Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
She frowns. "I feel really sick."
"I know, and we’re going to get something for that right now."
I turn and face my father, my voice hardening. "Get her what she needs. Now."
Nobody moves.
I pull the gun, cocking it. "I’m waiting."
He nods sharply, signaling to Cyrus. "Do it. Antibiotics, painkillers, a drip."
Cyrus hesitates, his eyes flicking to me, then back to my father. He nods, turning to leave, and I see the anger in his face. The frustration. He doesn’t want to do it, he’s hoping something will happen so he can stay right here.
Over my dead body.
"Move it," I hiss. "I’m not going to ask again."
Cyrus grits his teeth, but he leaves, and I know he’s going to do it.
I turn back to Lily, brushing damp hair from her eyes, trying to keep my hands steady.
"They’re going to get you medicine and you’re going to feel so much better. I promise."
My father speaks from behind me. "She’s weak. But it’s not her body I’m worried about. It’s her soul. She’s suffering because of you, Nia. Your betrayal. You can fix this, you know that. You can stop her pain."
I turn and glare at him. "Your delusion is terrifying. You’re the reason she is like this, because you refuse to give her treatment."
"She is weak. It is God’s will. If He wanted her to live, she would."
I want to reach over and put this gun to his head, pulling the trigger. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. But I refuse to give in to him. Right now, I just want to make sure Lily gets what she needs.
"Well, she won’t be your problem when I take her out of here. I want your word she will get what she needs every single day."
"Only if you give us what we need," he says, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm.
"I said I would." The words feel like a noose tightening around my neck.
Cyrus returns, his arms full—a bag of saline, vials of medicine, a pack of syringes. He stops, glancing at my father, waiting for orders.
"Get a nurse," my father commands.
Cyrus’s gaze shifts to me and he nods, placing the items down before leaving the tent again and returning a moment later with a nurse. Helga, I think her name is. She glares at me, and I know if she had her way, she would probably put me down just as quick as the rest of them.
"Give this child what she needs," my father orders.
Helga nods, sharply, and gets to work.
"You’re making a mistake," Cyrus mutters, his voice low and defiant. "She’s not your concern. She’s not your responsibility."
"Shut your mouth," I mutter.
Lily whimpers as the needle goes in, and I rush over, squeezing her hand, whispering soothing words that I hope will comfort her. "You’re so brave, honey. So strong. It’s going to be okay. You will feel so much better soon."
The tent is silent except for Lily's labored breathing and the steady drip of the IV. I watch it, unable to look away, counting each drop as if my own life depends on it. In a way, it does. I can’t leave until I’m sure it’s all in her, until I know she has enough to survive the next few days.
Cyrus watches, his eyes dark with anger and something else—maybe disbelief that I’m actually doing this.
I don’t care.
I won’t move until the bag is empty.
I won’t move until I know she's safe.
The minutes drag, each one an eternity.
Then, Lily groans and turns to her side, and suddenly, she’s vomiting everywhere. I gasp, rushing over, but immediately, the smell turns my stomach and before I can stop it, I’m reeling back, my hand over my mouth, my entire body shaking as I try to force the vomit back down.
I can’t.
I rush out of the tent, falling to my knees, not releasing the gun, and I vomit onto the ground. Goddammit. This has never happened to me before, and I know why. Deep down, I know why.
Forcing myself to my feet, I wipe my mouth and take a deep, shaky breath.
Lily needs me.
Turning, I go back into the tent but stop when I see Cyrus and my father at the entrance, their expressions dark.
"It has come true. Everything we ever believed," Cyrus whispers, his eyes wide. "The child prophet is here."
My world spins as I understand what they are saying.
"Change of plans," my father says. "You’re not going anywhere."
No.
"You’re carrying my child," Cyrus says, and his face breaks into a huge smile. "As His word stated, the child will save us all."
Oh.
God.
No.
11
The blood drains from my face as his words hit, each one a jagged, cruel reminder. My hand grips the gun tighter, and I back away, more than willing to kill him if I need to. They’re not keeping me here. I won’t stay. I’d rather die. My father stands firm, his voice a calm, unyielding command. “Put the gun down, Nia.”