Page 100 of Where Angels Fall

“You did it,” he murmurs, tying off another strip of material to the wound. “Let’s go find him, hey?” Is the last thing I hear before he scoops me into his arms and pulls me against his warm, hard body.

Chapter 32

Ash

The house, or should I say mansion, looms in front of me like a silent monster. Drops of rain spatter my face as I walk up the staircase of my angel’s childhood home.

Blood from the security guards drip over the white marble, their throats nothing but an open wound. It almost looks pretty, the red against the stark white.

The door clicks open easily, and I punch in the alarm code that Leon gave me before shutting it behind me, closing myself into this grand space.

It takes me a second to process where I am. In the den of an animal, built by Howard Dally himself. But also, in the place where my sweet girl was raised.

It’s grander than I could have even imagined, the foyer bigger than the entire club. Pristine floors and huge vases, staircases that lead to higher levels. Artworks that I’d bet cost millions, hang in huge golden frames.

It would almost be impressive if it wasn’t paid for by the suffering of others. A fact I’m sure my angel is learning at this minute. My heart breaks for her, hurting and suffering at the hands of Zeke. If he has told her about her father, then I’m not sure if she’ll even be whole again when I find her.

But it’s okay. I’ll put her back together. I’ll never let anyone else hurt her for as long as she lives.

My footsteps echo in the open space as I make my way towards the man’s office, not bothering to be quiet. The deaths of the security out the front is only the start, my skin itches for more. Violence has swarmed my head ever since I saw that video. I watched it over and over until eventually the laptop ended up crumpled on the floor after I threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Now... I’m doing something about it.

A piercing scream fills the air, and I smile.

“The luminous Mrs Dally,” I sigh, looking over at the woman.

Her eyes are glassy; an empty wine glass sits on the small table next to her couch. My eyes narrow on the woman, who looks very similar to my angel. Blonde hair, dark eyes. Porcelain skin. Except this woman has lines of weariness and age that go beyond years. A sort of blank look that I fought out of my angel's eyes.

Looking at this woman, I can almost pity her. What a life it must have been, being married to Howard Dally. But the emotion doesn’t form. She could have protected Maddison. Could have done literally anything. She chose to drink and numb.

She chose Howard over her own daughter.

She chose weakness.

And it’s just not fucking good enough when it comes to my angel.

“Howard!” her shaky voice yells out. “Howard, get in here!”

She goes to stand, but my hand wraps around my gun in seconds and points it at her. “You can stay sitting,” I murmur coldly.

She whines a pathetic noise as she falls back on the couch, her hand clutching over her heart like this is the worst thing she’s ever gone through.

I can assure you, it’s not.

You don’t marry a man who is involved in the vilest business without seeing some horrendous shit.

Her reaction bores me. I want her on her knees, begging for mercy. But I’m not the person she should be doing it to.

When no response comes, she yells out again, louder and shriller this time. The sound shatters through my ears, and I can’t help but scowl. Footsteps finally sound through the corridor which I know leads to his office.

“For God’s sake, Evelyn...,” Howard sighs as he rounds the corner, his voice cutting off the instant his eyes widen on me. He looks over my shoulder, presumably looking for the security that I already killed, before glaring back at me. “What do you want?”

I fake a pout, turning my gun on him. “Do you recognise me?” I ask because I can’t help myself.

It was less than twenty-four hours ago when I saw him, pointing my gun at his daughter.

His face is a cold, hard thing as he lifts his chin and grits his jaw. For the first time, he looks... he looks weak. His usual salt and pepper hair is mussed, as if he’s run his hands through it, and his face looks withered. Could it be possible that he’s stressed about his daughter’s disappearance?

I push that thought out, because knowing the person Howard is, I know for a fact that it isn’t the truth.