Page 122 of Wait For It

I moved onto my tiptoes, sweat trickling down my spine as I tried to reach the bracelet. “I won’t condemn an innocent man, Tristan. Not even for you.”

He cocked his head to the side and exhaled a soft laugh, “If you don’t, we’ll lose Brad’s donation. And if that goes, I may as well admit my entire ministry was a sham.”

“I’ll go to the police,” I vowed over the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. “I’ll tell them what you did to Ashlynn and what you’re trying to do to Killian.”

“Ashlynn?” He drew in a sharp breath, blanching at the mention of her name.

I nodded earnestly, my voice trembling. “You killed her because she wouldn’t obey. You’ll have to kill me too because I won’t stop running. I won’t stop fighting.”

Blink. Blink.

His lips curled in a slow smile. “Little dove, I’ll deny you death even when you’re begging for it.”

“Listen to me, Tristan. I’m never going to be obedient. Do you know why? Because hungry dogs are loyal to no one, so you may as well end it now.”

“Oh, I hear you,” he calmly replied, even as his nostrils were flaring. “Now, you hear me. With your brain injury, I was granted guardianship. I control where you go, who you talk to—even who you don’t talk to. You’ll do what you’re told, and then you’ll marry Brad as planned. Is that clear?”

“You don’t love me,” I whispered, my voice almost gone. “If you did, you’d want to protect me from men like Brad.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, little dove,” hetsked. “Love is sacrifice. Now, if you’re willing to die to yourself and step into the role you were created for, you’ll find life is much sweeter. Brad is willing to love you, but you’ve got to put in the work.”

I was still trying to wrap my mind around his warped version of a Sunday morning sermon when he tossed my bracelet into the fireplace. I dove forward, wildly grasping at the air. My knees landed against the hardwood with a loud squeal. Flames engulfed the leather almost immediately, but I kept going, fully prepared to climb in after it.

If he wouldn’t end this, I would.

Maybe Killian had been right all along. No God was watching over us from above. It was just some lie we told ourselves.

Tristan hauled me up by the neckline of my shirt and returned me to the chair, raising a finger when I jumped to my feet again. “Before you attempt to martyr yourself, Joan of Arc, I’ve got something I want you to see.”

He held up his cell phone, and my mouth fell open. It was a video of Killian, being led out of a building with his father on one side and a man I didn’t recognize on the other. It was a media circus. He used his jacket to shield his face, but not before I saw the flash of terror in his eyes.

My God, they were going to crucify him because of me.

Seeing him stripped away my blanket of numbness, bringing me face to face with his pain. I forced myself to take deep breaths, fighting the urge to hyperventilate, or vomit. Maybe both.

“How did you get this?”

“Killian’s father bailed him out of jail a couple of hours ago,” Tristan explained with a shrug before tucking the phone back into his pocket.

My chin quivered, but I refused to lower my head. “I won’t send him back there.”

“You’re the reason he was arrested, Ariana. Do you really think he’s going to want you after all this? If his lawyers are any good, they’re telling him to deny everything to make you look like a liar. He’s going to hate you.”

I touched my wrist, only to be reminded that Tristan had destroyed my source of strength along with everything else I held dear. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, seeing Killian’s face—hearing his words.

Love is the only thing strong enough to drive out fear and doubt.

“It’s not about me.” I stood and walked around the desk to him, smiling for the first time since I’d left Killian. “Because love is not self-seeking. It’s patient, and it’s kind. Love does not dishonor others but protects them always. But more than anything, love never fails! You preach the words, but you don’t listen! So, do what you want, but I’m not going to move!”

He sized me up with a smirk before clapping slowly. “Very good, little dove. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not doing the press conference. You can burn my things and keep me locked away like a prisoner, but I won’t do it.”

“Yes, you just said that.” He walked over to stand in front of the fire, whistling one of my songs. I swallowed hard and glanced down at the large glass cross on his desk, wondering if it was sturdy enough to be used as a weapon. Three deep lines on the forehead meant trouble, while whistling indicated he was close to a blackout rage.

Keeping his back to me, he added, “Last week we held a funeral for a man who was killed while crossing the street. It sounds like a freak accident, but it happens more often than you’d think. People don’t always look both ways, or maybe the person behind the wheel is drunk. Driving’s not much better. Tires blow, and brakes go out—even the computer systems can be easily hacked. You just can’t be too careful nowadays.”

I clutched the desk to keep myself upright, panting, “What are you saying—you caused my accident?”

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