Rescued by Chance: A Second Chance

Romance (Rescued by the Rangers

Book 1) Kaye Kennedy
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RESCUED BY CHANCE
BOOK 1: RESCUED BY THE RANGERS
KAYE KENNEDY
Copyright © 2022 by Black Cat Books

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electric or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval
systems, without prior permission from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real places or persons, living
or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

www.kayekennedy.com
 CONTENTS

Also by Kaye Kennedy

Note from the Author

1. Griffin
2. Holly
3. Griffin
4. Holly
5. Griffin
6. Holly
7. Griffin
8. Holly
9. Griffin
10. Holly
11. Griffin
12. Holly
13. Griffin
14. Holly
15. Griffin
16. Holly
17. Griffin
18. Holly
19. Griffin
20. Holly
21. Griffin
22. Holly
23. Griffin
24. Holly
25. Griffin
26. Holly
27. Griffin
28. Holly
29. Griffin
30. Holly
31. Griffin
32. Holly
33. Griffin
Epilogue – Nick

Acknowledgments
Also by Kaye Kennedy
About the Author
 ALSO BY KAYE KENNEDY

Flirting with the Finest Series

Follow the men and women of the Special Investigations Task Force in New York City as they fight crime and fall in love.

Flirting with Forever – Hunter & Lauren

Flirting with Fame - Tai & Bellamy
Flirting with Faith - Erik & Aubrey
Flirting with Freedom - Cooper & Leila
June 2023

Burning for the Bravest Series

If you like alpha males with soft centers who love hard and make love harder, then this series featuring New York City firefighters is for
you!

Burning for More – Dylan & Autumn

Burning for This – Jesse & Lana
Burning for Her – Ryan & Zoe
Burning for Fate – Jace & Britt
Burning for You – Kyle & Allie
Burning for You: The Wedding – Kyle & Allie
Burning for Love – Declan & Gwen
Burning for Trouble – Mack & Tori
Burning for Secrets - Brix & Georgia
Burning for Christmas - Keith & Brielle
Standalone set in the same world

Rescued by the Rangers Series

Follow a team of former Army Rangers turned independent contractors who’ve taken on the most challenging missions, but have
struggled to find love. Until now.

Rescuing Griffin - Prequel to Book 1

Rescued by Chance – Griffin & Holly
Rescued by Loyalty — Nick & Mia
Summer 2023
 DEDICATION

To our active duty military and veterans for their courage and selfless service to our country, and
to their families for their sacrifice and service on the homefront.
 NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I can’t thank you enough for choosing to read Griffin and Holly’s love story. There are so many
wonderful books out there, so it truly means the world to me that you’ve decided to invest your time
and money into reading mine.
If this is the first of my books that you’ve picked up, welcome to my first responder world! If
you’re continuing on from one of my previous series, Burning for the Bravest or Flirting with the
Finest, then welcome back!
All of my books are standalone couples, but they are interconnected, even across all three series.
That means you’ll see your favorite characters returning. In this series, you’ll recognize two of the
characters as brothers of heroines in my firefighter series! And, yes, they’ll be getting their own
books, too.
This is a second chance romance, and if you’d like to read the short story about Griffin and
Holly’s first attempt at love, you can download Rescuing Griffin now for free!
This novel surprised me. I’d had every chapter plotted, but then the characters took over as I was
writing and they steered me in a completely different and unintended direction. This story addresses
domestic violence, which wasn’t a part of my original plan. Once you read it, you’ll understand how
drastic a turn this has taken from my outline, but, I went with it because it made a lot of sense, even
though it wasn’t a topic I’d thought I’d been prepared to dive into yet.
If you’ve been following me for a while, then you know I’m open about the fact that I’ve been in
several abusive relationships. Writing this pushed me to confront some of those demons from my past,
but I did it because this is a topic that needs to be talked about more.
Many women—and men—don’t speak about their abuse for numerous reasons. It’s hard to relive
the trauma, they have PTSD, they harbor some shame, they fear retaliation and judgment, etc… But an
average of twenty-four people per minute are victims of intimate partner violence in the United States
alone. Per minute! And that doesn’t include those who don’t report or those who are victims of
psychological and emotional abuse.
Truthfully, in my opinion psychological abuse is worse than physical. To this day I wish that my
exes had shown signs of physical violence sooner, and not waited until they’d broken me into a shell
of who I’d once been. I think I would’ve found the strength to leave earlier had that been the case;
however, this is a debate for a different day.
I think this story is important to tell because it will help those who are victims feel seen. Abusers
are skilled at diminishing their partners’ self-worth. If you’re in an abusive situation, know that you
are not alone in this world. There are people in this world who can help, if you know where to find it
(check the resources listed in the back of this book). Most importantly, remember you are much
stronger than you give yourself credit for. You can handle this. You will thrive again.
In this series, I stick as close to reality as possible in terms of military operations, but I have used
some creative freedom for the sake of the stories.
TRIGGER WARNING: Depictions of physical and emotional violence, torture, and kidnapping.
I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Hugs & Happily Ever Afters,

ONE
 GRIFFIN

The shot of whiskey went down like water, and I slammed my empty glass onto the bar. I’m getting to
be too old for this shit. I held up a finger. “One more.” At thirty, I probably should be doing better
things with my time than going shot for shot with my teammates at our local dive every time we
returned from a mission, but it was easier to ignore that nagging than it was to do something about it.
Rocco lined up six shot glasses and filled them with Jack Daniels. He’d owned the joint since
he’d left the Rangers a couple of decades ago. Rocco’s Place was built around the Ranger Regiment
lifestyle: how much alcohol can you drink, how many women can you fuck, and how many enemies
can you kill. At Rocco’s, the alcohol flowed freely, the women were loose, and the war stories were
plentiful.
Each guy on my team took a shot glass and we held them up as Nash, the youngest guy in our unit,
said, “To guns that shoot straight, parachutes that inflate…”
“And girls who fuck on the first date,” we all added before tapping our shots on the bar then
tilting them back.
Just like water.
Nick elbowed me in the arm. “Is that Ruby Red?”
I followed his gaze to a booth along the back wall. Sure enough, there she was, sitting on top of
the table surrounded by a bunch of young Regiment guys. Ruby Red was forty-something, but she had
a thing for the young ones. Hell, I used to be one of them back when I was a baby-faced private. The
hem of her purple dress was cut high on her thigh and showed off her long legs, which were crossed
and hanging over the edge of the table. There was something about Ruby. She was attractive, but not a
showstopper, yet her sex appeal made her magnetic. Red had gotten added to her name because of her
ginger hair, which cascaded in waves halfway down her back (and the carpet did indeed match the
drapes).
“Yeah, that’s her.” I reached for my beer.
“Damn. It’s been a minute since she’s been around here,” Nick commented.
“I guess.” I tilted the bottle and let the cool amber liquid slide down my throat.
She laughed dramatically at something one of her captives said.
 “Ruby Red. I wonder where she’s been hiding.” Tyler held up his empty beer bottle indicating to
Rocco that he wanted another.
I raised my bottle as well, then downed what was left in it. My relationship with Ruby was
complicated. That is, if you can call it a relationship. She’d gotten me through my first few years in
Regiment. Without having her as a soft place to land a few nights a week, I never would’ve gotten
over Holly. Although, I can’t say I’ve ever truly gotten over Holly. Does one ever get over their first
and only love?
Ruby helped me pass the time. It wasn’t all sex. She listened to my stories about Holly and how
I’d royally fucked that up while imploding my entire life in the process. In a big way, Ruby had
allowed me to grieve from all of the loss, and Regiment helped me turn off my emotions so I stopped
having to feel. Putting it that way sounds pathetic, but it’s what I’d needed. Otherwise…
No, I won’t go there.
Rocco slid a bottle over to me and I picked it up. “I’ll be back.” My feet carried me to her booth.
When she noticed me approaching, she grinned and slid off the table. “Well, I’ll be.” Her hips
swayed as she sashayed toward me, leaving behind four disappointed privates.
“Ruby Red.”
“Griffy. It’s been a long time,” she drawled in her southern accent.
“A few years. Thought you’d moved on from this place.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Only for a little while.”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. When I stepped back, she ran her long French manicured nails
over my beard and said, “This is new. Have you gotten out?”
“Sort of. I work for Sua Sponte now.”
Her lips curled up in one corner. “I see. So now you actually get paid a living wage to be in
danger.”
I smirked. “Something like that.”
Sua Sponte Tactical Corporation was comprised of former Army Rangers and had been named
after the 75 th Ranger Regiment’s motto, ‘of their own accord.’ In the Army, that referred to our
voluntary commitment to being Rangers. In SSTC, it referred to our choice to operate on our own
without governmental oversight.
After eight years with the Army, I’d been recruited by SSTC to work in the private sector and had
been with them for two years. While some of the Sua Sponte teams exclusively took contracts for the
US Department of Defense, my team focused more on civilian contracts, all under the direction of
SSTC’s founder, Orion. Basically, we operated in legal gray areas to rescue people and take down
some real piece of shit bad guys. We also collaborated with police departments around the country to
help solve particularly challenging cases. Even though we collaborated with others, we very much
did things our own way.
I made a lot more money than I ever did in the Army, and I still got to do cool shit. Actually, I got
to do cooler shit because we didn’t have to follow all the same rules as we had when we’d worked
for Uncle Sam. I still got to spin up and go inside the wire sometimes, and I was able to make even
more of a difference than I ever had as a Ranger.
Ruby’s hazel eyes dragged over me. “Buy me a drink.”
I offered her my elbow and she hooked her hand around it so I could lead her. The boys in the
booth groaned and hollered to get her to stay, but she ignored them. When we got to the bar, I caught
Rocco’s attention. “Tanqueray and tonic. Two limes.”
Ruby squeezed my arm. “You remembered.”
I winked.
A hand slapped me on the back. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your friend?” Nash asked as he
invaded our bubble.
Shep came around the other side, forming a circle. He held out his hand and Ruby took it. “Jordan
Shepherd, but everyone calls me Shep.”
“Well, aren’t you cute,” Ruby replied before pulling her hand away to grab her drink.
Shep and Nash had served together and had gotten scooped up by Orion for the SSTC earlier that
year. At twenty-five and twenty-four respectively, they were prime targets for Ruby, but we had an
unspoken rule: never go after a brother’s girl, whether it’s serious or a hook up. There was no better
way to drive a wedge between teammates than pursuing the same woman. That could cause
unnecessary tension and ultimately lead to someone getting hurt or killed on a mission.
That being said, none of us were above screwing with each other, which was precisely what Nash
and Shep were attempting to do. The joke was about to be on them though because while Ruby Red
was a flirt who loved attention from younger guys, she was actually highly selective. And once she
chose you…well, let’s just say she was possessive of her boys. While it had been a few years, I most
certainly was still one of her boys.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Shep replied as he brushed aside the tawny curls that had fallen onto his
forehead. “That’s a real compliment coming from a stunner like you.”
Ruby swirled her straw in her glass.
“I’m Nash.” He flexed his biceps beneath his t-shirt, and I took a sip of my beer to stifle a laugh.
His real name was Daniel, but he’d been dubbed Nash on account of him being from Nashville,
Tennessee.
“Pleasure.” Ruby brought the straw to her painted red lips. Shep and Nash fixed their gazes on her
mouth. She turned to me. “These your grunts?”
Shep pressed his shoulders back. “We’re former Regiment.”
She scanned over him. “I see.”
“We didn’t get your name,” Nash said.
She grinned but said nothing.
“This is Ruby Red,” I supplied.
 Judging by the height of Shep’s brow, he’d heard the stories.
Nash smirked. “The pleasure is all ours, Ruby Red.” Yeah, he’d heard about her, too, all right.
Her fingers wrapped around my elbow once more. “While I’d love to stay and chat, my boy
promised me a dance.”
Shep’s eyes narrowed. “But there’s no music.” If there was, it couldn’t be heard over the ruckus
coming from the soldiers.
Without releasing my arm, she leaned toward him. “Not that kind of dance.”
Nash chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’ll dance with you any day.”
She let go of me and stepped forward. As she pinched his cheek, she said, “You couldn’t handle
me.”
Shep whistled and Ruby took my arm once more. “Let’s go, darlin’.”
All eyes were on us as I led her to the back door, which opened up onto a patio with a few
wooden picnic tables that had seen better days. It was an unseasonably cool night for early July, so it
was empty out there. Ruby sat on top of one of the tables and patted the space beside her.
“Keep me warm.”
I perched on the table and put an arm around her back. She leaned against me and let out a soft
moan before taking a sip of her cocktail.
“How’ve you been?” I asked. The last time I’d seen her she hadn’t mentioned a thing about
wanting to leave Savannah. I went on deployment, came back four months later, and heard she’d gone
out west.
“The short version is I followed a boy to California, we got married, then divorced. The Golden
State wasn’t for me any more than he was, so here I am.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I rubbed her arm to warm her chilled skin.
“Don’t be. Sometimes, you’ve gotta look in the mirror and shake hands with who you are, right?
I’m not wife material. I can’t even commit to a goldfish, let alone one man for the rest of my life.”
I chuckled. “Heaven forbid.”
She nudged my ribs. “How about you, Griffy?” Ruby was the only person I’d ever let call me that.
“Any special lady in your life?”
My college girlfriend’s face flashed behind my eyes, and I tensed.
Ruby sighed. “Still Holly, huh?”
I huffed. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
She lifted her head and faced me. “Loving someone that much is never pathetic. Many people go a
lifetime without feeling that.”
I took a swig of my beer. “I guess.”
“You know, a lot of time has passed. You’re not the fuck up you used to be.”
“Gee thanks.”
She grinned as she placed a hand on my thigh. “You know what I mean. All I’m saying is perhaps
she’d be open to talking to you now.”
I shook my head. “Doubt it.” I’d tried my hardest not to keep tabs on Holly over the eleven years
since I’d broken up with her. Like a coward, I’d ended things via a letter when I’d been forced to
enlist in the Army by my Lieutenant General father and the Virginia District Attorney. As painful as it
had been to leave Holly, I hadn’t had a choice. It was either enlist or go to prison for dealing drugs.
She was always better off without me. From what I’d heard, she’d found success as a CEO. Last I’d
seen, she’d made Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list.
Ruby rested her head on my shoulder once more. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”
I tapped my fingers on my beer bottle. “Sometimes, we’ve gotta shake hands with who we are.”
“Touché.”
We sat in silence as we finished our drinks. When Ruby shivered, I said, “Wanna go in?”
She let out a long breath, then stood and eyed me seductively. “Let’s get out of here. We could go
dancing. For old time’s sake.”
I ran a hand over my thick beard. Fuck it. It’d been a few months since I’d been with a woman. I
stood. “My place or yours?”
TWO
 HOLLY

