Chapter 27
Dylan
One Day Later
Emma’s curled up on her side near the edge of the cot.
I can see her face, and based on the tense expression she wears, I imagine she’s not resting peacefully.
But she’s at least resting—which is a win.
Especially since, if he’s going based on some sort of twisted torture pattern, Heath will be back in here for another round with me within the hour.
Betrayal aside, Jesper was right.
Heath is sadistic.
I’ve been cut, burned, beaten, all in less than twenty-four hours—but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how badly it all hurts.
And even though I’m reliving the worst moments of my life, I feel a calmness over me.
A peace that settled on my heart the moment I surrendered to God at the top of those stairs.
I can’t explain any of it, but I’m grateful for the clear-headedness and for the understanding that, even though we’re suffering, we’re not alone.
One way or another, this suffering will end. And for the first time in years, I know where I’m going when this life is over.
I’ve been forgiven.
Redeemed.
And that’s something Heath Slater can never take.
I shift my attention back to Emma. She’s still wearing Jesper’s now-dried blood. Her shirt is covered in it, the side of her face crusted from where it sprayed her. I wish she’d never seen that. The horror of watching the life fade from someone.
Oh, how I wish she’d been spared that nightmare.
And the one we’ve been living since yesterday.
Emma opens her eyes.
“Hey,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Did you get any sleep?”
She nods. “Are you okay?”
I shake the cuffs binding me to the ceiling above. “Hanging in there.”
She glares at me. “That’s really not funny.”
“It’s the truth. How are you?”
“At any moment, he could come in here, kill you, and force me down the aisle. So I’m going to say—not good.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“You keep saying that, but we’re still here.
” She sits up. “I’m losing hope, Dylan. I’m trying not to, but—” Tears fill her eyes.
She cries all the time now, and the light within her is slowly beginning to dim.
Is that why he’s leaving her here with me?
Why he’s doling out the pain in front of her?
Because he wants to use me to break her?
“Emma. Don’t lose hope. For the first time in my life, I’m seeing things clearly. Sinful people do evil things. But that doesn’t mean that God has forsaken those of us who follow Him. He’s still there, standing beside us, even in the pain.”
“You told me you thought He had forgotten you. How are you so sure He hasn’t forgotten us now?”
“Because we’re still alive,” he replies.
“And even if we lose our lives, that just means we’ll find the peace promised to us.
Can’t you see it? Can’t you feel the light surrounding us even in the darkness?
” How can she not see? How can Emma, who has always been such a bright light, lose her hope now?
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m trying.”
“‘When the wicked are in authority, sin flourishes, but the godly will live to see their downfall,’” I say, repeating one of my favorite Proverbs verses.
My mom had us memorize them when she homeschooled us.
That one always stuck with me. “We will see his downfall. Even if he takes our lives, God is still in control.”
“I’m not afraid to die,” she whispers, tilting her face to look up at me. “But I am terrified that he is going to make me watch you die.”
My chest tightens at the pain on her face. Lord, I trust in You. No matter what happens. I feel You there. But please let her survive. Please let her suffer no more.
The brokenness is all over her face, the light slowly fading from her eyes. I know what it feels like to lose all hope. I did when I was in that jail cell. I know what it feels like to surrender to the darkness because you’ve lost all hope that the light will ever find you.
I won’t let Emma suffer that fate.
It’s worse than death.
I clear my throat. “‘Christ be our sure foundation. Christ be our cornerstone,’” I start singing.
Emma looks up at me, and a smile slowly lifts the corners of her lips.
I continue the hymn I memorized after a week at church camp when we were in eighth grade. “‘Build up from every nation a people of your own.’”
“‘Blest through your font of mercy, blest be each living stone of faith alive in witness. Fair Christ by all be known,’” she starts.
I grin. “You still remember it.”
“How could I forget? We had to listen to Riley belt that out during the talent show.”
I laugh. “Yeah, he may be a charmer, but singing is not his strong suit.”
Emma laughs. “Do you remember how he froze partly through it, so Elliot stood up and started singing with him?”
Nodding, I recall how embarrassed Riley looked but how relieved he was that his big brother came to help him. “Elliot’s voice was just as bad.”
“But then you, Bradyn, and Lani all got up on stage too. Somehow, together, you all sounded just like a church choir.”
“If I recall, you jumped up there with us too.”
“Only after Lani ran downstage and pulled me up,” she replies with a soft smile.
