Page 80 of Bloodstained Wings
I push her hand away and growl. “Get the fuck out of my house. Now.”
Lilian tosses her dark hair over her shoulders and places both hands on her hips. “Is that any way to talk to the woman who cleaned your house and made you food?”
I wasn’t in the mood to play house, especially not with fucking Lilian, of all people.
She has no idea how much control I’m exerting right now. Or how much I want to hurt her for all the pain and damage she’s inflicted.
The world would be a better place without a journalist like Lilian fucking things up.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Lilian bridges the distance between us and bats her eyes at me. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
I take Lilian’s wrist in mine and drag her away in the direction of the door. Before I slam the door shut, I catch a brief glimpse of her stunned face. Then, I fish my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts.
Rich Donahue answers on the fifth ring, his voice pitched low.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“I’m at an auction. I’m looking for my sister.”
“I don’t care what the fuck you do with your spare time, but Isabela is missing, and I need more men out looking for her.”
“Fuck.” The loud cacophony of voices disappears as Rich moves somewhere quieter. “I’ll make a few phone calls and see what I can do.”
“You better.” I end the call without waiting for his response and throw my phone away. It crashes against the wall opposite me and breaks into a million little pieces. Then I grip the kitchen counter, throw my head back, and let out a loud, blood-curdling scream.
Whoever did this is going to wish they’d never been born.
***
Isabella
“I don’t know how to thank you.” I fidget in the backseat of the car and fold my hands in my lap. “I’ll find a way to pay you back, Rich.”
He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad I was able to put my money to good use.”
I shiver and try to push away the image of what could’ve happened.
If Rich hadn’t shown up when he had and bid on me using all the money at his disposal, I have no idea what would’ve become of me. But I know it wouldn’t have involved a hot meal, a clean shower, and being handed a pair of clean clothes.
Fuck.
Just the thought of what those men almost accomplished sends another tremor through me, and tears prick the back of my eyes. Hastily, I wipe them away and sit on my hands to hide my tremor. Outside the car, the world rushes past, barely distinguishable in the waning light of the moon. I swallow, bow my head, and squeeze my eyes shut.
“I go there sometimes to look for my sister,” Rich says in a low voice. He refuses to meet my gaze in the rearview mirror, and I don’t know why. “I know it’s stupid, and I know my chances of finding her are slim, but I can’t help myself.”
Both eyes fly open, and I lean forward in my seat. “How long has it been since your sister has gone missing?”
“A few years.” Rich’s voice is thick with emotion when he says this. He turns the wheel and pulls onto a small, well-traveled path that leads through a cluster of trees. The path stops in front of a pair of wrought-iron gates where a large house sits, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Wordlessly, Rich rolls the window down and twists sideways to punch a number into the screen.
The gate shudders to life, allowing us passage.
Once the car rolls to a stop, I push the door open and stumble out of the vehicle. I wince when my foot catches on something uneven, and I stumble forward. Rich hooks me by the waist and helps me right myself. In silence, he leads me through the front door and flicks the light on, revealing high-arched ceilings, a balcony with glass doors overlooking the woods, and an open-concept kitchen with modern appliances.
“I’m going to take a look at your wounds,” Rich murmurs before disappearing through a door on the right. Through the slit, I make out a bathroom, catching a glimpse of a sink and a glass shower stall. Rich reappears with his hair in tufts on top of his head and a first aid kid. Slowly, he takes my hand and leads me to the couch.
I don’t realize that I’m crying until he hands me a pack of tissues.
“I’m sorry.” I blow my nose and wince when he touches a piece of cotton on my raw skin. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”