Page 116 of Samson

“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Please. You don’t know how much time you have left on this earth.”

“More than you. Now shut up and get moving.”

“He wants you to know Him.”

The guard hammered the butt of his rifle into Samson’s chest. “I told you to shut up.”

Samson grunted as he was shoved down the hall. He put his hand on his ribs. “That hurt.”

“It was supposed to.”

“You’re not going to get me to stop. Have you ever heard the good news?”

This time, he was hit in the head hard enough to knock him to the ground. “You want to know if I’ve been to church? Yeah. When I was a teenager, I went to impress a girl. She wasn’t impressed with me, and I wasn’t impressed with church. Now stop talking or I’ll shoot.”

Samson rubbed the back of his head as he tried to stand. But his head spun, and he tilted to the wall. The guard kicked him as he attempted to stand again.

“Give me a second,” Samson said.

“It’s your own fault.”

He couldn’t risk saying any more. The guard could knock him out, or worse. But that didn’t stop the pang of loss for this man.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t care. You don’t think I have better things to do than be your escort?”

Finally, back on his feet, Samson shuffled down the hall. He opened his mouth, desperate to get his message across, but he didn’t speak. Then they reached the door, and it was too late.

“You know the drill.”

“Yeah.” Samson entered the room, then turned and held out his hands.

The guard unlocked one side of the cuffs, and Samson grabbed him, dragging him into the room before head-butting him. He didn’t let him drop to the ground right away but lowered him slowly.

“I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, finding it difficult to move forward, but finally he dragged the guard to the table and transferred the cuffs, attaching his arm to a table leg.

It didn’t take him long to expose the bombs hiding under the pile of debris. He moved them into an empty box, then carried them to the door before looking back at the guard one more time.

“God, if there’s any chance at all, will you visit him before the end? Give him one more chance like you gave me?”

Then, he shut the door and locked it before hurrying down the hall.

Delilah laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She twisted her head one way, then the next, focusing on the change in the pattern of the white paint. She’d barely slept, despite her conversation with Ryan. She knew what he’d said was right. It was crazy for her to think it was a good idea to confront Demir. She didn’t even know what she would say. But she wanted to look him in the eye. She wanted him to know…what?

When she realized what it was, she squeezed her eyes tight. It was an impossible hope she hung onto that Samson might be alive. She knew he was dead. He had to be. Demir would have no reason to keep him alive, even if he’d wanted to torture him for information.

She sat up in bed at the thought. “Please, God, don’t let him have been tortured. It would be better to know he’d died immediately than to know he’d endured so much pain.”

But she needed to know. She needed to hear from Demir that Samson was dead. That he hadn’t suffered. But he had no reason to tell her. “Make him tell me the truth. I need to know. I need to let this go.”

She got out of bed and dressed. It might not make any sense to go to the embassy, but that’s what she was going to do. Maybe just the act of going there would be enough.

Before she left the building, she went into the restaurant’s dining room. It was dark and silent. No one would be in for a few more hours. She had applied for a several jobs and didn’t expect to be here for much longer. That was the one thing she knew for certain.

She and Luca barely spoke anymore. After Marc had been arrested, he’d asked her directly if she’d been involved, and she hadn’t lied to him. But the police never came, so she hoped that meant they wouldn’t. There had been so much damage already done.

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