Page 48 of Not This Soon

But then he saw them - two figures standing by his ATV, silhouetted against the distant glow of the streetlights. They were looking over his machine with interest, prodding at the tires, inspecting every inch like it was some newfound treasure.

They looked up as he approached, their eyes narrowing as they took him in; bloodied, bruised and clutching a dead rattlesnake. They shared a look before turning back to him, a sinister smile spreading across their faces.

A surge of fear rushed through him, but he stood his ground. "Can I help you gentlemen?" His voice came out more strained than he would've liked.

Two men, also enjoying the shadows.

Predators had to recognize their kind, or they couldn't survive long.

But he wasn’t a predator. He was a father. A caretaker. He made choices in order tohelp.To love.

It was mercy what he did.

He still pictured that poor soul as the rattlesnake venom completed its work. He hadn’twantedit. But it was all that had mattered. He’d met her in the hospital. Had followed her home.

And then…

He’d helped.

He always tried to help.

Same with Rebecca Morris. The cartel had been coming for her—he knew that much. He knew what they would’ve done toher.What they’d done to others he’d cared for and loved.

And now, two more predators were staring right at him. He stumbled towards his parked ATV, his boots scuffing against the rough asphalt. Through bleary eyes, he watched the two figures hovering near the vehicle. Strangers. Poking, prodding at the vehicle. Father's gut clenched. Muggers were easy to identify in the night: hungry eyes, prowling posture, aggressive tone. They saw him as a wounded animal, easy prey to be picked off.

"Would you like me to pray for you?" His voice was a mere whisper, carried off by the gusty wind.

The first man scoffed loudly and spat on the floor. His partner snickered in turn. "Pray for yourself," he sneered.

They started circling him slowly, like vultures eyeing their next meal. As they closed in, Father forced himself to remain calm. He focused on the words of prayer caught in his throat, clinging to them like a lifeline.

Suddenly he felt an adrenaline surge through him with the distant wail of sirens seeping into their standoff. The men stiffened but quickly resumed their predatory stance.

He straightened, wiped his face with his sleeve. Took a breath. Approached slowly, deliberately. The men turned, eyeing him warily. Father raised his hands, palms out. A gesture of peace, of supplication.

"Brothers," he said, voice hoarse. "I mean no harm.”

“Yeah? We got that.” They continued to circle him, their motions like prowling animals.

“I only wish to pray for you."

The men exchanged glances. Smirks twisted their lips. They sauntered closer, circling Father like sharks scenting blood in the water.

Now, he murmured under his lips, offering a faint blessing to the two hoodlums. His eyes briefly closed, and his fingers stroked the back of his bloody knuckles. They hadn't noticed—due to the darkness—the snake wrapped around his arm.

"Pray?" the taller one scoffed. "You’re in no position to be offering prayers."

Father lowered his gaze, but kept his hands raised. "Everyone needs prayer," he murmured. "Even the lost. Especially the lost."

The shorter man barked a laugh. "Hear that? We're lost souls in need of saving."

They drew nearer, their movements fluid, predatory. Father's heart pounded against his ribs. The snake seemed to tighten its grip, constricting, suffocating.

"Please," Father whispered. "Allow me to pray for you. For your souls."

The muggers closed in, their breath hot on Father's face. The tall one leaned in, his eyes glinting with malice.

Father closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent prayer. The words tasted like ashes on his tongue. He knew he had no right to ask for mercy, not after all he had done. But still, he prayed. For forgiveness. For salvation.

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