This was a part he didn’t like. It made him feel like a jailer, or a kidnapper. “Another sin, another string of Hail Marys,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. So much was riding on this. It could all blow up in their faces. If he was still a betting man, that’s where he’d lay his money. Too many moving parts that weren’t in line with one another. Praying wasn’t an option. God didn’t have time for deceivers.

This was a part he didn’t like. It made him feel like a jailer, or a kidnapper. “Another sin, another string of Hail Marys,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. So much was riding on this. It could all blow up in their faces. If he was still a betting man, that’s where he’d lay his money. Too many moving parts that weren’t in line with one another. Praying wasn’t an option. God didn’t have time for deceivers.

– Hunter Shea –

Island of the Forbidden

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