Sutton.
No. No. No. Please, God, no. I gasp. My feet move before it even registers. I push people aside and attempt to swim through the mass of bodies separating me from him. He doesn’t even know I’m here! I’m breathless. My heart races as I try to push my way through.
Cole snatches me back, jerking me to a halt as Sinners glance my way. What the hell? I give him a dirty look and am tempted to pound him with my fists. I rip my wrist away as he grabs me back with his powerful grip, wrenching me to my senses.
“Hold still.” His voice comes out in a hiss.
This is my only shot! He’s right there! I have to save him!
Before anyone recognizes me, the loudspeaker blares to life. The shrill voice on stage steals my attention. Guards file in behind the short man.
“You all know this man, but you might not recognize him,” Wilson says. He delivers a swift kick to Sutton’s broken body, and it takes everything within me not to cry out. My hands cover my mouth, and I bite down on the skin of my palm, drawing blood.
Sutton’s head snaps up as he absorbs the pain. He falls forward onto his hands. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll get back up. God, please help him. His jaw tightens before he pushes himself back up, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down.
My stomach wraps itself into knots. I step backward for a moment, clutching my core. This isn’t the first time they’ve roughed him up by the look of the cuts and bruises all over his face and neck.
As the sun breaches the soulless, dark walls, Sutton’s eyes wander up to the clouds, and I wonder who he’s thinking of, or if he’s praying like me. I glance around quickly, trying to come up with some sort of plan, but there are too many guards and they’d see me before I ever reached him. Unable to use my gun, I stand helpless in the face of pure evil.
“The mighty Dr. Sutton. The untouchable brother of the Commander,” Wilson says. He gives a thin, wicked smile. His eyes turn into slits. “He led the revolt against his own brother, leading insurgents and ingrates to their death. But now he bows to me.”
Wilson winds up and delivers another kick with the toe of his heavy boot to Sutton’s side. Sutton grimaces as he collapses to his right, his hands flying to his ribs. The crowd is deathly silent as Sutton’s rasping breaths fill the void. As the light flows across his face, I take note of the way his hands tremble.
“Ms. Hamilton, if you don’t turn yourself in within forty-eight hours, I will kill your precious Sutton. Right here on this stage.” Wilson spits on Sutton, who still grasps his ribs. I recoil with disgust and horror. “I will pluck out his eyes. I’ll rip out every individual fingernail. You will watch as I make him suffer.” Wilson’s high-pitched threats draw me in. All I want is to kill him. I can’t stop my hands from clenching and unclenching.
Then Sutton’s head rises. His eyes meet mine, and they widen with shock or fear. He shakes his head back and forth ever so slightly. He’s losing weight, and his hair has turned white seemingly overnight. But the very force of his stare makes me stop.
I need to save you.
“No,” he mouths.
You’re the only father I have now.
“Leave me,” he says. He coughs, and I watch as he grimaces.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
He mouths something else.
“What?”
He peeks at Wilson, who drones on about ruling the Hole and bringing Sinners in for “check-ups.” He’s so caught up in himself that he doesn’t notice Sutton communicating right in front of him. He paces to the far left of the stage.
But then a guard, who’s staring at Sutton, stops to glance in my direction, squinting; I duck behind a man in front of me, and slowly, I look over his shoulder as the guard turns back to Sutton.
“Get … records,” Sutton mouths.
The guard swings back around, and I duck again, praying he doesn’t see who Sutton’s trying to talk to.
I bite my lip. I know exactly what he said this time, and my shoulders slump. Even if I don’t stand a chance at rescuing him with all these people around, I can’t bear the thought of leaving him. Not like this. Not in the shape he’s in.
“You work for me!” Wilson shouts.
He punches Sutton’s face. Blood pours from the corner of Sutton’s mouth as he lies on the platform, spitting and coughing. A squeal escapes from my mouth. Everyone looks at me. Wilson glances up. His eyes scan the crowd as he motions for his guards to search.
Sutton’s sea-green eyes plead with me from afar. Leave me, he’s begging, but I’m having a hard time breathing.
“Go!” he yells this time.
“Find her,” Wilson orders loudly. “She’s here.”