Heat crept up my chest because my phone would not stop buzzing in the pocket of my white Alexander
McQueen blazer. I was mid-way through a presentation to my board of directors, which was far more
important than dealing with Christopher’s shit. I didn’t need to check my phone to know it was my
husband calling me incessantly. I slipped my hand into my pocket for the umpteenth time and hit the
volume down button to silence it—yet again.
Gesturing to the television screen behind me, I said, “As you’ll notice in this graphic, Magic Wash
has exceeded our second quarter projection by seventeen percent.” I clicked the button to go to the
next slide. “Therefore, we will be increasing—”
My cell buzzed again.
“We will be increasing our annual projection.” I reached into my pocket and retrieved my phone,
silencing it as I said, “My apologies. Jay, could you handle this?” I extended the device out to my
assistant.
He scrambled to his feet and took the cell from me, then disappeared into the hall.
“As I was saying, we’ll be increasing our annual projection, seeing as we anticipate sales to
steadily increase thanks to our new partnership…”
The door swung open, drawing my eye. Jay entered and skirted the wall until he was beside me.
He leaned close and whispered, “You need to handle this.”
My muscles tensed. Jay would never dream of pulling me out of a board meeting for anything less
than my house being on fire. Even then, I think he’d probably wait. It’s not like I could douse the
flames myself.
Keeping my spine straight, I forced my expression to stay neutral as I addressed the board
members. “It seems there is an urgent matter I must tend to.” I gestured toward Dale, our CMO. “Mr.
Levin will explain how our partnership with several Major League Baseball teams impacted our
revenue this quarter.”
Dale’s smile brightened as he stood. Without missing a beat, he began to improvise a presentation,
while my heels clicked against the tile toward the exit. With Jay on my right, we strode down the hall
of our headquarters in Charlotte, North Carolina, careful not to give off any vibes that something was
going on.
As soon as we were closed into my office, Jay said, “Mr. Rutledge is on his way here.”
That can’t be right. I tilted my head. “Excuse me?”
He handed me my cell phone, which was open to a text message.

Christopher: Since you don’t deem my calls important enough to answer, I’m coming to your office.

I swallowed. Dealing with him was the very last thing I needed, particularly given that the entire
board was in my conference room. My husband and I hadn’t had a civilized encounter for weeks, and
I surely wasn’t about to put on a show for everyone.
“What do you need me to do?” Jay asked. He’d been my assistant for five years, and he had an
uncanny ability to read my mind. He was also my best friend, and as of last year, my brother-in-law.
I’d be lost without him.
Outside of Jay, no one at Magic Wash knew what was happening between Christopher and me, nor
was I about to air out our dirty laundry. I’d asked Christopher for a divorce earlier that month, but
he’d refused to comply. After meeting with a lawyer, I’d come to realize that my options were
limited. In order to get legally divorced in North Carolina, spouses must be living apart for a year.
The problem was that Christopher simply refused to leave, and if I were to move out, he could make
an argument for abandonment and take the house. My husband was an attorney, so that’s precisely
what he would do, and given that I had paid for the majority of our home, I wasn’t eager to hand it
over to him.
So, I’d been acting cold and distant toward him ever since with the hope that he would give up. It
was a long shot, but it was the only plan I’d managed to devise. In response, he’d become an even
bigger asshole. We were in a battle to see who would crack first, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to
win this one.
I glanced at my screen. Christopher’s text had been sent seven minutes ago. If he’d left his office
right away, that meant I had about five minutes before he walked through my door. I opened the bottom
drawer of my desk and grabbed my Louis Vuitton Neverfull tote.
“Tell him I had a meeting off site.” I stuffed my laptop into my bag.
“He knows that today is your quarterly meeting with the board though, doesn’t he?”
I sucked in my cheeks and nodded.
Jay waved his hand in the area. “Worry not, I’ll handle him.”
“You’re the best.” I slung my bag over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I am.”
I laughed.
“Now get before it’s too late.” He smacked me on the behind, which I suppose some people might
think is weird, but seeing as he was happily married to my brother, there was nothing sexual about it.
Besides, my butt wasn’t the kind that Jay was interested in.
I made my way to the elevator and prayed the entire ride down that I wouldn’t run into
Christopher when the doors opened. The bell dinged when it stopped on my garage level and as
gracefully as possible in case anyone was watching, I made a beeline for my Mercedes Cabriolet
convertible. Once in the driver’s seat, I turned it on and checked the time. Christopher would be
arriving any second. Since I had an assigned parking spot, he’d know where to find my car, so I
decided to drive down a level instead of heading up toward the garage exit in case he was entering. I
didn’t want to pass him and get cornered.
I backed out and followed the lane down until I found an empty spot. Once parked, I texted Jay.

Me: Let me know when he gets there.

He responded with a thumbs up emoji.

While I waited, I scrolled through the emails on my phone. A couple of minutes later, my phone
buzzed.

Jay: The vulture is in the nest

I shook my head and laughed. A vulture was an apt comparison for my husband. I was grateful that
I’d had the foresight to switch spots instead of trying to leave the garage. I tried not to ponder over the
scene that was likely being made in my office and sighed. Our relationship hadn’t always been bad.
Christopher had been quite charming in the beginning—always sending me flowers and never letting
me wake up without a good morning text from him waiting.
Although, in hindsight I suppose there’d been red flags that I’d chosen to ignore. He was always a
gentleman in public. He pulled out my chair at dinner, and made sure I always had a drink, but at
home, he expected me to wait on him. Heaven-forbid we disagreed on something. My husband was
never wrong, and he liked control. After nine years together—six of which were as a married couple
—I was tired of being his figurative punching bag.
I pushed the button to start my car and shifted into reverse. The backup camera showed a large
SUV blocking me in, so I glanced over my shoulder. The SUV’s windows were tinted dark, and I
couldn’t see the driver. I tapped my fingers on my steering wheel as I waited for them to move. I
needed to get out of there before Christopher returned. After shifting into park and turning off my car, I
got out and approached the passenger window of the SUV.
“Excuse me.” As I lifted my hand to knock, the rear door swung open, and I was grabbed from
behind, snatching the air from my lungs. A scratchy palm was clasped firmly over my mouth. I
thrashed in my attacker’s arms as he lifted me off the concrete, but he was too strong. The heel of my
Valentino pump connected with his shin.
 “Puta,” he spat.
My Spanish was rusty, but I recalled that puta meant bitch. I took aim for his shin once more. He
wrangled me into the backseat as I kicked at the air, and the driver took off before the door had fully
closed. There was a second man whose lap I was strewn across. The contact made my shirt stick to
the sweat on my back. The guy who’d grabbed me removed his hand from my mouth and held me
down by my arms. I inhaled and my lips parted to scream, but the second man slapped duct tape over
my mouth before any sound came out.
This can’t be happening. My eyelids squeezed shut, but they sprung open when the men attempted
to force my wrists together. I managed to get a knee up and jammed it into the chest of the man who’d
grabbed me. For the first time, I got a good look at his face. He appeared to be around my age and had
tan skin, dark eyes, and oily slicked back hair.
What seemed like a lifetime ago, I’d had a bodyguard who’d prepared me for situations like this
after a drug dealer associated with my college boyfriend had threatened to hurt me. Despite the odds
being stacked against me, I had to fight.
The tires screeched as the driver rounded a turn and I took advantage of the centripetal force. I
lurched upward, knocking my attacker against the window, and slammed my forehead against his
nose. He cursed in Spanish and blood gushed all over my white suit as he released my hands.
I spun around to my left, leading with my elbow, and connected with the throat of the second guy.
He wheezed. I reared back again with the intention of jamming the heel of my hand into his nose, but
the other man hugged me from behind, constricting my arms. I tried to scream, but the tape made that
nearly impossible. I was tossed onto the floor, and immediately brought my legs up to kick. Both men
pointed guns at my head.
I froze.
“Don’t move,” my initial attacker ordered in heavily accented English.
My face and hands grew cold as defeat washed over me. While one man held me at gunpoint, I
reluctantly allowed the other one to zip tie my wrists and my ankles.
You fight until you can’t, my bodyguard’s voice echoed in my head. If you must submit, stay
alert. Pay attention to every detail. You never know what you’ll be able to use to your advantage.
Never lose situational awareness.
The SUV drove over a bump and light filled the vehicle, telling me that we’d left the garage. The
driver turned left, and I did my best to count the seconds until the next turn. The three men shouted in
Spanish, but the words rolled off their tongues too quickly for me to translate. I picked up on a few
phrases, though hardly enough to make any sense of it.
Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three. The driver made a right. I started counting from one again. It
didn’t seem like we were moving too quickly, and if I had to guess I’d say we were on N. Tryon
Street. Oh, God, they’re bringing me toward the freeway.
The second man, who appeared to be slightly older than the first and had a thick mustache, kept
his gun pointed at my head. I tried to ignore my pulse throbbing in my temple and stay focused on
counting. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. The driver’s cell phone rang, and he answered it. Although, I
could only hear his side of the conversation, I chose to abandon counting in favor of translating.
“Tres hors y media.”
Three and a half hours. Depending on the direction we went, in that amount of time, we could
end up at the Carolina coast or we could be in another state. Tennessee, South Carolina, Georgia,
Virginia, and West Virginia were all within that time frame. I can easily disappear for good. My
body grew cold, and I shivered as blood drained from my limbs. I had no clue who these men were or
what they wanted with me. Sweat beaded my brow and my breathing shallowed. The younger of the
two men reached over the seat into the back and I heard a zipper.
When he turned around, he said, “Buenas noches, chica.” Then, he placed a rag over my nose.
Ignoring the gun that was still fixed on my forehead, I attempted to thrash free, but the chemicals stung
my nostrils and my attempt to avoid inhaling was futile. My vision blurred and the driver’s voice
distorted, then everything went numb. It was as though I was detached from my body. My eyelids
grew heavy, and I tried to fight against the pull, but it was impossible. The last thing I remembered
was the shine of a gold tooth as my attacker grinned from above.
THREE
 GRIFFIN

