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I’m yanked to my feet as I look anywhere but at the bodies that lie on the floor at my feet. I look at the men, but the one in the back catches my attention. It’s a woman. She’s small. I can tell by the way she holds herself. She isn’t involved in this. Why? Why is she here?
“I’ll kill you all,” I gasp as my body screams in pain. I’ve never felt this kind of pain in my life. The abuse continues. I’m beaten until I’m barely conscious. Visions of my girls flash behind my eyes. Visions of them happy and smiling. My body is dropped to the floor; there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel numb. The pain is gone as I drift in and out of consciousness.
Finally, the pain subsides, and there is nothing but darkness.
Chapter 6
Kyla
Iwaited until everyone was busy before I came back to the house. I couldn’t help it. The look in his eyes killed me. He was so helpless. But he also knew more than he was letting on. I could see the look in his eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling us. Something he knows.
When I walk in, he’s still lying on the floor where we left him. The bodies of the others are gone, which is what my father wanted.
The blood has since been cleaned up while he lies there unconscious. I make my way past him and through the house taking in everything I see. My stomach recoils when I see the daughter’s room. That should have never happened. They didn’t have orders to kill them. Not that my father cared. He didn’t, but he wanted the infamous Mystic alive. He isn’t done with him yet. This isn’t over.
I find laptops and bring them into the kitchen, where I sit at the table and open them up. I can’t get in. Password protected, and he’s smart. No one could get through these security measures. I sigh as I close the laptop and look over at the man. He should have woken by now. I stand from the chair, kneeling next to him, and check for a pulse. There is one. He isn’t dead. I brushed the shaggy hair from his face, noting the severity of what the guys had done to him. It’s bad. I know it’s bad. Blood coats his flesh as I stand and walk to the kitchen, grabbing a rag and wetting it. I walk back over and kneel in front of him, wiping the blood from his face. I clean him up the best I can until his eyes flutter open. They come to meet mine, and they hold there.
“Yasmine,” he whispers as I shake my head.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not here,” he says softly.
“She’s gone.”
“Where is she?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why?”
“I wish I knew that too,” I tell him. I don’t know why they were killed. I thought he would surely die, but they weren’t done with him yet.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Kyla,” I tell him. “I need your help.”
“You were here,” he wheezes. I can almost guarantee his ribs are broken.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I tell him. That’s a lie. I shouldn’t have been here. I shouldn’t have come along. I didn’t want to see those innocent women murdered for nothing. My heart hurts for him and what he had to see and endure.
“Why are you here?”
“I need your help.”
“Wha … what makes you think I’ll help you?” he asks.
“You need my help too.”
“With what?” I reach for him and help him into a sitting position watching him as he sways back and forth. He’s pretty messed up from what the guys did to him.
“They took the bodies. I know where they are,” I tell him. His eyes shoot to mine, and that’s where they hold. I can see the torment, the anger, the sadness, the guilt in him. I can feel it. And I hate it. I hate it had to happen that way. I hate that things went down the way they did.
“They took them?” he asks, glancing around through swollen eyes. When he doesn’t see any blood or bodies, he slumps over.
“I’m sorry.”
“You were with them?”
