Page 40 of The Preachers' Promise
It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
The faster we arrive at this place and I can find out what happened, the better.
I try to calm my anxiety and focus on the directions Cain is giving me. Over two hours later, we arrive at the turnoff for the gravel road. We’re on a single lane track, deep in the woods. The canopy is so thick it blocks most of the daylight, and automatically, the car’s headlights come on. They bounce off the foliage as the vehicle bumps up and down, and I get a strange sense of foreboding again.
My dream was right. I’d seen her being bundled away in a white van, and shehadbeen taken away, to a fucking facility for people who are insane. She’s not insane. Yes, she hears the Prophet, but that’s just goddamn trauma. What was her father thinking? I had believed she came from a kind family from the way Cain told it, but would kind parents do that?
Finally, the woods open up, and the safehouse appears directly ahead of us.
I give a low whistle and slow the car to a crawl. It’s a huge, modern, white house, two stories high. I can’t see any details as it’s still a good few minutes’ drive away from the gated entrance. It’s not a fancy gate, just a high metal fence, with a small guard box by it.
A man steps out, assault rifle in hand. He’s holding it professionally, the way military or trained police do, barrel pointed down, and finger resting near the trigger.
A second man joins him and holds up his hand, stopping the car. He rolls his finger around in a motion telling me to lower the window. I do as he instructs, and he peers in. He has two massive German shepherds by his side. They’re off leash, but they both sit when he begins to speak.
“One moment, gents.” He takes out a cell phone and swipes the screen then holds the phone out toward us. It’s on speaker.
“Cain?” The voice on the other end is quiet, almost a whisper.
“Yes, Eric, I’m here. We’ve arrived.”
“Good. The gentlemen at the gate are David and Luther, and they’re on for another twelve hours. They will stay at the gate. If you want any extra guards, just ask. But Cain, one thing.”
“Yes,” Cain says.
“If you get wind of a possible threat, please let me know. I don’t want my property destroyed, and I have men nearby who can help.”
“Of course, and thanks again, Eric.”
The quiet chuckle is almost raspy. “Ah, Cain. You’ve made me a lot of money, and I like to look after my stable.”
He ends the call, and the man with the phone held out puts it back in his upper pocket and heads inside the booth where he presses a button. The gates whir, click, and then shudder as they begin to open.
Stable?That’s a fucking creepy way of putting it to go with his creepy voice. Still, he helped us out, so I should be grateful to Cain’s mysterious friend.
I put the car back into drive and navigate through the gates and up the driveway to the front of the house.
I turn off the engine, and twist to Cain. “Why don’t you and Roman go inside and make sure it’s all safe before I bring Ophelia in?”
Cain sighs but pats Rome on the shoulder and clambers out of the car. Roman shoots me an unreadable look but follows Cain.
Finally, I have the chance to speak with Ophelia alone. “Baby?” I turn in my seat and face her. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but, to my shock, tears fill her eyes. She dashes them away with the back of her hand.
“Hey, you’re safe now,” I tell her.
I’m aching to touch her, and it takes all my self-control not to climb into the back seat and fold my body around her. I want her to feel safe again, to help her like I did when she was having the panic attack when we first met. But I can sense she’s balancing on a tightrope of her own self-control, and I don’t want to do anything that might knock her off.
“I know.” Her voice is small, and her body language is the same—she’s kind of huddled in on herself.
“What happened in there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mal. Not now. Please?”
Those oddly colored eyes of hers hold me hostage in their laser beam. I can’t refuse her anything when she looks at me that way.
“Okay. We’ll table it for now, but…” I’m not sure how to word what I want to say. I can’t believe I feel the need to ask. “Did Roman hurt you?”
