Page 42 of Valor (Long Hot Summer: Christian Romantic Suspense #2)

LANI

When I was young and suffering from night terrors, my mom told me to tattoo scripture onto my heart for moments when I needed it most. That way, even if I were terrified and barely able to form a rational thought, I could call upon the Word of God to bring me comfort.

My dad would hold my hand in the night, reminding me that no matter what I face, Words in red will always guide me home again.

Now, as I sit in the dark, drugs running rampant through my system, tears in my eyes, feeling more alone than ever, remembering Psalm 13 is all I can do to keep my head.

“‘O Lord, how long will You forget me?’” I whisper into the darkness. “‘Forever? How long will You look the other way? How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, with sorrow in my heart every day?’” My voice cracks on a sob. I’m so weak, so broken. Why has He not brought me rescue? “‘How long will my enemy have the upper hand? Turn and answer me, O Lord my God,’” I cry. “‘Restore the sparkle to my eyes, or I will die.’”

I sniffle, choking on another sob. “‘Don’t let my enemies gloat, saying “We have defeated him!” Don’t let them rejoice at my downfall.’” I take a deep breath, trying to focus on my connection with Him. Because I know, even in the midst of this nightmare, He won’t leave me.

And no matter what happens, I will keep praying. Keep reciting His Word. Because it’s the only strength I have left. “‘But I trust in Your unfailing love. I will rejoice because You have rescued me. I will sing to the Lord because He is good to me.’”

I tug on the restraints holding me down. Sweat slicks my skin, and I don’t want to think about what else might be on my body. Unless my abductor is cleaning me when I’m unconscious, I’m likely covered in my own waste.

I begin to shake, body trembling as I struggle to remain conscious while I pull at the restraints. “God, please!” I cry out, summoning my strength. “Please help me, I can’t?—”

My wrist comes free, and I freeze, stunned for a second before it kicks in that this might be my only chance at freedom. That I’ve come loose and haven’t heard my abductor outside all day.

Frantically, I fumble in the dark to release my other wrist, then try to sit up to get my feet free. Dizziness sets in, and I have to close my eyes to breathe through it as I try to reach my legs.

As soon as they’re free, I rip the IV line out of my arm, choking back a pained groan as I shakily reach for the bedside.

But I miss and fall face-first onto the hard floor. Copper tang fills my mouth, but I ignore it and the pain as I crawl the few feet toward the door, the sliver of light beneath it working like a beacon calling me to freedom.

My heart pounds as I grip the door handle and turn.

It opens, and I fall forward. I suck in a breath of clean, unstifled air. I shove up to my feet and keep my hand steadied on the wall as I head for the door. There’s nothing but the old couch in this single room, and as I rush outside, I note that the building isn’t a house at all, but an old cabin in the middle of a field.

A long driveway will carry me to freedom, but it’s also the only way in or out. Which means if my abductor comes, they’ll see me.

Still, if I go too far in any direction, there’s no telling how long it’ll take me to get to safety. At least the road has to lead somewhere.

Starvation and dehydration make my limbs feel heavy as lead. Whatever drug cocktail was in that bag has made it impossible for adrenaline to kick in, so my movements are labored and slow. Vision blurry, I stumble down the porch steps, falling and scraping my knees against the rocks.

I cry out, pain shooting up through my legs, but I know that if I stop now I’m dead. And that’s just not an option. My knees sting as I stand and brush the rocks and dirt away from the cuts as best I can.

I can do this. Moving as quickly as possible, I keep walking forward. There are no lights in the distance, no signs of nearby houses or streets. I’m wandering in a sea of darkness, lit only by the dim moonlight overhead. And thanks to clouds, it’s not quite bright enough to see much.

Stumbling through the darkness, I reach the start of a long drive with two big ditches on either side. Follow the road, Lani, you got this. I can barely see, but that doesn’t matter because for the first time in who knows how long, I’m breathing fresh, clean air.

If I can make it to a road, I can wave down help. I can find a store. A phone. Someone who can help me get home. And once I’m there, I know my brothers and Gibson will hunt down whoever did this to me. They’ll make sure my abductor never finds me again.

I sniffle, tears stinging my eyes.

I just have to make it home.

Dear God, please let me make it home.

I stumble again, tripping and hitting the ground with a heavy thud. My heart hammers as I push up and note headlights turning down the long drive. No. With no other houses out here, there can only be one person behind the wheel of that car, and I’m nowhere near strong enough to fight back.

Staying low, I rush to the side and all but throw myself into the ditch. Still shaky from the drugs, I can’t catch myself as I roll down the side, and my head slams into something hard at the same time my body falls into the water that’s gathered at the bottom. I choke on a cry, and it comes out as a muted whimper. When I touch my forehead, my fingers come back coated in thick warm liquid. Blood.

The headlights pass by, and I begin crawling through the pungent water. I keep moving, keep going as fast as I can.

Someone yells, a furious sound that quickens my already racing heart. I pick up the pace. A storm drain is just ahead, passing beneath the road and connecting to the ditch on the other side. With my heart in my throat, I move toward it and slip inside, closing my eyes and barely breathing as I wait for whoever is up there to come and find me. I lay as flat as I can on my back so I can keep my face above the few inches of murky water lingering inside.

Minutes tick by, and tires screech. But no one looks in the storm drain.

I wait, still barely breathing, until I’m sure I’m alone. Then, I climb out the other side and push up to my feet, though I remain bent over, so I don’t stick out of the ditch. The chirp of cicadas is deafening, but if they’re making noise, then the chances that someone is above on the road are low.

I’m not sure how long I walk, but as my mind grows foggy again, my limbs getting heavier by the second, I know I don’t have long before I’m out cold. I need help— now. Otherwise, I’ll be dead, and my family will never know what happened to me.