The Wrath Walker (The Wrath Series Book 1) Matthew Newson (essential books to read TXT) 📖

my mind. Lot and his family were warned by the angels not to look back on the destruction when they left. But Lot’s wife did anyway, and she suffered a horrible fate. She was immediately turned into salt for her disobedience, but Wrath has made no mention of not looking back at anything. He wanted me to figure it out and live, but Lot’s wife died the moment she turned back. I also got the feeling Wrath had something else planned for me if I made it through his game.

I was beyond frustrated because nothing in my life made the slightest bit of sense. I never understood why God allowed my dad, the only person who could help me, die before all the stuff with Ron and the Amaras happened. That was when I needed my father and his wisdom the most. He would have gotten through to me, but he was gone, and I was lost. I had to bury my father, my career, my relationship with Lizzie, and everything else in my life I cared about, six feet in the ground with my father. I was always told God worked in mysterious ways, but what he was doing to me seemed cruel, and not like him at all. I understood God going after evil people like the Amaras, since the things they did clearly made them enemies with God. But I didn’t understand why I had to be lumped in with his enemies. Was my oversight really that egregious that the lives of those Ron aided the Amaras in taking had to be a mill stone tied around my neck? Did I have to be condemned me to a loathsome and lonely life and apparently unavoidable dreaded fate?

There had to be something in that story I had overlooked. Or was it all just an elaborate smokescreen to keep me chasing my tail so I wouldn’t be able to stop Wrath from killing everyone? Maybe that had always been his goal. To send me down the rabbit hole while he killed the ones on his list until he got to me.

I wanted to yell at God about all the things I considered to be unfair in my life until my throat was hoarse, like I had done so many times in the past. My heart pounded, my muscles were primed, my grip tightened on the steering wheel. My eyes narrowed as I prepared to release a tirade of profanity as I stopped at the red light. I raised my fist to deliver another punishing blow to the steering wheel, but then an image of my father came to mind. He’d be so disappointed to see me in that moment. He had always taught me self-control was important for a man to have, and that I shouldn’t use the language I was about to use as a way to deal with problems. He told me if I didn’t like something, I needed to work to change it. If I wasn’t willing to put the time and effort into fixing the situation, I didn’t have a right to complain about it.

I sighed as I slowly brought my hand down and placed it on the steering wheel. I lowered my head, totally and completely ashamed of myself, not just for what I was about to do, but for so many things I had done since my dad had passed. I realized I had never truly tried to live for God, but I sure put on a good façade so I wouldn’t disappoint my father when he was alive.

At a stoplight, the words came pouring out. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I know I have failed you in so many ways, and that you have no reason to be here for me in my time of need. So, I will only ask you once, and if you don’t do anything for me, I completely understand. But Jesus, will you please help me?” I remained quiet, in complete desperation, as I waited for an answer from God. All I received was shock to the system when the car behind me sounded its horn signaling the light had turned green.

I continued in silence to wait for an answer from God as I drove around. I proceeded around the city in a haze of self-pity. I entered a part of town that had more family friendly things to do, and usually had a lot of people walking around. I slowed my pace and was extra cautious. At one point a young boy was playing on a sidewalk and unknowingly stepped into the street. I slammed on my brakes to keep from hitting him. The boy’s father ran and scooped him up and gave me a friendly wave as he returned to the sidewalk with his son. The dad knelt to check on his son, and I’m sure he reminded him in a loving and concerned way to not run off, especially onto a busy street. The scene reminded me of all the times I had done that when I was a kid, and my father would do the same thing with me. It also trudged up the heart-wrenching feelings of sadness at knowing those experiences with my father would never happen again.

It hit me then, out of nowhere, and as the light came on in my brain. I knew what I needed to do to be saved and stop Wrath from ending my life.

How could I have been so blinded to the answer that had been right before my very eyes all that time? Wrath told me he wasn’t going to spoon feed me the answer when we first met, but that was exactly what he had been doing all along. Everything Wrath had claimed to be was true, and that revelation also birthed a deep and horrifying fear of God I had never known before. I had my answer, and I needed to find Wrath right away. I also couldn’t risk being found by the Amaras