While unscrewing the cap on my water, I plopped into the chair around the conference table at the
SSTC headquarters in Richmond Hill, Georgia. Nick snagged the seat on my right.
“We missed you at Rocco’s last night. You go out with Ruby Red again?”
I smirked. “Maybe.” It’d been a few days since the night she’d reappeared.
“I think you’ve set a new record: the oldest guy to bag Ruby Red.” He patted me on the shoulder.
Nick was thirty-eight, which made him too old by Ruby’s standards.
“I don’t know about that. I was twenty when I met her.”
Tyler dropped into the seat on my other side. “Ten years. Congrats. That makes you her longest
relationship. At least that I’ve heard of.” Tyler was a year older than Nick, so he’d been around long
enough to know all about Ruby’s antics as well.
“I wouldn’t call it a relationship.” More like a comfort zone. We actually spent most of our time
together talking, but I’d never tell the guys that—brothers or not. Ruby had a reputation to uphold, and
I’d already been labeled as her fuck boy, so I rolled with that. The fascinating part was how many
people thought they knew Ruby. In reality, she enjoyed letting people think what they wanted about
her. I admired that quality. She truly didn’t give a shit about the whispers.
I could count on my fingers the number of guys Ruby had actually hooked up with in the decade
that I’d known her. When she flirted, she was like a cat playing with mice. Very few made it into her
bed, although many bragged that they had, but I knew the truth. Ruby never lied to her boys about…
well, her boys. While I’d always been aware that I wasn’t the only one sleeping with her, I was cool
with it. I might not have had her full attention, but in her own way she cared about me, and I cared
about her. Well, as much as I was capable of anyway.
“Speaking of relationships.” Nash leaned across the table. “Jade called me last night.”
“So that’s why you bailed on us early,” Nick said.
Shep groaned. “Nash, tell me you aren’t that stupid.”
Jade and Nash had dated on and off for three years since she had started school at the Savannah
College of Art and Design. She was a talented artist and we all thought she was cool, but Nash was a
hopeless romantic so every time they entered an off again phase, he turned into a moody bitch for
weeks.
Nash shrugged. “She had a few too many drinks. I gave her a ride home.”
“And you promptly left her at her front door, right?” Shep asked.
Nash’s gaze dropped to the table.
Shep tossed his head back. “Bro, what the fuck?”
He held his hands out in front of him. “I couldn’t leave her alone. She was drunk, and her
roommate wasn’t home.”
“She ain’t your responsibility anymore,” Shep replied.
Nash waved him off. “Look, I got her into bed, and I slept on the couch. She was still asleep when
I left to come here. Nothing happened.”
I pointed my chin at him. “She text you yet this morning?”
He scratched at the sandy stubble on his chin. “To say thanks.”
“And…?” Shep urged.
Nash reclined in his chair. “And she misses me.”
We all groaned and shook our heads. Before we could lay into him further, our team leader, Foster
Jones, walked to the end of the table and tossed files our way.
Tyler nudged me. “This is gonna be a good one.” After Foster, he was second in command on our
team, so he typically got briefed before the rest of us.
“Oh yeah?” I asked as I flipped open my file. “Why’s that?”
“The target is a CEO, who also happens to have a very wealthy daddy.”
Most of our contracts were from wealthy people, so that didn’t surprise me. “Okay, what about
it?”
“Apparently, the kidnappers are tied to the Molina Cartel out of Colombia.”
That name made my insides churn. It’d been a long time since I’d thought about my days as a
dealer. Cases involving a cartel rarely turned out well, and typically involved us getting into some
messy shit. Fucking fantastic.
I glanced at the stack of papers on the table and when I turned to the picture of the missing woman,
soulful brown eyes stared up at me. Air was expelled from my lungs as though I’d been kicked in the
stomach. This can’t be right. I tugged on the collar of my t-shirt while I flipped through the pages,
hoping—praying—I was wrong. That somehow the eyes that had haunted my dreams for over a
decade, couldn’t possibly be hers. I read through the case overview.
Target: Holly Claire Bates
Age: 30
Location: Charlotte, NC
“Are you shitting me?” Sweat pooled at the small of my back.
“Everything cool?” Foster asked.
“I know her. Knew her.”
 Tyler raised his brows. “The vic?”
“Yeah. We dated in college.”
Foster crossed his arms. “You gonna be good working this?”
I stared him straight in his eyes and said, “There isn’t a thing on this planet I wouldn’t do for her.”
I ran my fingers over the DMV photo of her smiling. “Is the Molina Cartel really behind this?”
“Yeah,” Foster replied. “They’ve made contact.” He clicked a button on the remote that lit up the
projector. Paused on the screen was a video of Holly tied to a chair. Her hair was matted, and her
face was bruised. Blood congealed in the corner of her mouth and was also splattered on her white
jacket.
My hands clenched into fists. I once said I’d kill for Holly, and it seemed I was about to make
good on that promise. “Play it,” I barked.
“In a minute.” Foster put his hands on his hips. “This is Holly Bates. She is the CEO of a multi-
million-dollar company called Magic Wash, which provides mobile car washing services throughout
the country.”
Hearing that name made my skin tingle. Holly and I had started Magic Wash together as a project
in college. When I’d left for the Army, I’d signed my portion of the company over to her.
“It’s believed that she was abducted yesterday from the parking garage beneath her office building
in Charlotte.”
Yesterday. My jaw clenched. Whoever had taken her had an entire day on us.
“This one is complicated.” Foster grabbed a photo out of the file in front of him and held it up.
“This is the victim with her father, Jonah Bates, who, like his daughter, is also a CEO, but of an
acquisitions company.”
I stared at the image. Holly was radiant in a metallic rose gold gown at what appeared to be a
charity event.
Shep pointed his pen at the photo. “Between the two of them, that’s a lot of cash. Sounds like a
simple play for ransom.”
“Not necessarily,” I interjected. “I gathered from Holly that her father had pissed off some people
in his line of work.”
“There’s another angle here, too.” Foster put down the photo and crossed his arms over his chest.
“But while on the topic of Jonah, you should all know that he’s a personal friend of Orion.”
My eyes widened. Jonah Bates would have nothing positive to say about me, not that I could
blame him. Him having a personal relationship with my boss was problematic. Thanks to the deal my
father had brokered for me, my criminal history had never made it onto my record. If it had, I never
would’ve been allowed into RASP to become a Ranger, which means I never would’ve gotten a job
with SSTC. If Jonah Bates said anything about me to Orion, I could be sent packing.
I glanced at the screen behind Foster. The frozen image of Holly bound and covered in blood
made me forget all about Jonah Bates. All I gave a fuck about was finding her, and if that cost me my
job, then so be it.
Foster held up another photograph. This one was a shot of Holly in a wedding dress standing next
to a pretty boy in a suit. My heart sank. I hadn’t heard she’d gotten married. She hadn’t changed her
last name. I flipped through my file and located the same photo so I could get a better look. Her
blonde hair hung in loose curls and dusted her bare shoulders. The sight of her in a white gown with a
sweetheart neckline and full skirt had my heart racing. She was a stunning bride. Regret churned in my
gut.
“Here’s where this case gets particularly dicey. The vic’s husband, Christopher Rutledge is a
criminal defense attorney who has represented several members of the Molina Cartel in various
cases.”
I already hated the fucker. His teeth were too white, his hair was too angular, and he had his hands
on my woman.
“Unbeknownst to him,” Foster continued, “Rutledge has been under investigation by the Charlotte-
Mecklenburg Police Department for several months. They believe he is somehow involved in helping
the cartel get drugs into North Carolina.”
My knuckles turned white, and my nails dug into my palms. In college, after I’d started dating
Holly, I’d quit dealing because I hadn’t wanted to involve her in that shit. The sole reason I’d gotten
dragged back into it was because my supplier had threatened to hurt Holly unless I agreed to do a buy
for him. So, I did what I had to do, and I’d gotten busted as a result. Even though I’d been facing some
serious prison time, all I’d cared about was making sure Holly was safe. Part of that involved never
seeing her again, so I’d ripped out my own heart to protect her. A lot of good that had done. My
nostrils flared. She went and married a jerkoff with cartel connections, putting her right back in the
crosshairs.
Tyler laced his fingers together on top of the table. “So Rutledge did something to piss off the
cartel and they abducted his wife in retaliation.”
“That’s one theory.” Foster picked up the remote for the projector. “Except the ransom video was
sent to Jonah Bates this morning, not Rutledge.” He glanced at me and I gave him a reassuring nod that
I was prepared for whatever was on that tape, so he pressed play.
Holly’s wide eyes were darker than normal, and she stared directly into the camera. She must’ve
been terrified, but she hid it well. When she spoke, her voice was steady, like she was commanding a
boardroom. “My name is Holly Bates.”
That sweet sound wrapped around my heart like a hand and squeezed.
“I’m being held against my will and these men will kill me if they don’t get one-million-dollars
wired into this account by Thursday at midnight.” It was Tuesday, so that gave us some time.
A man’s hand appeared from the side of the screen, and he held a piece of paper in front of Holly.
She read off the account number.
“Pause it,” Nick said as he stood and walked over to the screen. He pointed to three dots that
were tattooed in a triangular formation between the man’s thumb and forefinger.
“That’s a common prison tat,” Nash said. “Mi vida loca. My crazy life.”
“Right,” Nick said. “It doesn’t have a particular affiliation, but it represents his allegiance to a
gang.” He gestured to more ink on the man’s wrist. “And that wolf is the gang. Manada de Lobos—the
wolf pack.”
I’d heard of the MDL, but I hadn’t interacted with them. While they were fairly new, having
emerged within the last six or seven years, they were known affiliates of the Molina Cartel.
Nick adjusted the 9mm pistol tucked into his waistband. “A friend of my sister crossed paths with
the MDL in New York three years ago.”
“What do you mean by crossed paths?” Nash asked.
“They fucking kidnapped his wife.”
“Shit.” Tyler shook his head. “I remember that. They were both at my sister’s wedding a few
months before it happened.”
Nick and Tyler had been in Regiment together for several years when their personal lives had
coincidentally intersected. Nick’s sister was a lieutenant in the New York City Fire Department, and
she worked with another lieutenant who was married to Tyler’s sister. Small world.
“Why’d they abduct her?” Shep asked.
Tyler replied, “Her father’s a billionaire. They were after money. Didn’t get it though. Luckily,
she was rescued.”
Foster hummed. “Maybe kidnapping for ransom is their MO.”
Nick pulled his phone from his pocket. “If I remember correctly that branch of the MDL was
dismantled after that incident. I’ll reach out to the SITF. They worked the case.” The Special
Investigations Task Force was an elite team in the NYPD that Sua Sponte had collaborated with a few
times over the years.
“Good.” Foster nudged Nick to the side and pressed play once more.
Once Holly finished relaying the information for the transfer of funds, the bastard backhanded her
across the face. I grabbed onto the table to keep from leaping out of my chair. Holly’s eyes squeezed
shut and she winced from what I was sure was pain. But then she opened her eyes and turned her head
to face her kidnapper who was still off camera. Without saying a word, she spit blood in his
direction, and he cursed in Spanish.
Languages were not my strong suit. I’d learned enough Arabic to get by in Afghanistan, but that
was about it. “What’d he say?” Several of my teammates spoke Spanish.
Foster pressed pause and Shep glanced up from the notes he was writing. “He said, ‘Bitch, you’re
more trouble than you’re worth.’ Then the guy behind the camera yelled at him to shut up.”
“More trouble than you’re worth,” I echoed. “They’re asking for a million dollars, for Christ’s
sake.” I couldn’t imagine Holly being that much of a problem that a million wasn’t worth it. Then
again, I didn’t really know her anymore.
 “Maybe they aren’t getting the full million.” Tyler drummed his fingers on the table. “If they were
hired to do the job…”
“Then they’d only be getting a cut,” Nick finished as he returned to his seat.
“But who would’ve hired them?” Nash asked.
“The husband.” I sneered.
“You don’t think you’re a little biased in that assumption?” Tyler replied.
I suppose my judgment could be a bit clouded. (Although, I doubted it.) “Play the rest.”
Holly’s eyes burned with determination. Good girl. She would fight for her life if it came down to
that, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. The tape cut off and I stood.
“When do we leave for Charlotte?”
“Wheels up in thirty.” Foster closed his folder. “Griff, since you have an existing relationship
with the victim, I want you to take Nash and Tyler to her house. Rutledge and Jonah Bates are waiting
there. Nick and Shep, you’ll go with me to meet with the detectives at CMPD.”

