AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Battling to keep my eyes open during the short drive, I’m relieved when I make it to the gate. Even more so when I find it open, allowing me to drive up to the house without the option of being turned away.
I pull to a stop in the driveway and climb from the blood-stained leather. Standing with a breathy grunt, I continue to take short, shallow breaths as I force myself up the front steps and onto the porch.
My arm trembles from the throbbing pain in my shoulder, causing my hand to shake as I press the button for the doorbell. Watching it shake, I realize that it’s covered in blood. Both of my hands are absolutely covered in the stuff.
It's practically pouring from my body, flowing down my arms, trickling from my fingers, and soaking my clothes.
Answer the fucking door…
…before I’m dead on your front step.
Pressing it again, I hold it with the same audacity that Michales rang mine earlier today.
“I’m coming,” Abigail calls from the other side of the door. The door opens, and her eyes immediately widen upon the sight of me. She swallows hard and takes a small step back, looking as though she desperately needs to put distance between the two of us.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I push out the words through the searing pain in my chest. Taking advantage of the small space she left on the threshold, I nudge her out of the way as I help myself into their home.
“Grant!” Her voice trembles with fear as she calls for him.
It takes only a second for him to react to her desperate call for him, and he joins us in the foyer almost instantly. With how protective he is of her, I’m surprised he didn’t come barreling into the hall to protect her from me. He pauses briefly when he sees me—I knew this was the last place I should have come—and I can easily read the disdain on his face.
He quickly positions himself between me and Abigail. Stepping toward him, I extend my bloody hand for a truce—or maybe support for my wavering body—and mumble, “I fucked up…”
“What the fuck are you doing here.” Grant scowls, ignoring my outstretched hand.
Grabbing my side, and struggling to stay on my feet, I take a shallow breath before answering him. “I know you fucking hate me, but I need your help.”
“I told you, kid,” he shakes his head, “I’m not cleaning up your messes anymore. You’re on your own.”
“It’s not…” The burning ache in my side is nearly unbearable, and I press my hand against the wound. Grunting at the self-inflicted pressure, blood oozes between my fingers. “They took her.”
“Took who?” Abigail steps around Grants as she questions me.
“Cora,” I struggle to answer as I fumble to pull my phone from my pocket. Offering it to Grant, I force out the words as my vision begins to blacken around the edges. “I need you to find her.”
Looking at Grant for a moment, Abigail hesitantly takes the phone from me. My bloody hands staining her porcelain skin as she slides it from my fingers.
“Please,” I cough out as my legs give way beneath me, and everything goes black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CORA
Coming to, my face is fucking killing me. Actually, my whole fucking head is killing me. I try to open my eyes, but it almost feels like one of them is glued shut.
You did get kicked in the fucking face, Cora.
Barely able to open the other, I struggle to see as I lean into the muscular chest I’m resting against. Running my fingers over the dress shirt, I whisper, “Samuel.”
His hand comfortingly rubs up and down my back, while lightly pulling me tighter to him. Carefully sweeping the hair from my tender face, he takes his time tucking it behind my ear as he whispers, “No, sweetheart.”
I startle at the voice—immediately placing it as the dark-haired man from the house—and he wraps his huge hands around me to keep me from moving. Both of his hands are on my skin, meaning I’m still completely bare as I sit on his lap. My only comforts come from the fact that he’s still fully dressed beneath me, and none of him is inside of me.
“Where is Samuel?” I struggle to ask, both for fear of the answer and the throbbing pain echoing through my skull that accompanies every syllable.
“Your boyfriend?” the blond scoffs from the driver’s seat of the car. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about him anymore. I’d be surprised if he didn’t bleed out before we got your limp body in the car.”
Fighting back the urge to scream in agony, tears silently roll down my cheeks. The salty droplets burn as they roll over the open wound on my cheek, but the pain they cause is nothing like the heavy feeling in my heart.
