Page 77 of Prey for You

But my heart wasn’t in it. Not really.

My mind kept turning back to Bridget, wondering what Gerald must have said. So then I stopped trying to follow what the guys were praying about and just prayed for her.

God, don’t let her do anything dangerous.

Don’t let her give up on this.

Keep her safe.

…Make sure you’re alone. I want to see you tonight…

I swallowed hard. It had been weeks since I’d snuck to her house and she’d given me the letter. We’d talked about it a couple different times. But she was adamant that she didn’t want to see her dad, so I wasn’t pushing. And she never wanted to let me take the conversation any deeper. I didn’t know him well enough to know how much he’d changed in all those years.

I did know that Bridget twitched every time the conversation came up—even when she was the one to start it. So recently I’d been avoiding the topics of Christmas or her father completely. But I’d been putting out some feelers. Communicating with people. Figuring some shit out from her father’s side. I hadn’t told her because the time never seemed right.

But maybe that had been the wrong thing to do.

Maybe what she needed was to feel safeinthe conversation, instead of avoiding it?

When my guys finished praying, I caught eyes with Monk.

He wasn’t anactualMonk. We called him that because he’d come to Jesus twenty years earlier and since then, he literallyhadn’t had sex or drunk alcohol—which had been his poison of choice for the thirty years prior. Something none of the rest of us could fathom.

Monk looked up at me the second he opened his eyes. I flipped a discreet finger between my chest and his.I want to talk to you privately.He nodded, then turned to the others to say goodbye. Everyone had places to be.

When I’d said goodbye to them, and Monk had too, and they were all standing in the doorway or out in the driveway, catching up, he came to stand at my side, both of us watching the others.

“You okay?” he asked.

Monk was a burly, tattooed version of Samuel Jackson—including the voice. But he was a man of few words. I always joked that when he spoke up in the middle of a bible study, if you weren’t looking, it felt like God Himself was talking.

“I will be,” I said with a shrug, keeping my eyes on the others near the door. I didn’t want them to hear this.

“What’s going on? Was that Bridget on the phone?”

I nodded.

Monk grunted. “You want to talk about it?”

I sighed. “I do, but legally I can’t,” I said. I knew he wouldn’t push. We all tried to adhere to the law now. None of these guys would push me to share things that I shouldn’t. I was tempted to, anyway. Just because I knew they’d understand—they’d all been through charges and trials. But I also knew if I started talking, I wouldn’t stop. And that wasn’t why we got together on these afternoons.

Monk clamped a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be praying. Is there anything I can do?”

I took a deep breath and finally turned to meet his eyes. “Actually there is.”

His brows rose, but he smiled too. “Name it.”

“Could you do me a favor and give me a ride into the city? No questions asked?”

Monk tipped his head, his eyes searching mine. “Depends. Will you be doing something you might regret?”

I shook my head. “No. The opposite.”

“Then yes. Absolutely. We’ll stop for gas on the way. You have a way to get home?”

I didn’t, but I also didn’t want him to worry about it. “I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and pulled his keys from his pocket and started for the door. But then he stopped and turned back to me. “What about… what about youdropmeoff at my place, then take my car. Would that help? You can bring it back when you’re done tonight. Or tomorrow. And I’ll bring you back here.”

---