Page 148 of Sheltering You

She had had enough. She’d been afraid of him. She’d submitted to him. She’d cowered before him.

No more.

Perhaps she’d lost her mind, or perhaps she’d finally, finally found herself. But no matter what this man did to her, she would not obey him. The truth of it, of who she was—and who she wasn’t—raised a laugh inside of her. She didn’t stifle it but let it out. “If I’m such a coward, how did I end up here?”

He scoffed. “Your sister’s friend⁠—”

“And how did he know where to find us?”

“She told him⁠—”

“How do you think she did that, locked in a bedroom? No, Leila didn’t call him. I called him. Your silly little wife used your phone, Khalid. I gave him our coordinates. I told him how many men guarded the compound. And when he came, I went with him. I did that because I’m such a cowardly little mouse.”

Flames reflected off his glasses. The house was on fire. And everyone in it was probably busy fighting that fire. Or tending to the injured.

Or fighting terrorists.

But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going with this disgusting old man, not unless he dragged her, and she would fight him every step.

“You knew how happy I was,” she spat. “How deliriously happy I was. So happy that you wired that pathetic little building you called a home in your pathetic little compound with an alarm to sound if I went outside the pathetic little walls. You knew I might try to escape, to run away, even through the desert, even to my death! This is how happy I was with you.”

“Your happiness?” Khalid scoffed that she would speak about something so insignificant, gesturing with his handgun toward the steps. “You are mine. That child you carry is mine. Your happiness does not matter. Go down the steps and get into the boat, or I will hurt you. As long as the baby isn’t harmed, I don’t care what happens to you.”

“I care what happens to me.” She’d switched to English. “My God cares what happens to me.”

“Your god is who I say he is.” Khalid moved toward her, but she stepped back, keeping space between them.

Movement in the forest behind him caught her eyes. Someone was there. Friend or foe, she didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.

Whether that was a Wright or a terrorist, she wasn’t alone. She’d never been alone. She stood to her full height—all five feet of her—and glared at the man who called himself her husband. “You think you own me, but you are wrong. You are wrong about everything. I am a Christian.”

His eyes widened, and he froze. Halted by his shock?

Perhaps.

But she thought of Elisha and the horses and chariots of fire surrounding him as he faced his enemies.

Maybe Khalid sensed what Elisha had known. What Jasmine knew. That her God was far stronger than his.

“I belong to the One True God. I am not, nor have I ever been, yours. Look around you, Khalid.”

She paused to give him the opportunity, not allowing her eyes to drift to the figure crossing the snowy ground toward them. A terrorist would make himself known to Khalid.

Meaning it had to be a Wright. Had to be.

“You see where we are.” Her voice caught at the wonder of it. “Where I am. In Maine, thousands of miles from Iraq. A coward would still be trapped in your pathetic little compound in the middle of nowhere, in a dry and desolate land, not surrounded by this beauty. I’d still be trapped with a man I despise. I’m here because I’m brave, and because I’m loved by my God and my friends. I am not your slave, and I will not go with you.”

“You’re a fool.” Khalid shook himself out of the temporary stupor. “I’ll shoot out your knee and then you’ll never run again.” His words were matter-of-fact. “Not from me. Not anywhere.”

She yanked off her hat, shook out her hair—refusing to hide anymore—and pushed her shoulders back. “I dare you to try it.”

He scoffed and lifted the gun.

“Drop it, Qasim.” Michael stood twenty feet behind him, his weapon aimed at Khalid’s head. “Your men are on the run. The ones still alive, that is. And you’re surrounded.”

Khalid glared at her. She glanced at the house.

There were no flames now.