The Preacher's Daughter by Cheryl St.john Read Free Book Online Page A

nightmares since childhood.
    Ellie had struck a match, lighting a lantern and defining three people in its glow. Her face had blanched with shock. Ben sat tied to a chair with a rope. Winston Parker stood beside him, a gun pointed at Ben’s head. Ellie took a step forward. “Let him go.”
    “I’ll let him go. Just as soon as you step outside with me.”
    Ben struggled against the bindings, fear clawing at his heart. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”
    “I’m real scared,” Winston said with a smirk. “Now come on, Ellie. Out the door. I’m tired of waiting.”
    “Where to?” she asked.
    “My carriage,” he replied. “You remember my lovely carriage.”
    She grabbed her stomach in revulsion.
    Winston slowly pulled back the hammer of the gun until it clicked. He pressed the barrel directly against Ben’s perspiring temple. Strangely enough Ben was more afraid for Ellie than for himself. Death was certainly less painful than the life he’d endured until now.
    “All right,” she said. “Put away the gun.”
    “Don’t go,” Ben pleaded. “Let him shoot me! The noise will bring someone to help.”
    She looked at him with tender appreciation. “Move the gun away,” she said calmly.
    “No!” Benjamin howled in anguish.
    Winston pulled the gun away from Benjamin’s head and backhanded him across the face. Ben’s lip caught fire and his head throbbed.
    Ellie moved toward him, but Winston moved the barrel to point at Benjamin’s heart.
    She halted, then walked stiffly to the door.
    “Ellie, no!” Ben screamed. It was all happening just like before. Just like the last time when he’d been eight and unable to help her. He wouldn’t let this happen again. With every ounce of his strength, he strained against the bonds, rocked the chair sideways and turned it over, banging his head against the stove in the process.
    He shook his head to clear the flash of dizzying white, ignored the pain shooting through his arm and shoulder where he’d hit the floor, and swung his legs so that the chair crashed against the stove. He did it again. And again. That man was taking his sister farther and farther away with each passing moment.
    Finally the wood splintered and his ankles came free. He kicked out of the rope and stood, banging the back of the chair against the doorway until the pieces fell and he was loose. Without pause, he shot into the cool foggy night.
    With dread clawing at his chest, he ran through the bushes and gardens in neighboring yards to the adjacent street. There, looming out of the enveloping darkness was the black carriage.
    Winston was trying to shove Ellie inside, but she was putting up a good fight. Ben caught the man off guard, lighting into him with years of pent-up helplessness adding strength to his seventeen years.
    He spun Winston toward him and pummeled his face with a fist. Winston returned the punch and lights flashed behind Ben’s eyes. He tasted blood.
    Winston turned, raised the gun to Ellie’s head and shoved her back against the side of the carriage. “Get inside,” he hissed.
    She clamped her teeth and said through them, “Shoot me.”
    He glared.
    She reached up, locked her fingers into Winston’s hair and yanked for all she was worth. He yelped and his head jerked back, dislodging the gun from her temple.
    Ben regained his footing and barreled into Winston with all he was worth. With a grunt, Winston released Ellie. She grabbed the man’s hand and bashed it against the edge of the coach door. He howled and shoved her, the gun falling from his grip.
    Ben struck him again and Winston toppled onto him, arms and leg flailing. Ellie beat at Winston’s head with both fists. Winston pressed Ben’s face into the ground until Ben thought his jaw would break. Moonlight glimmering from the barrel of the gun lying in the dirt caught his attention. He stretched out his arm, flexed his fingers and closed them around the barrel. This time he could help