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“What was that about?” I ask. Paranoia has me glancing back, but Ben has already turned his attention to another customer. Still, I swear I see him cock his head to shoot one last searching look our way.
“Nothing.” D picks up his pace, urging me along. “Keep moving.”
I shudder at the feel of his massive palm. Desperate for a distraction, I stare at the black lid of my cup, one eyebrow raised. “Is this your idea of talking me out of—” I swallow down the word “jumping” and sigh instead. “Coffee?”
Rather than answer, he blows into the lid of his drink and takes a sip, grimacing at the taste. “That’s some good shit.” Head cocked, he eyes the sky. “I want to show you something. Come on.”
He heads past me, cutting through a group of yawning students, their backpacks dangling from their shoulders. A few paces away, he glances back. “You coming or what?”
Or what?a part of me whispers. I should take my chance and make a break for the bridge. I should focus on the only plan that’s made sense since losing Hale. I should go.
“Suit yourself.” With a grunt, my reluctant savior downs another sip of coffee and continues his slow, steady stroll onward.
I definitely shouldn’t follow. I start to turn away, but from the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a dark car maneuvering through traffic a block down. My heart hammers so badly I nearly drop the coffee.
It’s suspiciously sleek, far more expensive than the vehicles surrounding it. One of Father’s?
Kidnapping me wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done, but it’s my potential destination that makes me shield my face with my free hand. He threatened it once, should I spurn his wishes.“You need prayer, Frey. Time to grieve. Perhaps the compound is the only way for you to regain your peace…”
The same place had supposedly “saved” Hale. Look what happened to him.
The stranger is nearly to the end of the block when I finally stagger a few steps forward.
“Don’t forget the coffee,” he shouts back without turning around.
I look at the road for any sign of the car, but it’s gone.
And yet I don’t feel any safer.
THREE
I haven’t walkedaround by myself in so long. Not by choice. Technically, I’m not allowed to. The members of Father’s congregation call him The Shepherd, and I think he took that title to heart. For six years, he’s treated me like a lamb, one too stupid to fend for itself.
Or marked for sacrifice, forever soiled if it strays too far from the herd.
A part of me knows it wasn’t all his fault—when Covenant caught on in popularity, the attention came with positive and negative facets. Such as death threats. Whenever Father wasn’t watching my every move, his most trusted associate, Robbie, would. At least until recently. Hale’s death and an unexpectedly bitter political campaign ironically worked to my benefit. Both drew his attention from me for the time being, though I know which one affects him more. No one expected the newcomer candidate focused on religion and crime reduction to come so close to unseating a popular incumbent. Only single digits separate them in most polls, and the mere specter of a victory has made Father fixate even more on appearances and image.
It must be going on an hour, maybe two, since I was supposed to arrive at Salvation. I wonder if he’s waiting there for me, Colton in tow. His texts alluded to that very scenario, though I don’t have the heart to pull out my phone and check if he’s sent any more.
“You coming?” the stranger asks from up ahead. “I ain’t waiting for ya, Blondie.”
And yet, he’s remained within my view this entire time. Increasing my pace, I catch up just as the next light turns red.
“This way.” He shoulders his way through the crowd, sipping his coffee all the while.
Warily, I copy him, surprised by the taste. It’s good, and I find myself inhaling it, sloshing scalding liquid down my chin with every step.
The pain barely cuts through the numb chill haunting me since the funeral. All I feel is a faint, pulsing buzz in my skin as we enter a quieter, more run-down area of the city I’m not familiar with.
I’m a princess far from her gilded cage. Grass and weeds poke up through cracks in the sidewalk as buildings become smaller, some speckled with graffiti and sporting windows nailed shut with plywood. Ironically, this is the type of place a Salvation group might volunteer.
Or advise as too dangerous to venture in alone.
With every step we take, the man beside me tenses up. Soon, his shoulders are a firm line, his head lowered.
“What’s wrong?” I glance around but find no obvious threats nearby.
“This way,” he snaps, abruptly changing direction. “Hurry up…and keep your head down, for fuck’s sake.”
