Page 57 of Hunted to the Altar
I can make, I can make it,I chanted to myself.I can escape and never place my finger on the trigger.
I followed the drive to the wooded area around the property. Knowing I could not go out the guarded gate we came in, I detoured onto a makeshift path, well-worn by the guards who patrolled the tree-lined perimeter.
When I saw the fence, I thanked the Lord. He heard my inner pleas.
As I reached the chainlink, I kicked off my heels and, unsure what else to do with it, plunged the gun down my cleavage– handle down, barrel up, just in case.
Please don’t let it be electrical,I prayed.Please don’t let the gun go off between my tits and blow off my head.
It was so close I could taste my freedom.
Samuel called my name, but I could not stop running, no matter how much this was hurting my heart. He couldn’t be trusted. All his obsessive talk was some ruse. A way for me to lower my defenses. He didn’t care about me or the baby. The man was unhinged.
I began to pull myself up the fence, thanking the Lord for answered prayers. No electricity. No bullet through my stomach. I’d never tried to climb something like this before. It was harder than it should be. Maybe if I was lighter. Maybe if I did more cardio. Maybe if adrenaline and nerves didn’t have me trembling so badly.
Before I could get halfway up, an arm grabbed my leg.
Shrieking, I tried to fling my leg backward to disengage the guard’s hold. But rather than be deterred, he shifted his hold to my ankle and resumed pulling me back toward the hell I was trying to flee.
A crack sounded in the night and he released my foot with a yowl.
Then a second crack sounded, warmth splattered my body, and his screams were silenced. Permanently.
Terrified, I looked over my shoulder and watched Samuel approach the scene. His men had parted to let him through, with him walking down the makeshift aisle like he was a king going to his throne.
Shaking in fear, I kept one hand clinging to the fence and fumbled to pull the gun out with the other. After multiple attempts, I finally freed the gun from my dress, but it was toolate to demand he keep his distance. He was already standing beside me.
I tried to lift the heavy weapon between us, but before my eyes could acknowledge his hand, the gun was gone from mine. I don’t know what kind of fucking move he did to disarm me, but rather then dwell on what I could not control, I grabbed onto the fence with all ten fingers and braced.
“No, no, no,” I begged. “I don’t want to be with you. Leave me alone.
“You’ve embarrassed me in front of my men, Nina.” He ignored my pleas. “And you dared to do this while carrying my child too.”
It was scarier when he didn’t raise his voice. Despite how low his tone was, goosebumps broke out along my arms. It might as well have been the devil next to me.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I whispered.
“I see,” he acknowledged.
Rather than forced me down, he turned and walked away. For a brief moment, I felt victorious. Had I finally gotten through to him? Was I free to go?
But then he addressed his men.
“This, men,” he said clearly, “is what happens when my wife challenges me.”
It happened so fast yet so slow. He turned and raised the gun he’d taken from me. I saw the flash, heard the shot, felt tension give away on my leg, then burning hot like fire exploding through my nerves, and I realized what had happened.
I screamed, let go of the fence, and collapsed to the ground.
Blood poured from my leg, and in the dim light of the lamps lit along the property’s drive, I could see my knee was shot. The entry left a clean hole. I pressed the wound with my hands in a hopeless effort to staunch the bleeding. If there was an exit hole, I could not see it.
I must admit I couldn’t see much, blinded by fear and pain asI was, but there was one thing I was acutely aware of, and it was of him — watching me, unblinking.
“So if she is to remain whole, I suggest you encourage her to behave herself if, in the future, it is your duty to care for her. But remember, never touch her. No man is allowed to touch her but me.”
My eyes welled as vomit teased at the back of my throat. I was going to be sick.
Samuel crouched beside me and brushed a curl off my sweat-drenched forehead like I hadn’t just become his example.