TWO HOURS LATER, I stood on the front step of Holly’s million-dollar brick mansion on a private
cul-de-sac in Weddington, roughly twenty minutes south of Charlotte.
Nash whistled. “Damn, Daddy’s got money, huh?”
My head snapped toward him. “She worked hard for this. Built her company from nothing when
she was a sophomore in college.”
Nick held up his hands. “My bad.”
Seeing the life that Holly had made for herself made me even more proud of her. It also confirmed
that I’d made the right decision to walk away from her. When I’d told her I’d enlisted, she’d offered
to leave school and go with me wherever I’d ended up stationed. Had she done that, who knows what
her life would’ve been like. Yeah, I did the right thing.
I adjusted my tactical vest, then rang the doorbell. Typically, I’d leave my vest in the car for this
type of meeting, but I felt the need to wear it as a flex. No shame. Jonah Bates opened the door. He
and I had never met, but I had no doubt that he’d remember my name. If he did recognize me, he
certainly didn’t show it. Granted, my shoulders and chest were broader, and my arms were more than
double the size they’d been when I was in college. My thick, dark beard changed my appearance, too.
“Thank you for coming.” He stepped aside and we entered into a round foyer. Overhead was a
lavish crystal chandelier, the floor was a shiny marble, and there was a grand staircase that led up to
the second floor.
“Mr. Bates.” Tyler stepped forward. “I’m Dupree. This here is Nash. And that’s Griff.”
In the car, I’d told my teammates to keep my relationship with Holly between us. They hadn’t
asked questions, and I hadn’t offered answers.
“Follow me.” He led us down a hall beneath the staircase, which opened up into an enviable
chef’s kitchen. Hell, I couldn’t cook, but even I appreciated the high-end stainless-steel appliances,
custom cabinetry, and white marble countertops. “Elijah. Christopher,” he shouted, and it echoed.
“Do you have news?” A man in a wrinkled day-old suit, sans jacket and tie, came around the
corner. Rutledge. The top few buttons of his white collared shirt were unbuttoned, his coiffed wheat
brown hair was disheveled, and he was sporting stubble that I had a feeling he typically never let
grow given how patchy it was. This was the opposite of the perfectly put together man in his wedding
photo.
“What is it?” A younger man wearing gym shorts and a UNC tee nearly knocked Holly’s husband
over. He had at least four inches on Rutledge and had the same honey-colored blond hair as Holly, as
well as her deep brown eyes, although his were obscured behind tortoise shell framed glasses.
Jonah Bates said, “These are the special operatives I told you about.” He turned toward us. “What
were your names again?”
Tyler re-introduced us.
“This is my son, Elijah, and my son-in-law, Christopher Rutledge.”
Rutledge shook our hands. He held on a bit too tightly and for far too long in a poor attempt to
establish dominance. “Please tell me you will find my wife.”
“We will,” I replied, looking him dead in the eyes. “I promise.”
Tyler made a disapproving sound in his throat. We never made promises. That was one of the
most important rules in our line of work, but I didn’t care because I was gonna move mountains to
find Holly. Failing at this mission was not an option.
“Is Mrs. Bates here?” I asked.
Jonah pulled his shoulders back. “My wife passed away last fall.”
I dipped my head. “I’m very sorry.” I wished I could’ve been there to help Holly through that. I’d
lost my mom to cancer as a teen, and it hadn’t been easy.
Elijah changed the subject. “Have you seen the tape?”
I nodded. “We have. It gave us some good information. Our analysts are currently going through it
to see what else we can get.”
Jonah gripped the edge of the kitchen island. “I’m working on getting the money together. It’s tied
up in various accounts that must be liquidated.”
“That process can take up to three days,” Rutledge added.
A tingling in my gut told me to remember that. On the flight in, I’d watched the ransom video
several times, and I found it odd that the kidnappers were allowing so much time for the transfer. But
if they knew Jonah Bates would need to liquidate assets…
“How can we help?” Elijah asked.
“Walk us through what happened,” I replied.
Rutledge propped his elbows up on the island and dropped his head into his hands. “This is all
my fault.”
 A confession couldn’t possibly be that easy.
“Christopher.” Jonah’s voice was firm. “Tell them.”
Rutledge let out a lamenting sigh. “We’d gotten into an argument that morning. It had bothered me
all day, so I decided to go to her office and talk to her, but when I arrived, Jay informed me that she’d
left for a meeting.”
“Whose Jay?” Tyler asked.
“Her assistant.”
Elijah gave his brother-in-law a side-eyed glare.
Rutledge cleared his throat. “I left and came here. All night I waited for her, but she never came
home. I fell asleep shortly after midnight. When I got up this morning and saw that she’d stayed out all
night, I called my father-in-law thinking perhaps she’d slept at his house.”
“She hadn’t,” Jonah cut in. “I called Elijah, but she hadn’t stayed with him either.”
Elijah added, “So I called my husband, Jay—her assistant. It was after eight and Holly hadn’t
shown up for work. My sister is never late.”
I remembered that about her. It used to drive me crazy, but there was something endearing about
her punctuality.
Elijah continued, “So, I called my father.”
“And I called the police, then Orion.”
Rutledge folded his arms over his chest. “They found her Mercedes in the parking garage at her
office, but it wasn’t in her reserved spot. It was parked one level down. Her keys, cell phone, and
purse were inside.”
Mine, Tyler’s, and Nash’s phones all buzzed. “Excuse us a sec,” Tyler said, and we showed
ourselves out the front door.
We’d received a message from Foster with details he’d obtained from the detectives in Charlotte,
so we took a moment to read it. There was also a video. I pressed play and we watched it together. It
was security footage of Holly exiting the elevator and getting into her white convertible. She then
drove down a level and parked again. A large SUV had stopped behind her and she’d gone up to their
window, then she’d been grabbed from behind and forced into the back. The camera was too far away
to get a clear shot of her abductors, but according to Foster’s message, they’d gotten the plate off the
SUV as it was exiting the garage.
The message also said that there was security footage of Rutledge driving into the garage a minute
after Holly had backed out of her spot. He’d parked and gone inside the building, then he’d left less
than ten minutes later.
“So it couldn’t have been the husband,” Nash said.
“Not directly, no,” I replied.
Tyler’s phone buzzed. “Foster wants us to talk to the family about who they think could be
responsible.”
 Nash’s eyes narrowed. “But we know it’s the MDL.”
“We do.” I thumbed toward the house. “They don’t.” At least, they didn’t know that we knew.
We let ourselves inside and found the three men still gathered in the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“Any news?” Elijah’s brows raised.
“There’s security footage of her being abducted,” I supplied.
Jonah’s jaw tensed. Elijah covered his mouth with his hand. Rutledge gasped dramatically. Too
dramatically.
I relayed what we’d seen.
“This occurred while I was there?” Rutledge tugged on his hair. “I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve
protected her.”
“But you didn’t,” Elijah quipped, then addressed me. “Did you see who took her?”
“No.”
“My daughter is tough.” Jonah took a few steps back and leaned against the counter by the sink.
“She’s been prepared for this.”
“How do you mean?” Tyler asked.
“When she was in college, there was a drug dealer after her.”
My heart sank.
“I hired a bodyguard for her, and he taught her what to do if she was ever attacked.”
The thought of Holly having to go through all that because of me made me nauseous.
Tyler put his hands on his hips. “Why was a drug dealer after her?” He was questioning whether
Holly was actually an innocent victim or not.
“Because she made a bad decision to date someone beneath her who was involved in nefarious
activities.” He sneered, and I let out a small breath of relief that he hadn’t recognized me.
Tyler glanced my way, but I averted my gaze.
“Thankfully, her taste in men evolved after that.” Rutledge puffed out his chest.
Elijah began to roll his eyes but caught himself and stopped.
I took a few steps toward her husband. “As a lawyer, you’ve worked with some rather unsavory
criminals, haven’t you?” On the flight, I’d read the brief provided to us by the CMPD. Rutledge had
managed to get every single one of the cartel associates acquitted of their charges.
“I’ve represented a lot of criminals in my career. Gruff, was it?”
“It’s Griff. Your wife must’ve been thrilled to learn that you’ve gotten buddy-buddy with Cisco
Molina.”
To his credit, he held his ground even as I got uncomfortably close. “He’s a client. Not a friend.”
I nodded. “Right. Well, we have reason to believe Holly’s kidnappers are associated with him.”
His pupils dilated.
“Cisco Molina? As in the Molina Cartel?” Elijah came around the island and stopped beside us.
 “Yup,” I replied without breaking eye contact with Rutledge.
“You took on clients associated with a fucking cartel?” Elijah nudged his brother-in-law in the
arm, causing him to turn his attention away from me.
“It’s my job.”
Elijah huffed. “No. You can choose who you want to work with and refuse business from those
you don’t. You aren’t a public defender.”
“Just because you were pre-law, doesn’t mean you know what it’s like to be a real lawyer.”
Elijah poked a finger into the center of Rutledge’s chest. “You weren’t forced to work with Cisco
Molina. That was your choice. You opened that door and now my sister is paying for it.”
“Enough,” Jonah bellowed. “Is this true? The men who took my daughter are associated with a
cartel?”
Tyler responded before I could. “It’s a possibility we are considering, yes.”
The older man nodded. “I’m going to call my financial advisor and see where we are at on the
funds.”
“We need to meet with the detectives in Charlotte, but we’ll stay in touch.” Tyler shook Jonah’s
hand, then we left.
“What the hell was that, Slater?” Tyler chided as soon as we were in the rental car.
“Rutledge knows something. I saw it in his eyes.” I worked my vest over my head and laid it on
my lap.
“Yeah, all right, I agree.” Tyler turned on the car and put it in reverse to back out of the driveway.
“But that wasn’t the way to go about it. This Bates guy is a personal friend of Orion, remember?
We’re meant to be playing nice.”
I really didn’t give a shit. “Did either of them seem like they’re fans of Rutledge to you?”
From the backseat, Nash snorted. “Fuck no. The guy’s a tool.”
“Not the point.” Tyler turned onto the road and headed toward Charlotte. “What do you know
about the incident with Holly’s ex-boyfriend and that drug dealer?”
I adjusted the vent so the AC blew directly on me. “He wasn’t good enough for her.”
“So you knew her ex?”
I turned toward Tyler. “I was him.”
“Oh, shit,” Nash muttered.
Tyler pursed his lips. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”
“It already is.”
FOUR
 HOLLY

One thing I’ve learned from having been kidnapped: I never want to live on a boat. I’d been cooped
up in a cabin down in the hull of this thing, rocking back and forth, for three days. I was nauseous,
bruised, and in desperate need of a shower. Claustrophobia had been coming in waves. There were
no windows, my hands were bound, and the floor was cold and hard. At least they’d taken the tape off
my mouth. No one would hear me scream in the middle of the ocean. A small wall sconce kept me
conscious of my reality by illuminating the nothingness.
I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to dull the pain in my wrists from the bindings, and my
stomach grumbled. On account of my nausea, I hadn’t been able to eat more than a couple of bites of
breakfast that morning. Three times a day, a woman would bring me food. She was younger than me
and only spoke Spanish—at least, she led me to believe that she couldn’t understand me. In my best
attempt at Español, I’d begged her to help me. Although, even if she agreed, the two of us likely
wouldn’t stand a chance against the men with guns on board. Still, I had to try.
She was the only consistency in my days. The meals were how I’d been able to keep track of how
long I’d been down there. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consisted of cold beans and rice, which the
woman would feed to me. She also helped me use the bucket in the corner that served as a makeshift
toilet. As a grown adult, having someone wipe me after going to the bathroom was certainly a low
point. Not that being held hostage was a highlight.
This time tomorrow, I could be dead. As much as I tried not to let it, that thought continued to
creep its way into my consciousness. While it would suck to die, it sucked even more that I had
nothing to show for my thirty years on this planet. Sure, I had my company, and I was proud of what
I’d done with that, but at the end of the day, I owned car washes—I wasn’t saving the world, I was
cleaning windshields.
My shoulder was going numb, so I adjusted my body on the gym mat I was lying on. I huffed. I’d
spent seven months searching for the perfect mattress, which cost me a small fortune and was worth
every penny, yet I was going to die on a dirty metal floor, curled up on quarter-inch thick pad that
smelled like feet and rotten bait.
My life was sad. I suppose it was fitting that my death would be, too. Sure, I had a beautiful house
and enough money to make me comfortable for life, but I was miserable. I’d wasted my best fertile
years in a loveless marriage that, even if I managed to get free from my current predicament, I’d still
be stuck in because I had married an asshole.
That brought me to my life’s biggest regret…
Griffin Slater.
I leaned against the wall and used it to help me into a sitting position. There I was, facing death,
and I’d spent the majority of my time on that boat thinking about the one man I never allowed myself
to think about. My memories of Griffin usually brought me nothing but pain and regret. For some
reason though, while confined to my prison, thoughts of him brought me comfort.
Back in college, we’d been a unit. He hated his dad; I had a complicated relationship with my
parents. He was the misunderstood bad boy; I was the intimidating smart girl. Neither of us fit into a
particular clique, so we’d created our own. Griffin had been my safe place, and I’d been his. Laying
there alone on that cold mat had me wishing I was in his arms. I craved to feel that sense of peace
again.
If I could go back to when I was nineteen and have a re-do, I’d jump at the opportunity. Instead of
simply accepting that things were over, I would’ve fought for him. I would’ve followed him wherever
the Army sent him, given up school, abandoned Magic Wash, and gotten a job waiting tables at a
greasy diner if I’d had to. Without question, I would give up everything to be with Griffin. Because
with him, I would’ve been happy. With him, I would’ve been loved. There was no price tag on that.
Footsteps clamored down the metal steps. My pulse quickened. Not wanting to be in a
compromised position when the door swung open, I scrambled to stand. The lock jiggled and I
planted my bare feet in preparation. Frollo entered carrying a chair. That wasn’t his real name—or
maybe it was, but I doubted it. I’d nicknamed my captors after Disney villains. In a weird way, it
made my situation slightly less terrifying. Emphasis on the slightly.
Frollo was the man who’d grabbed me in the parking garage. He slammed the chair down in the
middle of the small room. “Siéntate.”
I wasn’t keen on getting tied to a chair again.
When I didn’t move, he shouted, “Sit!”
With reluctant steps, I stared him down as I took my time positioning myself in front of the metal
chair and did as he’d ordered. The door swung open again, and Jafar appeared carrying a set of
ratchet straps. He was the second man who’d been in the backseat of the SUV.
“I won’t run,” I pleaded as a strap was fastened tight across my chest and upper arms. Even if I
were to get free, I’d still be stuck on a boat with nowhere to go. There were at least two other men
and a woman on board who I’d seen throughout my captivity. If I somehow managed to get away from
Jafar and Frollo, I’d have the others to deal with, too, and I wasn’t confident I could handle that.
Perhaps if it was the first day I could try, but I was tired, malnourished, dehydrated, and weak.
“Please,” I lamented.
 Jafar shushed me as he wrapped another strap around my abdomen. The ratchet clicked, pulling it
tighter and tighter.
“That hurts.” I did my best to puff out my stomach, so that I’d be left with some breathing room.
Frollo said something in Spanish. The only word I recognized was ‘video.’ When they’d begun
tying me up, I’d assumed it was because they were planning on filming another ransom message. If I’d
calculated time correctly, the ransom deadline was midnight, and I’d already been given breakfast for
the day, so my family probably had about fourteen hours left to pay up. My captors duct taped my
ankles to the chair legs, and my stomach rolled. Being rigidly constricted to the chair made me more
seasick since I couldn’t move with the waves.
Jafar stood a couple of feet in front of me and held up a phone. In accented English, Frollo gave
me instructions, but I could barely pay attention because bile was rising up my esophagus, and I was
trying to think of a way to get a message through that could help the police find me.
A bright light shone in my face, and I winced. After taking a second to swallow down my nausea,
I said, “My name…is Holly Bates.”
FIVE
 GRIFFIN

