Page 69 of Turn That River Red

It’s different, somehow.

“They know who you are,” I say quietly.

Ambrose tilts his head, studying me. “They don’t, actually.” He smiles thinly. “Ambrose Echeverría’s my real name, but that’s not the name I bought this house with. Or the car parked in the garage.”

I don’t say anything.

“I didn’t let anyone take my picture while I was on the compound,” he continues. “That’s why they had to do that police sketch in the first place. And it wasn’t even that good of a likeness.” He leans close to me, close enough his breath warms my cheek. “I’m designed to hunt your kind, humanita. Which means I know how to blend in and how to hide.”

He trails his hand up my arm, and I take a shuddery breath, not wanting him to sense the relief in my chest but knowing he probably does.

“You’re a monster,” I say, thinking it will hide my true feelings.

“Never denied it,” he says. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” Even though I know. It’s been searing in my thoughts this whole time.

“You don’t want to go back,” Ambrose says. “Do you?”

My skin prickles with goosebumps. And he notices. His eyes flash, his red tongue shoots out and licks his lips. He looks at me like a meal?—

And my body goes hot for it.

“Do you?” Ambrose purrs, his fingers trailing softly along my arm.

There’s no point in lying. He can sense everything I feel, and if I try to fight him, his body will stitch back together. I squeeze my shirt hem up in my fist.

“No,” I whisper, my voice jagged. “I don’t.”’

Admitting that feels like throwing up.

“You’d rather stay here than be there?”

I look over at Ambrose. His black eyes are unreadable. His fingers are still curled protectively around my wrist.

And he’s right. I would rather be here, with the devil, than back at the Church of the Well. I don’t want to be Reverend Gunner’s wife or helpmeet. But I also don’t want to be alone in the terrible, secular world.

“Why are they looking for me?” I ask. Anything to avoid answering Ambrose’s question. “Why do they care?”

Ambrose releases my wrist to brush his fingers against my cheek. “Sterling Gunner is not really a prophet of God,” he says. “God never told him he could take two wives. God never told him he could abuse his adopted fucking daughter.”

“I was just his ward,” I mutter, shaking beneath Ambrose’s touch.

“You’re dangerous,” Ambrose grabs my chin, his eyes flinty. I relent to his touch, letting him guide me to look up at him. “You can show the rot of that place. That’s why he’s looking for you.”

I tremble. That can’t possibly be true.

But itfeelstrue.

“I won’t let him find you.” Ambrose ghosts his hand over my hair and stands up. “As long as you’re here with me, you’re safe from Sterling Gunner.”

And then he stalks out of the living room, leaving me alone with my fear and my confusion.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

AMBROSE

Idon’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

---