Chapter 18

“You bet I am. Remember when I told you that God wasn’t through with you yet?”

“Yeah. Come to think of it, I do.”

“Apparently I was right, and here’s the proof.” Preacher reached down, took his wrist and turned it over. “Remember this?”

When Rocco looked down at the violent scar his hands began to shake. He lightly pressed his index finger against the center of the cut and sucked in a sharp breath as the remembered pain spiraled all across his body. In his mind’s eye he could see the heavily oozing blood and the bluish-purple bruise that formed around it. Where would he be now if the cut had been deeper, if death had grabbed hold of him? In Hell? Surrounded by fire and brimstone?

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“It’s a miracle,” Rocco whispered in amazement. “A freaking miracle.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because He knows me, Preacher,” Rocco sobbed. “He knows who I am. He even called me His son.”

“Of course he did. And He’s not going to let you get away from Him.”