Clearly, I was a glutton for punishment because I couldn’t pull myself away from the fireplace in
Holly’s formal living room. On the mantle sat several framed photos of her and Rutledge. There were
shots from their wedding, which I’d found out had taken place on the beach in Hilton Head, not even
an hour from where I lived. Holly was born to wear a wedding dress. She simply glowed.
I couldn’t help but notice that in the more recent photos, something had changed. Her smile no
longer brightened her face the way I’d known it to, and her body language suggested that she wasn’t a
wife in love. In many of the photos, she was angled away from Rutledge and there was an odd gap
between them. Having officially met the guy, I couldn’t blame her. I might not have been the one for
her, but this jerkoff sure as hell wasn’t either. Judging by the conversation I’d had with Holly’s
brother earlier that morning, it seemed that Holly had come to realize that as well. Elijah had never
liked Christopher, but he’d made an effort for his sister’s sake. According to him, he’d ‘reached his
limit.’ Holly was unhappy and he was done pretending.
“Circle up,” Foster called out from the formal dining room, which held a table large enough to
serve fourteen.
We were no closer to finding Holly than we’d been the moment we’d been handed the case. The
only lead we had was the SUV, but we’d tracked that to another parking garage—one that
conveniently did not have cameras inside. The forensic investigators in Charlotte were currently
searching it for evidence. We suspected that they’d changed vehicles, but we’d dead-ended on
figuring that out. Basically, we were stuck waiting for the kidnappers to make contact again, and I
fucking hated feeling helpless.
In the dining room, Foster waved for us all to gather around his computer screen. “They’ve sent a
new video.”
Holly’s family had been sent out of the room. They didn’t need to see this. I straightened my spine
and crossed my arms over my chest as Foster hit play.
Like the last one, this recording began the same way with Holly introducing herself. The only
difference was that she looked far worse for wear. She had a bruise on her cheek, her hair was dull
and matted, and her eyes were sunken. In the first video, Holly had spunk, but in this one she seemed
to be exerting entirely too much effort simply to be conscious.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
She quickly rambled, “This is a reminder that the deadline is tonight. One-million-dollars for my
life.” Her jaw clenched and she swallowed several times.
The cameraman yelled at her to keep going.
“Sorry, I get motion sickness.”
Excitement forced a grunt from my throat. Of course, I wasn’t happy that she was sick, but she’d
given us a clue, and the dumbasses filming hadn’t edited it out.
Like last time, a hand appeared holding a piece of paper. Holly read the bank account number
aloud, but she paused midway through. Her skin turned pale and clammy. She emitted a gulp,
followed closely by another.
Shit.
She turned her head to the left and dry-heaved.
The men cursed.
She retched a second time, but still nothing came out, which meant she was dehydrated and
starving.
“Puta.” The tattooed hand balled into a fist and connected with the side of Holly’s head, sending
her tumbling over in the chair.
From off-screen, one of the men recited the number in heavily accented English and followed it up
with, “At midnight, if there is no money, she dies.”
The fucker holding the camera zoomed in on Holly’s face. Because of the way she was strapped
to the chair, her head dangled, and her blond strands pooled on the textured metal floor. Her eyes
were closed, and I couldn’t tell if she’d been knocked out, but then tears dripped from the side of her
eye and dropped like rain onto the floor.
I roared. It was a carnal sound that I’d never made before. My rage spilled out like a wild animal.
Someone put a hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off.
Foster got in my face like a goddamn drill sergeant and shouted, “Enough!” His spit dotted my
skin.
Heavy breaths flared my nostrils and my shoulders heaved.
“If you wanna be able to hang their testicles up as Christmas ornaments, you need to stay focused
on the mission.”
As if I could focus on anything else.
“Did you guys catch this?” Tyler had started the recording over and he was pointing at her hands,
which were bound at the wrist and sitting on her lap.
Everyone encircled the screen. As I went to step forward, Foster pressed his palm on my chest
and stared me down. After a deep breath, I gave him a nod. He moved aside and we both turned our
attention to the screen. Holly’s fingers were moving subtly, but there was a pattern.
 Three. Three. Zero. Pause. Three. Three. Zero. Pause.
“That mean anything to anyone?” Tyler asked.
No response.
“Sit,” Foster ordered. “What do we know?”
Nash spoke first. “She’s in something that’s moving.”
“Back of a truck maybe,” Shep suggested.
“I don’t know.” Tyler played the video for a few seconds, then stopped it. “If the truck was
moving the camera would be shaking erratically. The picture is moving, but it’s not very noticeable.”
“They could be in the air,” Nick said. “The cartel would have access to a private plane.”
Nash added, “It does look like she could be in cargo.”
Tyler hummed. “There isn’t enough background noise. We’d hear the engines.”
“True.” Foster tapped his finger on the table. “Same goes if she were in the back of a moving
truck.”
“She’s on a boat,” I blurted out. “No noise. And the movement is a rhythmic sway consistent with
waves.”
Tyler nodded. “That’s plausible.”
“The cartel definitely has access to boats,” Nash said.
Son of a bitch. “With empty cargo hulls.” I shook my head. We’d just left the coast to come
inland.
Foster rapped his knuckles on the table. “Okay, let’s run with that. How does three, three, zero,
factor in?”
While my teammates spit-balled ideas, I turned off the noise and went into my head. What would
stand out to Holly? She wouldn’t bother telling us something we could figure out on our own, like the
license plate of the SUV or the time she was taken. Nor could it be the number of people on the boat
because three-hundred and thirty would be too many people for her to count accurately.
“Is there a 330 highway around here?” Nik asked.
I pulled out my cell and opened up a map. My search yielded nothing, so I shook my head.
“Could it have to do with the marina they brought her to?” Shep suggested.
Wait a sec…Elijah’s comment from the day before played in my head, ‘My sister is never late.’ I
grinned. “Time. Holly is conscious of time. It’s three hours and thirty minutes.” I pointed to the
computer. “We need to figure out which marinas are three hours and thirty minutes from her office.”
Tyler pushed the laptop over to Nash. “On it,” he said as he clicked the mousepad.
I stood and headed toward the hall.
“Where you goin’?” Foster asked.
“To get fast answers.”
He was up and on my heels. “What are you thinking?”
Keeping my voice low, I faced him. “The whole point of Jonah Bates hiring us is because he
knows we can do shit that cops can’t, right?”
Foster nodded.
“And if he’s friends with Orion, then he’s gotta know that we don’t always follow rules.”
Foster’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue.
“He wants his daughter back. And I want to get her back for him. So, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Foster cupped the back of his neck and rubbed. “Yeah. All right. But remember, the husband is a
lawyer.”
I held up my hands. “I’m just doing what I must to bring his wife home.”
Foster smirked and we marched down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the family room
where Jonah, Elijah, Jay, and Rutledge were sitting.
I stopped in front of Holly’s husband and snapped my fingers. “Up.”
“Excuse me?” He’d showered and shaved, so he was looking far more polished than he had the
day before.
“Get. Up.” I grabbed his shoulder with one hand and lifted him off the couch.
“Get your hands off me!”
“Listen to me and I won’t have to touch you.”
Jonah stood. “What’s this about?”
“We have an idea as to where Holly is, and Christopher is going to help us pinpoint it.” I stared
into Rutledge’s scared eyes.
“How am I going to do that?”
“Kitchen.” I pointed. If things got bloody, I didn’t want to mess up Holly’s carpet. Using my size
to my advantage, I backed him up against the island. If Holly truly was three and a half hours away, I
couldn’t afford to waste time, so I went with a direct approach. “Where does Cisco Molina dock his
boats?”
The fucker’s jaw dropped, but he tried to cover it up by feigning offense. “H—how would I
know?” His eyes darted around me.
In one movement, I lurched forward and fisted the front of his dress shirt.
He grabbed at my hand, but I wasn’t letting go.
“Hold on.” Jonah’s voice echoed from behind me.
Without taking my eyes off Rutledge, I addressed Holly’s dad, “You hired us to get your daughter
back, and he’s our ticket to doing that.” I tightened my hold and asked again, “Where does Cisco
Molina dock his boats?”
His face reddened. “I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.” I bent my free arm and elbowed him in the jaw.
Fuck that felt good.
He howled. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Where does Cisco Molina dock his boats?”
 “Screw you.”
I tugged my switchblade off my waistband and put the metal against his throat.
The fight left him and he froze.
“We don’t have time for this. Your wife does not have time for this. She’s in rough shape.”
“What do you mean?” His surprise felt genuine.
Interesting. I ran with that. “She’s unconscious from a blow to the head. If she’s got a brain bleed,
then she might not wake up.”
Concerned gasps sounded behind me, then Jonah was at my side. “If you know something,
Christopher, you had better tell them.”
Rutledge glanced at his father-in-law, but only for a second before his attention returned to me.
His Adam’s apple bobbed against my blade. “I don’t know about boats.”
“Griff. We’ve got a list.” Nick held up a piece of paper in my periphery.
I lowered my knife, folded it, and clipped it onto my belt. “Don’t fucking move.” After releasing
his shirt, I grabbed the sheet from Nick. It was a rudimentary hand-drawn map with several areas
circled. I laid it flat on the kitchen island, gripped Rutledge’s shoulder and spun him around so he
could see it, taking care to make sure I had a view of his face. His eyes immediately drew to the
bottom right—an area slightly south of Wilmington.
“I told you, I don’t know about any boats.”
I picked up the map and turned toward Jonah. “Sir, are you familiar with the marinas in this
area?” I pointed at the section of barrier islands that Rutledge had unknowingly indicated. Holly had
mentioned her father having a boat, so I hoped he still did.
He nodded. “I keep my boat at my home in Hilton Head, but I’ve used those marinas on
occasion.”
“Which would you say is the largest or the easiest to stay in undetected?”
His nose scrunched as he took a moment to think it over. “There’s one where the Cape Fear River
meets the ocean. Sunrise Shores.”
I glanced at Rutledge. Unmistakable recognition dilated his pupils. I nodded at Jonah. “Thank you,
sir.” When I turned to leave, I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed Rutledge by the throat and got close
enough to his face that he would’ve been able to smell the type of beans used in my morning coffee.
“You’d better pray that Holly’s okay. Because if she isn’t, I’ll make you so miserable you’ll wish you
were dead.” I released him with enough force to send him stumbling.
His brows angled inward, and he cocked his head.
My eyes bore into his. Yeah, you bastard. This is personal.
SIX
 HOLLY

