She inched away from him as best she could, but her bound arms at the base of her spine limited her mobility, just as he’d planned. He reached for her. Her chest heaved, and her eyes widened.

He yawned. It was almost dawn. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, and today would be a busy day as well. He and Dena had work to do.

Her body shifted from shivering to trembling. Fear paled her skin to the color of bleached grout. She sobbed.

An ounce of pity trickled through him. Yes, she was worse than worthless, but was that really her fault? Perhaps her weakness had been determined from her birth. Was it her gender that encouraged sin? No, he refused to believe that Eve’s original disobedience predestined all women to sin. But then what made one person strong and another weak?

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

“As I promised in the very beginning, if you don’t cooperate, I will hurt you. And if you’ve only learned one thing from last night’s experience, it’s that I never break my promises. I am a man of my word.”

She turned away.

He grabbed her jaw and forced her to face him. “There will be no more running away. You and I have work to do. It’s going to be a busy day.”

How long would it take to find her weaknesses and exploit them? He cleaned the wheelbarrow and then carted her to the cell Missy had vacated. Hopefully Dena would be a guest for much longer. Excitement energized him as he formulated a plan. What would they do first? He’d let her rest a while before he began her first challenge. It was only fair that she go into the test fresh. He had to give her every opportunity to prove she was worthy. That she was The One he sought.

That she didn’t need to die.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Mac’s hand gripped the knife as his bedroom door opened fully and a man stepped into the dim light. Grant. Mac’s lungs expelled the breath he’d been holding.

“Shit, Grant. Don’t surprise me like that.” He dropped his knife back into his nightstand drawer. “I was ready to spear you.”

His brother filled the doorway. Grant might have left the military for civilian life, but good food and the manual labor in his new contracting business had added muscle to his frame. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Mac.

“How about answering your cell? I called six times.” Grant’s gaze dropped to the bandage on Mac’s side. “And what the hell happened to you?” His voice rose.

Mac rubbed his face. “We need to talk.”

“You bet we do.” Grant walked closer, his blue eyes full of frustration.