Page 122 of At Her Will

Pain shot through her wrist, as if a knife blade had struck it. Her arm floated free of the rope. Her brain couldn’t drive its motion, reconnect her to it, so she just regarded the unguided muscles with vague curiosity. Another pain, and her other wrist was free. Then her ankles. A strong arm was around her, pulling her away from the wheel. Tyson, or Simon? Or had Witford decided to get in the water and do his own dirty work?

She was drifting away, leaving it all behind. They were too late. Would Rev think of it as God’s will?

She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to be without him. But some things you didn’t get a choice about.

Then she felt him. That energy connection they’d created on her living room floor, it was there, winding its way around her arm, her hand, holding her with his gentle, implacable strength. Her beloved man.

I here, Mistress. Please come to me. I would come to you, because that’s what I supposed to do, not supposed to make you come to me, but this one time, you come to me. Don’t deny me.

She frowned. Things hurt. The coil tightened around her arm, and expanded to envelope her upper body, her throat, her legs. Not a terrifying binding like Simon had put on her. This was a cocoon, enveloping her, with something pulling her back toward Rev. But she was so tired, and pain was waiting in that direction.

I here, too, Mistress. Please. Don’t you leave me. Don’t you do it. I need you.

She erupted into consciousness, cocoon replaced with cold, pain and fear. Her chest heaved, fighting that drowning feeling. Goddess, it was as horrible as she expected. Hands turned her as she vomited water, her body shaken by the expulsion like an already broken doll. She was on wet boards. A nail head dug into her arm.

But amid all those discomforts, she realized one of her hands was being held tight, and out of all the other pains, large and small, that grip didn’t hurt at all. And it was familiar in a way that helped drive the fear back like a door opening and showing her the way home.

When she cracked her eyes open, despite her waterlogged lashes, Rev was bent over her, one of her hands in his, his other hand on her chest. He had his head down and was praying over her with fierce concentration. Lawrence sat back on his heels, his wet T-shirt plastered over his heaving chest. He’d been doing CPR on her, she realized.

His stunned expression, locked on Rev, suggested maybe he’d had to quit doing it, knowing she was gone. Because she had been. Until she’d thrown up the water.

“Thank you, God,” Rev was saying. “Thank you.”

She was hurt, she was cold, she felt miserable and traumatized to the depths of her soul, but she was alive.

She was alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Witford, Tisha and the others had bolted when they’d come on the scene. Rev and Lawrence had gone into the water to cut Veracity free, and Tiger helped pull her out. While Lawrence started CPR, Ros called an ambulance.

Now Veracity was breathing, and she’d gifted them with that brief precious moment when her eyes opened and took them all in, before she passed out again.

Ros gripped Lawrence’s shoulder, and knelt in the muck next to her friend. She lifted Veracity up against her and stroked her hair while her eyes closed, her face wracked with sorrow, anger and relief.

Rev bent his head over Vera’s hand and pressed his face there. He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t relinquish her. That lifeline between them still hummed, and he had to hold it tight, be sure of it.Thank you, Lord. Thank you.Everything else was tearing him up inside, but he would take that, take any level of suffering, for the gift of her survival.

His family hadn’t killed her. Five words that shocked him to the foundations of everything he’d thought he’d known about them, about what they called love for him.

“The police need to know where to find them,” Ros said.

It took a few moments to realize she was talking to him. Rev lifted his gaze to meet hers. When he didn’t immediately provide her an answer, those blue irises went arctic cold, the eyes of a vengeful goddess. “You have a problem with that?”

What he saw in Lawrence and Tiger’s hard faces told him they might overrule him. He understood, but he knew what he had to do. “I’ll go get them to turn themselves in.”

“And if they won’t?”

“They will.” He looked down at Veracity. One side of her face was badly swollen. Thinking of who might have done it, and who was responsible for all of it, turned the rage in his heart into a frightening force.

It must have shown, because Lawrence touched his arm, drawing his attention. “It might be better for the police to go get them,” he said.

“Yes. But my aunt…I need to do it. If it isn’t done in the next hour, then call the police.”

When he looked back down, Veracity’s eyes were open again. Mere slits, but she was gazing at him. Shock and trauma meant she probably wasn’t entirely aware of what was happening, but he gave her the main thing she needed to hear.

“You’re safe,” he said. “You’re with your family.”

Vera’s gaze moved to Ros. Her boss had her halfway over her lap. Vaguely, Vera wondered what shoes she’d worn for the rescue. Lawrence was kneeling by her shoulder, and Tiger stood tall and strong over them. Rev had said she was safe, but their faces held a tension that suggested something was unresolved.

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