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Multiple stab wounds to the victim's genitalia suggest some kind of sexual anger toward the victim. The victim has suffered multiple blunt-force trauma injuries to the stomach. There are no defensive wounds but burns around the victim’s wrist and ankles suggest she was tied down.
The victim’s head is unaccounted for. Marks around the neck suggest that the head was removed with some kind of large hand saw.
Wait. If her head was removed, how had they identified her?
Unless…
Can she be the one who is pulling all the strings? I can’t blame her if she is. My father murdered her family. Tortured her. Raped her. Forced her to bear his child. I’d want revenge too. I need to dig up her grave to know for sure. The coroner's report doesn’t mention any identifying marks, but Cora had a tattoo on her left arm of a golden eagle. The national bird of Albania, her home country. It’s been nearly ten years since her death, but I know my father had her embalmed. With any luck, the tattoo will still be there, just severely faded.
Hopefully.
If worse comes to worst, I can grab a DNA sample.
Sighing, I scoop the papers into a messy pile and stuff them into the folder. Maybe I can ask Adrian for his help. He wants to catch whoever it is as much as I do. There is no need for me to tell him about the girl. I’ll keep him in the dark about her until I’m certain he won’t use her. Svetlana had promised me she wouldn’t say a word.
“He isn’t the monster you paint him to be. My son does what is necessary, but it doesn’t make him heartless.”
When I’d told her he’d planned on selling me, she didn’t bat an eye.
Psychotic, the lot of them.
I stretch as I stand, my arms lengthening above my head as I yawn and walk to the window. The garden is always beautiful in the moonlight. It could be even better if there were solar-powered twinkle lights strewn throughout the mass of flowers to make it look like the night sky has fallen to earth.
A shadow passes by the window, but in the dim light, I can’t see who it is.
The guards don’t have another walkthrough for at least twenty minutes. I lean forward to peer through the window when I see it. A small, hooded figure holding a gas can in one hand and flipping a lighter in the other. It’s too dark for me to see the figure clearly above the nose. Their hood is pulled down too far and creates a dark shadow. But I can see the tilt of their lips into a cruel smile.
Feminine lips.
The figure strikes the zippo, grinning wider before tossing it toward the house.
Flames explode between us with an audible crack as the gasoline ignites. My breath freezes in my lungs as I stare at the wall of orange flame licking its way up the side of the house. The figure has disappeared. Too chicken shit to stick around to watch the chaos they created.
Was it her? Cora? How had she gotten past the guards at the front gate? Adrian has the most secure compound in Vegas. There's no way she could have gotten through—
The red willow tree.
There is a break in the fence line at the red willow tree where the properties split right down the middle. But even so, that's miles away from the house. Had she made her way here on foot? I can hear the alarms screeching from the hallway. Boots shuffling and people crying out. I need to get out of here.
With a backward glance, I rush toward the door flinging it open hard enough to dent the wall behind it. I freeze as I step through the doorway. The letters. I can't leave them behind. They're all I have to remind me of the version of Adrian I fell in love with. He may not be that boy now, but they show me he has the potential to be.
Grabbing my duffel bag, which is full of my old clothes still, I throw the letters on top and zip it up. Throwing it over one shoulder I haul ass out of the room just as an explosion hits the side of the building. I fall to my knees with a small cry. In a matter of minutes, smoke rises from the ground floor. Stumbling to my feet, I'm coughing and beginning to feel lightheaded.
Shit.
The fire is licking its way up the stairs. The explosion must have been from some kind of incendiary device on the first floor. I head back the way I came, into the bedroom. Shutting the door behind me I scramble for the window, smashing it open. The flames are climbing their way up the siding. They should be higher by now, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Adrian built his house with fire-resistant material.
Leaning out, careful to avoid the shattered glass, I sweep my gaze from side to side. There's no one here at the back of the house. Where are all the guards? Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and gather any courage I have. It's not much but it will have to do. Placing a sheet over the sill, I climb out of the bedroom window balancing precariously on the ledge as I straighten as close to my full height as possible.
There's only one way I'm getting out of this alive.
I have to climb to the roof.
The flames have already taken out most of the lattice to the right of the window but it's all I have. Hopefully, it's anchored enough at the top to support my weight. Another deep breath and then I start the terrifying task of climbing up to the roof. My body protests as I scale my way up. I am not necessarily unfit, but I'm definitely not friends with the gym.
Time seems to move agonizingly slow as I carefully plot out each step and handhold. Parts of the lattice are weak and disintegrating from their time in the sun. The further up to the roof I travel, the weaker the support becomes. Soon, I'm hauling myself over the lip of the roof collapsing on the still-warm shingles to catch my breath.
Flames are spreading out of the first-floor windows like tangled branches in the breeze, while smoke billows out of the second story. I need to find a way down. Carefully, I turn onto my stomach. Rising onto my hands and knees I slither up the roof, too afraid to stand up fully in case I was to pitch backward. I peer over the crest of the roof settling myself so that my feet are on either side.
