? Connecting the two men by marriage?
Why did he believe Emma would ever go along with it? Surely he knew she’d push back. That she wouldn’t go willingly. She didn’t even know him three days ago.
What if we hadn’t gotten there in time?
Except I know what would’ve happened. Men like Slater love the thrill of breaking someone down. He would have destroyed her.
That thought drops me to my knees. Ragged breath after ragged breath, I try to fight the intrusive thoughts. The images of Emma being forced into marriage—raped, beaten, whatever else Heath Slater felt he could do to her before finally snuffing out the light in her eyes.
I fall forward and brace my hands on the floor.
They’re bruised and bloody because I hadn’t even bothered to wrap them before moving in on the bag.
I thought the pain might help numb me.
“Dude, you’re going to kill yourself.” Lani comes rushing in and sinks to her knees beside me. Gently, she touches my sweat-slicked shoulder. I jolt at the contact, lightning in my blood. “Dylan, you’re trembling. Where’s Delta?”
“House,” I choke out.
“He can’t be a service dog if you don’t have him around to provide service,” she scolds, then gets to her feet. I know she’s still in the gym, but she’s out of eyesight until she brings a bottle of water over toward me, along with a clean hand towel.
Without asking, she dumps the water onto my knuckles, washing away blood and sweat. It stings, but I lean in to the pain, letting it distract me from the agony I’m feeling inside.
“You should have wrapped your knuckles.”
“I didn’t have time.” I sit back on my heels while Lani crosses her legs in front of me.
“Talk to me.”
I shake my head.
“Dylan Hunt, you can’t keep doing this. Not to us and certainly not to yourself. You can’t keep shutting down.”
“Don’t you see?” I demand, anger burning in my chest. “I don’t know how to be anything else! I can’t quiet the voices! I’m not strong enough to beat back the demons!”
“That’s a whole lot of horse poo and you know it. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, and if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.” She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t touch the ache in my chest.
The tightness constricting my lungs.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I place both bloodied hands on either side of my head and fight the urge to scream.
“Dylan, breathe,” she says. “Come on.”
I shake my head and drop my hands. “The things that could have happened to her, Lani. He would have destroyed her.”
“Who?” she asks. “Oh, that Slater guy? Tucker filled me in earlier,” she adds.
“He would’ve torn her apart.”
“But he didn’t get the chance because you guys got to her in time.”
“I should’ve been a better man. Then she would’ve been here with me, and Mattheus couldn’t have gotten close to her. I could have protected her.” I clench my hands into fists, and the blood begins to ooze from the cracks in my skin.
“Stop beating yourself up.” Lani takes my hand. The simple contact is enough to have my stomach churning—even though it’s my sister.
I pull away, too far gone to risk it. I could lose my head and hurt her. “You need to go,” I choke out. “I’m not safe.”
“And I’m not leaving.”
“Lani—”
“Lord, please be with Dylan. Please help him see that You have a plan for him, even though he can’t see it. Please, God, help him battle the darkness clinging to him. Help him focus on You, Lord. When he can’t see past his own pain, let him see You. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.”
I can’t even find my voice to murmur an “Amen.” And why should I? Does God even care about me?
“Dylan, you need help. And you have to stop trying to do it all yourself.”
“No one can help me.”
“That’s not true. But you have to want to help yourself.”
“I do.”
“Do you?” she asks. “Because I think you’re so guilt-ridden about what happened to your friends that you hate yourself for surviving.
I think you’re angry with God because you don’t understand why He kept you alive.
Over and over again. All those times you ran face-first into danger, ready to die, He kept you protected.
It’s the same reason you were so distraught when Tucker nearly died. ”
“He did die,” I growl. “I watched the light leave his eyes.”
“But God brought him back. Are you mad at Him for bringing Tucker back?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why can’t you understand how we feel?
How grateful we are that God brought you back too?
” Tears stream down her cheeks. “Everyone walks on eggshells around you, afraid that they’ll set you off, but maybe it’s time someone does.
Maybe, Dylan Hunt, you need a wake-up call.
Because if you had seen all of us when they told us you were gone, that we would never see you again—” She trails off and takes a deep breath.
“Well, then you would start seeing just how much you’re loved.
And our love is nothing compared to what God feels for you. ”
“I’m so mad, Lani,” I choke out, a strangled sound that can barely be called speech. The panic begins to fade away, and I come down from the attack. Slowly, but enough that I can breathe again.
“I know you are, big brother. And those demons you carry? They’ll latch onto that anger and drag you straight to hell if you let them. Don’t let them. You want to be angry? Be angry at them. You’ve always fought for those who can’t fight for themselves. But now you need to fight for you.”
“Two times in the same week? Three if you count Sunday. It’s good to see you, Dylan.” Pastor Ford takes a seat in the pew across the aisle from me.
I’d called him shortly after Lani bandaged my hands.
“Thank you for meeting me.”
“Thank you for calling.” He studies me but doesn’t mention my wrapped knuckles. Given he’s a man who doesn’t miss much, I know he sees them and is likely just waiting for me to open up. For me to explain how it happened and if it was what drove me to finally show up here, ready to talk.
Maybe not ready, but if not now—then when?
Because Lani is right. My demons want me to keep suffering. They want to drag me back into hell, and I’m so tired of fighting them alone. So very tired.
“I wanted to die.” I toy with the phone in my trembling hands. “And not just when I was in that cell, but after too. After I was home. If I weren’t so afraid, I probably would have taken it into my own hands a long time ago.” The confession is one I haven’t ever spoken out loud—to anyone.
They’ll never know how close I came to finishing what no one else seemed to be able to do.
He’s silent for a moment, and I can’t tell if it’s because I caught him off guard or he’s choosing his words carefully. “Do you still feel that way?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply honestly. “Not all the time, but more times than I care to admit.” Emotion burns in my chest, and even as I’ve reached the point where I want to desperately turn back, I keep going.
“I don’t understand why God saved me and not them.
Or why He let me go through that in the first place.
The things they did to me—” I trail off, tears burning in the corners of my eyes.
My chest tightens, heart hammering. “I’ll never talk about it, but the memories are there.
And even the slightest brush of contact takes me back to that place.
Why would He save me so I can live in hell? ”
“God isn’t the one who’s put you in a living hell, Dylan.”
“It feels that way. He could make it stop. So why doesn’t He?”
Pastor Ford falls silent as he stares forward at the cross. “You know the story of Job, right?”
I nod.
“Then you know that he was a blameless man who trusted in God completely. Yet he lost everything. His children, livestock, health, friends—even his wife tried to get him to curse God and die. Yet he continued to worship God because he knew that we shouldn’t only accept the good things.
That in this world, both good and bad people will suffer, yet those of us who have put our faith in Him have the promise that one day, our suffering will end. ”
“So I should slap on a smile and pretend I’m not dying inside? Is that the trick? I just act okay, and one day I’ll feel that way?”
“No.” He takes a deep breath. “Dylan, you can’t face this alone.
He is the only hope you have of finding the peace you desperately seek.
In every moment, especially the darkest ones, you have to lean on God for strength.
Pray—even if you’re doing so with tears running down your cheeks.
Even if you can’t find the words. Kneel, and surrender to Him.
He doesn’t care how you come to Him, just that you do.
Stop living in the guilt you carry for surviving, and accept the gift He granted you because you did. ”
I lean forward and bury my face in both hands as I fight the urge to get up and sprint out of here. Lani’s words are the only thing keeping me here.
“You’ve always fought for those who can’t fight for themselves. But now you need to fight for you.”