There it is. The light.
I laugh, remembering the fear on her face when Lani brought her up there with us. The memory is so clear that it’s like watching a movie play out in front of me.
Simpler times.
Before war.
Pain.
Loss.
“I love you, Dylan. I know I told you that before, but I need to say it again, just in case.”
I meet her gaze, praying with all I have that we still have a chance at a future together. “I love you too, Emma.”
The door swings open, and Tori saunters in, wearing a navy-blue dress. “How sweet, but I’m afraid we’ll be cutting this little love fest short. Get her ready,” she orders two women in personal service uniforms as two armed guards come for me.
“My Heath did a number on you, didn’t he, kitten?” She squeezes my face, but when the panic starts, I give it to the One who can keep me calm.
“I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.”
“Poor guy. Don’t worry, soon it’ll be my turn, and I’ll make sure you feel no pain.” Tori leans in. “Well, not a lot, anyway.”
“Get your hands off of him,” Emma growls.
She turns to Emma as the women unshackle her and pull her up to her feet. A hand cracks out, and Emma falls backward.
I lunge forward against my chains. “Keep your hands off of her,” I warn.
“Or what?” she asks. “Tell me, cowboy, what will you do to me if I don’t?”
Because I sense a fight is just what she’s looking for, I don’t respond. Instead, I continue glaring at her, letting her believe she has the upper hand—for now.
“That’s what I thought.” She turns back to Emma. “As I said, you will learn your place. Now, get her ready,” she snaps at the women. “Get him upstairs, and make sure you keep a tight leash on him, m’kay? Good. Master is waiting.”
“Dylan?” Emma whispers.
“Have faith, Emma,” I tell her, clinging to mine with all that I have. God, be with us.
By the time the guards get me upstairs, I’ve already planned our escape.
If I can get to Delta.
Otherwise, I’ll get Emma out, then follow suit as soon as I’ve rescued my dog. I will not leave him here.
There’s a single life raft on the starboard side of the yacht. All I need is a gun from one of these guards, and I can get us there.
Hopefully.
We reach the bow of the ship, where an archway of flowers has been set up. The captain is standing beneath it, while Heath and Mattheus stand beside a table, talking. There’s a stack of documents in front of them, a pen right beside.
Marriage license? Or something else?
“So nice of you to join us,” Heath tells me as he glances over.
“Where’s my dog?”
“A lot to handle, but he’s fine. Didn’t really find it appropriate to make him watch you die. He is just an innocent bystander in all this, isn’t he?”
My gaze scans the rest of the bow. A large safe sits off to one side, its door open. A strap is wrapped along the bottom and connected to a crane that they likely used to move it. I assume they are planning to use it when they dump it in the water—with me inside.
If I’m reading the situation right, anyway.
Emma will be forced to watch me slowly sink into the ocean as I drown.
“Can’t stomach watching me die?” I click my tongue. “I knew you cared,” I add dryly.
“Hardly. I just want to watch her watch you die, and I imagine you’re a strong swimmer.” He turns to Mattheus. “Are we ready now?”
“Once my sister is married to you, I’ll sign it.”
The fact that I haven’t seen Gio isn’t lost on me. “You decide to cut your dad out of this and make a deal to save yourself?”
“My father was weak. Just as my mother was. He needed to go.”
“Matricide and patricide, huh? You’re just checking all the boxes.”
Mattheus’ cheeks redden, and he balls his hands into fists.
“Get a handle on yourself, Mattheus,” Heath scolds. “He’s taunting you, and you’re letting him.”
“He’s talking really big for a guy about to die.”
Overhead, lightning splits the sky seconds before thunder claps so loud it’s nearly deafening. The air charges around us, winds whipping up out of nowhere. The boat begins to rock.
Bring the storm. I smile.
“Was it supposed to storm today?” Mattheus asks the captain.
“Nothing was on the radar,” he replies as he looks around nervously.
A storm breeds chaos. Chaos means mistakes will be made. And that can mean our chance for escape is a lot closer than we think.
“Here comes the bride,” Tori calls out in a sing-song voice moments before Emma is pulled out by the two women who were told to prepare her.
Despite the death we’re likely facing, my breath is stolen by the sight of Emma in white. It’s a simple dress, falling to her knees. The bodice is tight while the rest of the dress is loose and airy. Wind whips at it.
It tugs at her hair.
She’s pale, her eyes wide.