Wiggling out of his grasp, I giggled. “Griffin, stop. We have to finish our assignment first.”
He grabbed my waist and tugged me onto his bed once more. I landed on top of him, and he
held me firmly in place. “No we don’t. We’re already getting an A.” He kissed me and his stubble
scratched the sensitive skin around my lips. “Our business has already sold three franchises and
we’re going to be millionaires. Professor Dip Shit literally can’t fail us. Magic Wash is the most
successful company ever started by students for his class project.”
“Don’t call him that.” I rolled my eyes. His large hands squeezed my sides and I yelped. “And
don’t tickle me.”
“Fine. I’ll do something else to you instead.” His hands slid into the back of my pants, and he
squeezed.
“Griffinnn,” I warned. “Your roommates are in the living room just on the other side of that
door.”
His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned. My boyfriend was totally possessive, but in a sexy kind
of way. He wouldn’t be cool with anyone hearing me moan besides him. “Can’t we be quiet?”
I kissed the tip of his nose. “Later, okay? Let’s finish this assignment, then maybe they’ll be in
bed.”
His eyelids flicked open. “Does that mean you’re sleeping over?”
I gave him my best coquettish grin. “Perhaps.”
He jolted up and rolled me off him. “Okay. Let’s get some work done.”
I laughed. Sex was always an effective motivator to get Griffin to do something for school.
“But first.” He grabbed my face. “Kiss me.”
His mouth was warm and inviting and he wasted no time slipping his tongue between my lips,
bumping his piercing against my teeth. I moaned softly and his fingers tightened against the back
of my skull as he deepened the kiss.
Forget schoolwork. I wanted him. Since Griffin had taken my virginity, I had nothing to
compare to, but I was convinced that our sex was seriously amazing. There was no way I could
fathom it feeling any better. I reached for the bulge in his shorts, and he let out a satisfied grunt.
Another random document with
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needed, and that something was the art of writing, which is that
extension of the uses of language, without which no serviceable
amount of knowledge could have been attained, or retained. Without
this little could have been done. With it everything became possible.
The further we advance by its aid, the longer, and the broader, and
the more glorious are the vistas that open before us. Now, of this we
are certain, that the ancient Egyptians discovered this art. The idea
of the possibility of speaking words to the mind through the eye, and
rendering thought fixed, and permanent, and portable, and
transmissible from generation to generation, of committing it, not to
the air, but to stone, or, still better, to paper, first occurred to the
Egyptians. And they were the first to give effect to the idea, which
they did in their hieroglyphic form of writing, out of which afterwards
grew the hieratic and demotic forms.
It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of this discovery. It
contained in its single self the possibility of the whole of science, art,
law, religion, history, beyond their merest rudiments, which were all
that would have been attainable without it. It contained all this as
completely as the acorn contains the oak. Where, and what would
any and every one of them now be were it not for that discovery?
Indeed, what does it not contain? There are now 31,000,000 souls
within the United Kingdom, had it not been for that discovery
probably there would not have been 3,000,000. Neither the readers
nor the writer of this book would have existed. None of the existing
population of Europe would have seen the light. Other combinations
would have taken place. Europe would be sparsely tenanted by
tribes of rude barbarians—only a little less rude in its favoured
southern clime. The New World would be still unknown. On the day
some Egyptian priest, perhaps at This, thought out a scheme for
representing words and sounds by signs, Christianity, the British
Constitution, and the steam-engine became possible. With respect to
so great, so all-important a discovery, one on which the destinies of
the human race so entirely depended, every particular of its history
must be deeply interesting. Of one particular, however, at all events,
we are certain: we know where it had its birth. And this is what has
made so many in all times desire to visit Egypt. It was that they
wished to see the land of those who had conferred this much-
containing gift upon mankind—not all of them seeing this distinctly,
yet having a kind of intuition that the wisdom of the Egyptians was a
mighty wisdom to which civilization, through this discovery, owed
itself.
We know, too, another particular, and that is, that this discovery
was first used for sacred and religious purposes; and it must have
been invented for the purposes for which it was first used. We can
imagine what prompted the thought that issued in the discovery. We
can trace out what it was that set the discovering mind at work. It
must have been some idea in Egypt that was more active, and so
more productive than ideas that were stirring in men’s minds
elsewhere. It must have been some need in Egypt that spurred men
on more than the needs felt elsewhere. And this idea could only have
been that of the future life; and this need that which arose out of this
idea, the need of recording the laws it prompted, and the ritual which
grew out of it; and of aiding, embellishing, and advancing in their
general laws, their religious observances, their arts, and what
afterwards became their science and their history, the whole life of
the people which was struggling to rise into higher conditions, more
worthy of their great idea.
But we must give some account of what the Egyptian doctrine of
the future life actually was. Fortunately, in the Book of the Dead, we
have for its historical reconstruction the identical materials the old
Egyptians had for its construction in their own moral being. This
Book of the Dead was one of their Sacred Scriptures. Its contents
are very various and comprehensive, and are quite sufficient to give
us a distinct idea of what we are in want of here. It is divided into 165
sections. Its object is to supply the man, now in the mummy stage of
existence, with all the instructions he will require in his passage to,
and into, the future world. It contains the primæval hymns that were
to be sung, and the prayers that were to be offered, as the mummy
was lowered into the pit of the catacomb or grave; and the
invocations that were to be used over the mummy, the various
amulets appended to it, and the bandages in which it was swathed.
These bandages had great mystical importance. Some of them have
been unrolled to the length of 1,000 yards; and we are told that there
is no form of bandage known to modern surgery of which instances
may not be found on the mummies.
What has now been mentioned forms, as it were, the introductory
part of the book. The rest is devoted to what is to be done by the
mummy himself on his passage to, and entrance into, the unseen
world. It taught him what he was to say and do during the days of
trying words, and on the occasion of the great and terrible final
judgment. An image of the rendering of this awful account had
already been presented to the eyes of the surviving friends and
neighbours at the funeral. It was a scene in which the mummy had
often taken part himself in the days of his own earthly trial. The
corpse, on its way to the grave, had to pass the sacred lake of the
nome, or department. When it had reached the shore there was a
pause in the progress of the procession, and forty-two judges, or
jurymen, stood forward to hear any accusations that any one was at
liberty to advance against the deceased. If any accusation could be
substantiated to the satisfaction of the judges, whether the deceased
were the Pharaoh who had sat on the throne, or a poor peasant or
artizan, the terrible sentence, to an Egyptian beyond measure
terrible, was passed upon him, that his mummy was to be excluded
from burial. The awful consequence of this was 3,000 years of
wandering in darkness, and in animal forms.
But, supposing that the mummy had passed this earthly ordeal, he
was then committed to his earthly resting-place; and this Book of the
Dead, either the whole, or what was deemed the most essential part
of it, was placed on, or in the mummy case: sometimes it was
inscribed on the sarcophagus. These were the instructions which
were to guide him on the long, dread, difficult course upon which he
was about to enter. He will have to appear in the hall of two-fold
Divine Justice—the justice, that is, which rewards as well as
punishes. Osiris, the judge of the dead, will look on, as president of
the court. He will wear the emblem of truth, and the tablet breast-
plate, containing the figure of Divine Justice. The scales of Divine
Justice will be produced. The heart of the mummy will be placed in
one scale, and the figure of Divine Justice in the other. The mummy
will stand by the scale in which his heart is being weighed. Anubis,
the Guardian of the Dead, will watch the opposite scale. Thoth, who
had been the revealer to man of the divine words, of which the
Sacred Books of Egypt were transcripts, will be present to record the
sentence.
The book contains, for the use of the mummy, the forty-two denials
of sin he will have to make in the presence of this awful court, while
his heart is in the balance, and the forty-two avenging demons, all
ape-faced, symbolizing man in the extremity of degradation, with
reason perverted and without conscience, and each with the pitiless
knife in his raised hand, will be standing by, ready to claim him, or
some part of him, if the balance indicates that the denial is false.
These forty-two denials have reference to the ordinary duties of
human life, such as all civilized people have understood them;
though, of course, as might have been expected, the forms of some
of these duties are Egyptian, as, for instance, that of using the
waters of the irrigation fairly, and without prejudice to the rights of
others: an application to the circumstances of Egypt, of the
universally received ideas of fairness and justice, which the working
of human society must, everywhere, give birth to. The denials also
include, as again we might be sure they would, the mummy’s
observance of Egyptian ceremonial law.
There is still a great deal more in the book. The mummy will have
to achieve many difficult passages before he can attain the
empyrean gate, through which those who have been found true in
the balance, for that is the meaning of the Egyptian word for the
justified, are at last admitted to the realms of pure and everlasting
light. This gate is the gate of the Sun, and this light is the presence
of the Sun-god. There will be many adversaries that will be lying-in-
wait for him, seeking to fasten charges of one kind or another upon
him, and to destroy him. The book tells him how he is to comport
himself, and what he is to do, as each of these occasions arise.
There are certain halls, for instance, through which he will have to
pass. These halls he will find inhabited by demons, but they are a
necessary part of the great journey. And the entrance to them he will
find barred and guarded by demon door-keepers. Here mystical
names and words must be used, which alone will enable the mummy
to get by these demon door-keepers, and through these demon-
inhabited halls. These names and words of power he will find in the
book. We here have traces of the thought of primitive times, when
men regarded with wonder, deepening into awe, the supposed
mysterious efficacy of articulate sound.
One demon, in particular, will endeavour to secure the mummy’s
head. In a hellish place he must cross, a net will be spread to
entangle him. He will have to journey through regions of thick
darkness, and to confront the fury of the Great Dragon. He will have
to go through places where he may incur pollution; through others
where he may become subject to corruption. He will have to submit
to a fiery ordeal. He will have to work out a course of carefully and
toilsomely conducted husbandry, the harvest of which will be
knowledge. He will have to obtain the air that is untainted, the water
that is of heaven, and the bread of Ra and Seb. The book will give
him all the needful instructions on these, and on all other matters
where he will require guidance.
Bunyan’s Pilgrims Progress enables us to understand this Book of
the Dead. The aim of both is the same. Each presents a picture of
the hindrances and difficulties, both from within and from without,
and of the requirements and aids of the soul, in its struggle to attain
to the higher life. The Egyptian doctrine places the scene in the
passage from this life to the next. The Elstow tinker places it,
allegorically, in this life. But this is a difference that is immaterial. The
ideas of both are fundamentally the same. The consciousness to
which they both appeal is the same. The old Egyptian of 5,000 or
6,000 years ago received the teaching of his book on precisely the
same grounds as we ourselves at this day receive the teaching of
the Pilgrim. With how much additional authority does this discovery
invest these ideas! The mind must be more or less than human that
arrays itself against what has, so overwhelmingly, approved itself
semper, ubique, et omnibus.
The antiquity of the book is very great. Portions of it are found on
the mummy cases of the eleventh dynasty. This shows that it was in
use 4,000 years ago. But this was very far from having been the date
of its first use; for even then it had become so old as to be
unintelligible to royal scribes; and we find that, in consequence, it
was at that remote time the custom to give together with the sacred
text its interpretation.
All collections of Egyptian antiquities contain copies of this book,
or of portions of it. Several are to be seen in our British Museum. Of
course this abundance of copies results from the nature of the book,
and the use to which it was put. It was literally the viaticum, the
itinerary, the guide and hand-book, the route and instructions, for the
mummy to and through that world, from which no traveller returns.
Each of its sections is accompanied by a rubric, and generally
illustrated by a vignette, directing, and showing the mummy, how the
section is to be used.
I know nothing more instructive and more touching in human
history than one of these old Egyptian Books of the Dead, with its
doctrine, its invocations, its hymns, its prayers, its instructions, its
rubrics, its illustrations. All its images are of the earth earthy. How
could it be otherwise? The soul that has kept all the commandments,
that has been tried in the balance and not found wanting, that has
fought the good fight to final triumph through all the dangers, and
temptations, and pollutions, that beset its path, reaches at last only a
purer ether and eternal light.
It is easy to endeavour to dismiss all this with cold indifference, or
with a cheap sneer. But those who placed this book by the side of a
departed relative had hearts that were still turned towards those they
could never any more behold in the flesh. All their care and thought
were not for themselves. And, too, they believed in right and truth, in
justice and goodness. And because they believed in them, they
believed also in a world and in a life of which those principles would
be the law.
 CHAPTER XXV.
WHY THE HEBREW SCRIPTURES IGNORE THE
FUTURE LIFE.

Veritas filia temporis.—Bacon.

