Page 50 of Lethal Deceit

I want to show her that there are still people in this world who keep their word. Who don’t walk away when things get hard. Who mean what they say—and back it up with action.

I draw back, offer a small smile, and return to the dishes I abandoned. The water’s gone lukewarm, the soap bubbles fading fast. “Go take a shower,” I say. “I need to…”

I trail off. I don’t know what I need.

Time to think, mostly. Something I haven’t been doing a lot of lately.

“Pray,” I say, and the word lands between us like a confession.

Her eyebrows shoot skyward, and she actually backs away a step, like I’ve just said something truly distasteful.

“Pray? For what? A miracle?”

I rub the back of my neck, my skin still damp from the shower I barely remember taking. “Guidance,” I say quietly. “I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

Her shoulders shake as she contains a laugh, like the idea of me praying is the punchline to a joke she’s heard before.

It should sting. Maybe it does. But I can’t blame her. Why would she believe I have faith worth anything?

I say I’m a Christian—but what does that mean when I’m neck-deep in a mess of secrets, violence, and compromise? If Jesus really changes lives, then mine should look different.

Dad always told me and Brooke that faith isn’t supposed to sit on a shelf or get dusted off when it’s convenient. It reaches into every part of your life. And there was no denying he lived that. Mom, too. Even Brooke—you can see it in the way she fights for truth, for people, for justice.

But me?

I’m just trying to stay afloat, dragging a broken woman through the fallout of my choices and pretending it’s something noble. That’s not faith.

I don’t even know what it is anymore.

Gritting my teeth, I rinse the final plate, dry my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder, and do what I should have done weeks ago.

“Lord,” I whisper, barely breathing the word, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know if I’m the right one for this.”

I hesitate, my hand resting against the counter.

“She needs more than I can give her. But if You’ve brought her here for a reason, help me not to mess it up.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s expectant.

I breathe in deep to steady myself.

And pray she doesn’t come back before I’ve said all I need to say.

Samantha

I clutch the knife in my hand, breathing hard, and wonder if showering really is the best idea right now. It’ll leave me vulnerable, and that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.

At the quiet murmur from the next room, I peep through a crack in the door. What I see leaves me even more convinced Mick is crazy. He’s actually gotten down on his knees and is quietly praying earnestly. I have to strain to listen, but when I do, heat blazes across my body. Not only is he repenting for his sin of being angry with me, he’s praying for my salvation!

Either the man is nuts or he really does believe in this stuff. And considering I’m trapped here with him, I’m not sure which option is the better one.

I twist, my feet turning toward the bathroom, when his voice rises ever so slightly, as if by doing so he thinks God will hear him better. “Please grant me personal integrity. Please, Lord, help me not to compromise.”

Integrity?

What a joke. The man is a joke. Where was his integrity when he kissed me?

This entire situation is getting more absurd the longer I’m forced to stay here, and after this abrupt about-face into pious religiosity, I’m done with it.

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