Page 166 of Those Who Are Bound

Elliott could only stare at him, ignoring his outstretched hand. Tilting her head, she asked, “Do you think I was crying because I related to what they were saying?”

He faltered, his hand dropping, uncertainty slipping into his gaze.

She shook her head. “I’m sad for them.”

He looked stunned for a second, then schooled his features; he was going to hear her out patiently. She resented him for giving her the face of Pastor Jonah. She wanted him stunned, not understanding. She wanted his confusion, not his patience.

She wantedJonah.

“Sad? They’re talking about how God has touched their lives. How do you find that sad?” Calmly asked, without a hint of judgment. It irked her.

“These ‘miracles’ they’re offering up?” she demanded. She held up a finger. “A plane landing in a storm is not a miracle; it happened because of mechanics and skilled pilots.” Second finger. “A successful clinical trial for cancer treatment is not through an imaginary god, but through years of scientific research—where do the doctors and scientists get the credit for their hard work? But, oh no, let’s thank mythology.”

His expression was fierce and he looked away, but she kept going, holding up a third finger. “A stranger showing up to help with a flat tire isn’t a miracle; it’s a coincidence.”

“If they see God’s actions in those things, it’s not my place to take it away from them. I won’t take away what comforts them.”

“It’s a lie!”

“It’s faith,” he shot back, losing his cool.

“It’s the ultimate in gaslighting. When something good happens, ‘praise God.’ But you have a ready answer for when something goes wrong, too, and it’s that God has a plan.”

His eyes took on an outraged glow in the dusk, standing out against the foliage. He looked barely controlled, feral, primal. She was thrilled that she could push him past his façade. “How can you be so empty?”

Her brows came together fiercely. “Empty? I’m not empty. I don’t feel lost or empty or sad. I don’t feellacking. You want me to feel that, and that’s disturbing.”

He gave a slight shake of his head to deny her assumption of his intent. His next words, however, had her seeing red.

“Is your reluctance, your loss of faith… does it have anything to do with your brother?”

She sucked in a breath and took a step back, as though he’d landed a physical blow. Because it was a blow, a fucking low one. “Jonah,” she breathed out, not believing that he’d do that to her.

Realizing that the question was received more harshly than he intended, his expression fell. “Kitten.” His tone was full of apology. He took a few steps forward.

Holding up a hand, she said, “No, no. You don’t get to go there now, attempting to be cute with me. Monikers are for when you’re fucking me a different way, not mentally.”

He blinked. “Elliott, that’s not—”

“We were raised as atheists,” she informed him. “So, you arebeyondout of line,Pastor, with that question. How dare you assume—how arrogant, the freaking audacity—of the way you people think. Because I had a loss, I now have issues with your god? I’ve lost my way, is that it? Poor little lamb—excuse me,kitten—needs to be brought back into your loving fold and told there was a fucking plan for us? For him? Have you been harboring the belief that if my brother was still here, I’d be singing hymns? How dare you blame him.”

Jonah shook his head, stepping forward. If her tirade disturbed him, he was careful not to show it. “I’m not blaming him.”

“Your religion, the whole spectacle of it, was never a part of my consciousness; that real estate you sell on the other side to unsuspecting victims.”

“Hey!” he barked, closing the distance as he grasped her shoulders and gave her a shake. “I understand you don’t believe in it, but you don’t get to disparage my belief. Or anyone else’s.”

“I do when you use it against me like that,” she sneered. “Go on, Preacher Man, comfort me by telling me your god had a plan for my brother. That my finding him hanging by his neck with my rope was just on your god’s to-do list that day.”

His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared.

“Comfort me with your profound words, Pastor Jonah.”

He dragged her into his embrace. Elliott viciously pushed back against him, but he held on tight. They were both aware that if she’d wanted to get away, he’d be on the ground.

“I was being sarcastic,” she growled in his ear. “I don’t want you, your words, or your stupid comfort. Your sappy Christain bullshit comfort.” She bit his earlobe.

Which was probably what prompted him to fist her ponytail and force her head back before his mouth ground down on hers.

---