It is impossible to become familiar with the monumental, and other,

evidences of the position, which the idea of a future life held in the
religious system, and in the minds and lives of the Egyptians, without
finding one’s self again and again occupied with the inquiry—Why
the Mosaic Dispensation rejected it?[5] To pass over a matter of this
kind is to reject it. If a code makes no reference whatever to the idea
of inheritance, but provides for the appropriation and distribution of
the property of deceased persons in such a manner that the idea of
inheritance does not at all enter into the arrangement, as, for
instance, appropriating it all to the State, or distributing it all among
the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, it is clear that the author of the
code rejected the ordinary, and natural ideas of inheritance. In this
way the Mosaic Dispensation rejects the idea of a future life, an idea
which was the backbone of organized thought in Egypt, and among
all Aryan people. It does not reject it in the sense of saying that it is
false, but in the sense of omitting it as unsuitable for the purposes it
has in view. It adjourns the consideration of it to another day, and to
other conjunctures of circumstances.
But this is only a part of the wonder. Solomon, one of whose wives
was an Egyptian princess, and who possessed so inquiring a mind
that it is absolutely impossible he could have been unacquainted
with the idea, nowhere in what has survived of his ethical,
philosophical, religious, poetical, or practical writings, thinks it worth
even a passing reference. On the contrary, like his father David, he
emphatically speaks of death as the end. The former had asked
whether God shows His wonders among the dead? Or whether the
dead shall rise up again and praise Him? Shall His loving kindness
be showed in the grave, or His righteousness in the land where all
things are forgotten? The wisdom of the latter promised length of
these subsolar days only.
Our surprise, already great, is carried to a still higher point on
discovering that, for the six centuries which followed the time of
Solomon, the Hebrew prophets, men of the profoundest moral
insight, and whose very business it was to put before their
countrymen’s minds every motive which could have power to induce
them to eschew evil, and to do good, pass over in their teaching, just
as Moses, David, and Solomon had done before them, this
paramountly influential, and to us morally vital idea.
If one had been called upon to give an à priori opinion on the
subject, it would have seemed, I think, utterly impossible that such
an omission could have been made at the beginning, considering the
nature of the work that had to be done; or, if for some exceptional,
but decisive, reason it had been made at first, that it could have been
maintained throughout. We must remember that the word throughout
here applies to the whole course of a national literature, embracing
history, legislation, philosophy, poetry, morals, and, above all, religion
through a range of a thousand years. The idea was all that time all
about the people, and those who contributed to their literature, in
Persia, in Egypt, and in Asia Minor. In Europe every tribe of
barbarians, and of semi-barbarians, and every civilized people,
possessed it. It was the source of their respective religions. It made
them all what they were. But in this all-embracing, vigorous, and
long-sustained literature of the Hebrews it has no place. It might, for
some special reason, have been excluded at one epoch, but why
through all? It might, for some special reason, have been ill-adapted
to some departments of Hebrew thought, but why to all? And the
manner is as singular as the fact of the rejection. It is simply passed
over in silence. No reference is made to it. It is not discussed. It is
not denounced. It is not ridiculed. It is not insisted on: that is all.
Here, then, is an historical problem than which few can be more
curious and interesting. We may not yet be in a position to answer it
completely, but it is evident that the first step towards doing this is to
set down all the reasons that appear to us possible, and to weigh
each with reference to the mind, and the circumstances, of the times.
We may not be able to divine all the reasons, or, indeed, the right
one, but still this is the course that must be pursued.
The right answer will depend to a considerable extent on dates,
that is to say, on the preceding and contemporary history; on
ethnological facts; and on a right appreciation of the mental condition
of the people. We shall have to ascertain the date of the Exodus;
who the Hebrews were, or, to be more precise, who the Israelites
were; and what were the popular beliefs, and forms of thought, that
bore on the question before us. With respect, then, to the date of the
Exodus, we shall, if we confine ourselves to the Hebrew accounts,
find the inquiry beset with great difficulties. It is evident, from their
character, that those accounts were intended primarily for religious,
and not for historical, purposes. Had history been their object, we
should have had some Egyptian names; the absence of which,
however, from the records, alone throws some light on their purpose.
The name, for instance, of the Pharaoh under whom the Exodus
took place is not given, nor the name of the Pharaoh, whose minister
Joseph was, nor that of the Pharaoh, who reigned when Abraham
came down into Egypt, nor, indeed, of one of the kings, who reigned
during the sojourn of the Israelites in Egypt. Nothing is told us of the
internal condition of the country, with the single exception of the
success of Joseph’s plan for enabling Pharaoh, in a time of famine,
to become the actual proprietor of the whole of the land of Egypt,
save what was held by the priests; nor is anything told us of its
external history, notwithstanding that that was its most eventful and
important period: for Egypt happened, just at that particular time, to
be—having recently culminated in the very zenith of its power—the
wonder, the terror, and the glory of the Eastern world. It was the
period, which had seen the conclusion of the long struggle between
the Egyptians and their Semitic invaders; a struggle in which the
latter, having at first been victorious, had overthrown the native
dynasty, got complete possession of the country, and ruled it for
some centuries, but had in the end been expelled. This struggle,
which had terminated when the connexion of the Israelites with
Egypt commenced, was followed by a period of unexampled
greatness and prosperity. To it belong the reigns of Sethos, whose
minister Joseph was, and of Rameses II., the son of Sethos, and the
oppressor of the children of Israel. These two greatest of Egyptian
conquerors, both of them, overran Syria, and the neighbouring
countries: the latter carrying his devastations even as far as Persia
and Asia Minor. They had permanently occupied positions on the
Euphrates; and were keeping open their communications with them
through the sea-side plains to the west, and through the countries to
the north, of the district the Israelites conquered, and took
possession of. Sethos had been a great builder, but Rameses was
the greatest builder the world has ever seen. All the chief structures
at Karnak, Thebes, Abydos, and in a multitude of other places in the
Delta, as well as in Upper Egypt, and even in Nubia, were his work.
What he had done in this way was so far in advance of all that had
ever been done before, that it must have been the talk of all that part
of the world. Of all these great names and great events, no mention
whatever is made in the Hebrew Scriptures, although, during the
sojourn, Egypt was actually the scene of the sacred history. The
omission is very similar to that which is the subject of this chapter,
and almost as difficult to explain. If, then, we were confined to the
Jewish accounts, it would be impossible for us to assign to the date
of the Exodus its place in the history of Egypt. There is, however,
one name occurring incidentally in the account of the oppression,
which, in conjunction with monumental evidence, enables us to fix
precisely this indispensable date—so precisely as that we are sure
that it took place in the reign of Menephthah, or Menophres, the son
of the great Rameses, and the grandson of Sethos. I shall reserve
the demonstration of this till I have occasion to mention the Canal of
Rameses.
I said that the date of the Exodus has an important bearing on the
inquiry of why the doctrine of a future life was excluded from the
Mosaic Dispensation: it has this importance, because it enables us
to know what had been going on in that part of the world for some
time immediately preceding the promulgation of that Dispensation.
Knowing the date, we know that reciprocal barbarities, such as this
age can fortunately form but a feeble conception of, had for centuries
been the order of the day between the Egyptians and the Semites.
At last the Egyptians had got completely the upper hand, and had
driven out the main body of the Semites from their country, had
devastated in a most sweeping, and ruthless manner neighbouring
countries, and most frequently and most completely those parts of
Syria which soon afterwards fell into the hands of the Israelites. If we
can form but a feeble conception of the barbarities of those times,
we can perhaps form only a still less adequate conception of that
which prompted them—the gluttonous hatred that animated these
two races towards each other. No amount of blood, no form of
cruelty on any scale, could satiate it. There is nothing in the
practices, the history, the religion, of the modern world which
enables us to understand their feelings. We see much evidence of
them on the Egyptian monuments, and some indications of them in
the Hebrew Scriptures; and these, of course, must be translated, not
in accordance with our ideas, but with the ideas of those times.
Every shepherd was an abomination to the Egyptians. The Hebrews
took the opposite view, and regarded the first tiller of the ground as
the first murderer. The Hebrews might not eat with the Egyptians, for
that was an abomination to them.
It is the date, which enables us, in some measure, to understand
the feelings that underlie these statements.
The next question is, who were the Israelites? We are now
regarding the question singly from the historical point of view, just as
we should the question of who were the Lydians, the Etruscans, the
Dorians, or any other people of antiquity? There is no question but
that they were substantially a Semitic people, mainly of the same
race, and of the same dispositions and capacities as the other
branches of the Semitic stock, as for instance, the Phœnicians, and
the Moabites of the old, and the Arabs of the modern world. It is
clear, however, and this is a point of some importance, that they
were not of unmixed Semitic blood. Abraham came from Ur of the
Chaldees, and was therefore a Chaldean, whatever that appellative
stood for at that time. The Hebrew Scriptures describe him as a
Syrian. He can, therefore hardly be regarded as of pure Semitic
descent. Furthermore, when the people left Egypt they must have
had in their veins a large infusion of Egyptian, that is old Aryan
blood, somewhat mixed with Ethiopian. This must have been the
case, because during their sojourn in Egypt there had been no
disinclination among them to intermarry with Egyptians. Joseph had
had for his wife a high-caste Egyptian woman, Amenath, the
daughter of Potipherah, priest of On; and the wife of Moses is called
a Cushite, or Ethiopian woman. Besides this, we are told that when
the people—their blood being already mixed in this way with that of
the semi-Aryan Egyptians—went up out of Egypt, there went out with
them a mixed multitude, which can only mean Egyptians, who cast in
their lot with them, or a remnant of the Hyksos, who had stayed
behind at the time of the expulsion of the main body, or the
descendants of the Asiatic captives of Sethos and Rameses, and
their predecessors. I need not go to the Egyptian accounts. The
above facts will be sufficient for our present purpose. They enable us
historically to understand the people. They were of mixed descent, of
very composite blood. The preponderant element was Semitic, but
that had been enriched by large additions of better blood; still,
however, not to such an extent as to efface, or even to any decisive
degree alter the Semitic characteristics. The mental capacity and
vigour, the apprehensiveness and receptiveness of the people, had
been increased, but still they were in the main Semitic; in language,
in sentiment, in cast and direction of thought.
At that particular juncture, then, in the history of that part of the
world to which our attention has just been recalled, Moses had to
deal with the material we are examining. Still limiting our inquiry to
historical objects, historically investigated, what he had to do at that
time was to make these mixed and unpromising materials into a
people—a work that was from first to last entirely a moral one: as
hard a task as was ever undertaken, the very idea of which has no
place in the minds of us moderns. He was thoroughly aware of the
difficulty of his task. Had it ever been heard before, and, after some
thousands of years, we may add, has it ever been heard since, of a
nation taken out of another nation, and, according even to the
Hebrew accounts, the object of which is not historical, taken chiefly
from the servile class of another nation, and yet welded into a true
people, with the strongest, the most enduring, and the most
distinctive characteristics? What material was ever more unlikely?
And yet was ever success more complete? A scion, not a vigorous
and healthy offset, but a bruised sprout, was so planted, and
surrounded with such influences, as that it took good root, grew
vigorously, sent forth strong and spreading branches, and bore, and
even still bears, its own peculiar fruit. Nowhere in Europe in these
days, except it may be to some extent in northern Germany, is any
attempt made to fashion in this way the mind, and sentiments, and
instincts of a people, which, and not the amount of population, or of
wealth, is what truly constitutes a people.
Why, then, did Moses, in this great attempt, omit entirely the one
thought we consider the most potent of all? His object was to make a
people. It was not primarily to reveal a religion. We come to this
conclusion from an observation of the facts, from an analysis of the
Dispensation, and from taking into account the principle, that religion
is for man, and not man for religion. But a nation, especially such a
nation as he contemplated, is made only by moral and intellectual
means. The revelation, therefore, of a religion was not at all an
accident, or in any sense something which might be, according to
circumstances, included in, or excluded from, his plan. It was a
necessity—a necessary part of the one means for the one object.
These materials could not have been made into a people without a
code, nor could there have then been a code without a religion. The
question, then, before him was not simply—as is generally supposed
—to promulgate a religion, but to make the mass of living integers
before him into a nation by a code, sanctioned by a religion. The
religious part of the question, therefore, was limited to the
consideration of what form of religion would best effect this?
One indispensable requisite was that it must be a religion that
would never take them back in thought and heart to Egypt. With
Egypt he must break utterly and for ever. This was a most difficult
task. The thoughts of the people went back to the flesh-pots of
Egypt. They remembered the fish, and the leeks, the onions, the
cucumbers, and the melons they had eaten in Egypt; but, more than
all this, they remembered the palpable and intelligible religion, the
magnificent and touching ceremonies and processions, the awe-
inspiring temples—all that had satisfied at once the eye, the heart,
and the thought, while they had sojourned in, and served the gods
of, Egypt. They even recurred to the worship of the bull Mnevis, the
divinity of Heliopolis—Joseph’s On—at the very foot of Sinai.
Everything, therefore, that could recall Egypt and its religion,
everything that might present a point of contact between the
thoughts, the worship, the lives of the new people and of their old
masters, was to be studiously avoided. The dividing lines must
everywhere be deep and sharp—there must be no bridges from one
to the other. So it must be. But the doctrine of the future life was the
very kernel—the heart itself—of the religion of Egypt. There was,
therefore, no choice; this must be utterly abandoned and excluded:
to admit it would be to admit Osiris, the judge of the souls deceased
this world, his assessors, and his array of avengers, and the whole
apparatus of the lower world. As to Heaven, too, or the place of the
blessed, the Egyptians had already appropriated the sun, which, in
that material age, must have appeared as the best—indeed, the only
suitable—locus in quo. That was already peopled with Egyptians;
and it could, therefore, be no heaven for the Hebrews—for Semites.
Or, if they were, in the end, to inhabit the same heaven, sympathy for
the Egyptians, and for their ideas, would be kept alive; and, if so,
then the design of forming a peculiar people, separate and distinct
from all other people, must be abandoned. It would be impossible to
carry it out.
This view of the reason for the omission of the great doctrine has
in it, I think, some truth, though it is far from being the whole truth.
Moses may have seen clearly that it would have been impossible to
carry out his paramount object if this doctrine was allowed a place in
his system; but this view falls short of what is required. It does not
account for the whole of the fact. It does not account, for instance,
for the doctrine not having been admitted into the system in after
times—and no explanation can be complete, or satisfactory, which
does not include that. We know, also, that Moses did not reject
absolutely everything that was Egyptian. He retained, for instance,
circumcision, and the Egyptian division of the lunar month into four
weeks of seven days each, etc.
 Another conceivable supposition is that, if the doctrine of a future
life had been admitted, it was foreseen that the priestly caste,
instead of remaining the ministers and servants of the congregation,
would have become its masters, as in Egypt; and that the law would
then have been wrested into an instrument for giving them undue
power and domination. It would have given them the lever for moving
this world at their pleasure, and for their own behoof; and so its
primary object, which was a moral and political one, would have
become only secondary to the maintenance of a dominant privileged
class. This supposition, when applied to those early times, is not, as
the history of Egypt shows, altogether an anachronism; and it is
evident that dangers of this kind were foreseen, and, to some extent,
provided against. We see an indication of this in the intentional
absence, during the earlier periods of the history of the nation, of
monarchical institutions, which, in those times, were, externally and
politically, almost necessary, and, consequently, almost universal in
the outside world. We trace, also, this thought in the comment made
on their adoption, when it had become impossible any longer to
dispense with them. And, again, in the fact that the Prophets, who
were the authorized expositors and maintainers of the law, were not
Priests. But of this supposition, also, we must say that it does not
explain the whole of the phenomenon—for there were periods when,
notwithstanding the amount of truth and force contained in the
reason it suggests, the great doctrine might have been, but was not,
introduced.
Or was it, and this I propose as a third conjecture, that the
Hebrews were too unimaginative a people to realize in thought the
conception of a future life? And, therefore, was this one instance,
amongst others, of the progressiveness of the Revelation, which had
spoken in one mode to the fathers, and which spoke afterwards—of
course, within certain intelligible limitations—in a diverse manner to
their descendants? This progressiveness every one is aware of; but I
do not think that the Hebrew was quite so unimaginative as the
supposition implies. The Semitic race is imaginative in its way. It is,
and was, a gross race; which, of course, implies grossness of
imagination; but we can hardly suppose that the Hebrew of old would
have been less capable of imagining a future Paradise than the
modern Arab; though, we may be sure, it would have assumed, like
his, very much of an earthly character; and that earthly character
would not have been of the highest and most refined kind. Feasting,
for instance, would have been an ingredient in the future bliss of a
healthy and hungry people, who, in this world, had very little to eat.
And here it would be interesting to ascertain what, on this subject,
was the belief of the Phœnicians, Canaanites, Moabites, and ancient
Arabians. It is to the point, also, to remember that the Hebrew
system had a Paradise. It was, however, one which came at the
beginning, and not at the end, of all things. It was, also, an earthly
Paradise. In this I see implied contradictions to the Egyptian doctrine
on this subject. And I believe that there are other similarly implied
contradictions without direct references; and that there are such
points of allusive protest, and of intended contrast, is of importance.
For instance, I am disposed to think that the comment on the Ten
Commandments—‘these words ... and no more’ is an implied
contradiction of the Divine authority of the Forty-two
Commandments, with reference to which the Egyptian believed that
he should be tried at the Day of Judgment; an article of Egyptian
faith, with which Moses, and the people who were listening to him,
must have been quite familiar; and which could hardly, at that
moment, have been absent from their minds. But as to the
supposition before us, I think, to whatever extent we may be able to
allow it to be true in itself, we shall still be unable to accept it, just as
was the case with the two others we considered before it, as a
sufficient cause for the phenomenon we are now investigating.
But I have not yet exhausted all the light that can be brought to
bear on this difficulty. I can see a fourth solution. It occurred to me at
Jerusalem. I there said to myself, ‘Let us endeavour to look at it in
the form in which it appears to have presented itself to the Divine
Master. He “brought life and immortality to light” to His countrymen,
and, in the highest sense, to us. He must, while engaged in this
work, have seen clearly the very difficulty that is now before us. It
was, in fact, the difficulty that directly, or in its logical consequences,
stood up before Him on all occasions of His teaching. How, then, did
He meet it? How did He deal with it?’ I will now proceed to propound
the answer, that this way of contemplating the difficulty evolved in my
mind.
I assumed that the first step towards finding the way to the true
answer to our question was to ascertain what was precisely the work
Moses had been called to do, and what were the conditions under
which he had to do it. In order to reach a right understanding of
these matters, it was necessary to know the date at which his work
was done. Without that we should have been quite unable to
reconstruct in our minds the conditions under which he had done his
work; the very chief of which were the nature and composition of the
human materials, out of which he had to form a people, which was
his great task. A similar process must here be repeated with respect
to the work of Christ: we must now make out distinctly what it was
that He had to accomplish, and what were the obstacles in the way
of His accomplishing it.
Hitherto we have been endeavouring to make out what had to be
done at the first establishment of, and throughout, the old
Dispensation; and we have summoned before us, successively,
three reasons, which might be imagined, and alleged, for the
omission in that Dispensation of one particular doctrine we might
have expected to find in it. This we did with a constant reference to
the times, circumstances, and conditions of the work. We saw,
however, that not one of those reasons is sufficient and admissible.
Not one explains all the phenomena. What, therefore, we are
endeavouring to get sight of is still in obscurity. The answer sought
has not yet been found. What we now propose to do, still for the
purpose of obtaining this answer, is to recall what He taught, and
what arguments He used, Who ‘brought life and immortality to light;’
and how in doing this He dealt with what Moses had taught, and with
what he had not taught; and how He dealt with the thoughts that
were in the minds of the people He was addressing. If this inquiry
shall enable us to see that it was, precisely, the doctrine of the future
life (what Moses had abstained from teaching) which overturned the
old Dispensation (what he had taught); and at the same time to see
how, and why, it had this effect, then we shall know why Moses, and
the Prophets, had not taught it.
 Fifteen hundred years had elapsed since Moses’s day. What we
have to set before our minds, now, is the conditions under which the
new work had to be done. It was new, because it cancelled, or
supplemented, what was old. It did both. How did it do it? What were
the difficulties it had to contend with? What were the obstacles that
stood in its path, and had to be surmounted? Of course, they must
have been the creation of the foregoing state of things. Let us, then,
be sure that we understand the antecedent times and events.
The object of Moses had been to form a people, in the ordinary
sense of these words; a people, that is to say, who would be well-
ordered at home, and able to hold their own among their neighbours.
For this purpose a code was the first necessity, and, indeed, it might
effect all that was required. But even a somewhat superficial
acquaintance with the history of those fifteen centuries shows us that
this code must come from God. That was a necessity. A law from
man would, at that time, have been useless, and even inconceivable.
There was, however, no difficulty about a law from God. In the
spontaneous apprehensions of the people, at that time, God was the
source of all law, directly and immediately, as distinctly as He is to
our apprehensions the source of all law, mediately and ultimately.
We must make out the effect of this difference. Theirs was the case
in which the intervention of God is not confined to principles, it being
left to human legislators to apply those principles; but it was the case
in which He gives, necessarily, the letter of the statute. Of this it is
the natural, and logical, sequence, that He should be the
administrator and executor of His own law, even of what we call civil
and criminal law. Human agency, when employed, was employed
only mechanically, in the same way as a famine, or pestilence. There
was nothing in the mind of the people that could dispose them to
reject this conclusion, for they had already accepted the premises.
They saw God standing behind the law—which is regulative of
society; and dictating its letter; and, because they saw this, they
could not, also, but see Him standing behind the course of events,
and bringing about the rewards and punishments the law required.
But, furthermore, it is evident that law, civil and criminal, must be
executed here in this life. This is a concern of existing human
societies that must be attended to. The more instantaneously
punishment overtakes the offender the better. The more completely,
then, will the very object of the law be carried out, that which is the
whole of its raison d’être. It always has been so all over the world. To
be effective, to answer its purpose, to do what it aims at doing, its
action must be certain, speedy, visible. Punishment has two political
objects, to rid society of those who are disturbing it, and to strike
terror into, and so deter, those who might be disposed to disturb it.
The object of law, therefore, can not be attained without present,
immediate punishment. The more immediate the better. It has been
so everywhere, and always. Moses’s law, therefore, required the
sanction of direct, immediate, mundane rewards and punishments,
just like any other code.
We see, then, at once, that there was no absolute need for future
rewards and punishments. We can even already imagine that they
would have had a weakening and disturbing effect upon the system:
at all events, we shall eventually find that they were, precisely, as a
matter of fact and history, the very solvent that was used, designedly,
for the very purpose of disintegrating and destroying it. As it was a
system of statute law, what was needed was that the offender should
be punished here at once. Moses had no concern with the world to
come, or with the unseen world at all, excepting so far as it could
further his great object. No code of civil and criminal law, that ever
was heard of, could be maintained, if it relegated the punishment of
the offender to a future life. And, furthermore, as God was the
primary giver of the law, and the actual source of it, so must He be
the actual executor of it: it was His own law. This was intelligible, and
logical. And furthermore, it was in perfect harmony both with the
physics and the metaphysics of those ages, among the learned and
the unlearned alike. To their apprehension everything good in nature,
in society, and the mind of man, came direct from God. God’s arm,
therefore, was ever bared, and visible. Every offence had its penalty,
whether the offence of an individual, or of the nation; and that
penalty was visibly exacted at the time, that is to say, in this life. The
idea of future rewards and punishments would have been
antagonistic to this. It would have been an element of confusion and
weakness. There was no place for it. It was practically and logically
and philosophically excluded. The one thing that was paramount,
and indispensable, was thoroughly attended to. What would have
acted injuriously on that imperious necessity was set aside.
All this is clear abstractedly. And in the concrete history it comes
out with perfect distinctness. During the fifteen hundred years the
law is in force, we have not one syllable about a doctrine of a future
life. It was so, because it was absolutely logical, and quite natural,
that it should be so. Nothing else could account for the fact. It was
just what ought to have been the case. It was excluded not so much
designedly as spontaneously. There was no more place for it in the
teaching of the Prophets than there had been, originally, in the code
itself, because it would have been destructive of the system they
were expounding and enforcing. It could not, therefore, have
occurred to them to teach it.
But at last, for certain reasons, the time has come for teaching it.
What now, therefore, we have to do is to mark the way in which the
law was dealt with in order that it might be taught. The object of the
Light of the World was not, as that of the code of Moses had been, to
form a people, in the ordinary sense of those words, that is, to make
and maintain in the world that political organism we call a nation, but
to form a peculiar people, that would belong to all nations. His
kingdom was not to be as the separate kingdoms of the world, but an
universal kingdom, constructed out of all the kingdoms of the world.
It would differ from the ordinary kingdoms of the world in the source,
in the purview, and in the object of its law. It would reject everything,
however necessary for national purposes, which conflicted with the
idea of the universal brotherhood of mankind, the only conceivable
principle for an universal voluntary society; and its law, for obvious
reasons, would not be a written law. It would not require that its
members should pay taxes, though it would require that they should
tax themselves to satisfy the claims of fraternity. Nor would it require
that they should fight. God would not be to them the Lord of hosts,
but the universal Father. The working of the community would give
no occasion for the use of arms. It would be composed of Jews,
Greeks, and Scythians; of bond and free; of all peoples, kindreds,
and languages. Nothing could bind together this unlocalized society