Page 50 of The Hunted

22

Raven

My scalp burns where Knox’s father yanks on my hair, dragging me down an old, crumbling set of stairs into a dank cellar. The cold moisture seeps through my bones, leaving goose bumps scattered across my flesh. A sob breaks free, despite how hard I try to keep it in. I don’t want him to feel any more powerful than he is. The noise must aggravate Vaughn. He stops abruptly, pulling tighter on my strands as he turns me to face him.

“Shut up, girl. Your cries mean absolutely nothing to me. Nothing. Not one fucking thing. Face it now. Your time in this game is limited.”

I sniffle, trying to regain control of my emotions.

This can’t be happening.

Where’s Knox?

I will not give in to my fear. Vaughn’s face is stone cold as he stares me down. Void of any emotion. Like a machine. Vaughn Bane is a terrifying man. Had I not known he killed his wife, he would still be frightening. His stern, controlled demeanor only adds to his iciness. His salt and pepper hair only hint at his age, but he’s still strong, that much is clear as he drags me along with little effort. Knox resembles him so much in build and appearance, except Vaughn has ice blue eyes.

Where Knox’s eyes swirl with heat, fire, and passion, his fathers are cold, flat, and lifeless.

Fitting.

We walk through a seemingly endless maze of crumbling tunnels, and I’ve long lost count of the turns. Finally, we reach a small door, and he pushes it open and yanks me inside.

My heart stops.

Scarlett.

My sister is here.

Her naked body tied to a chair is all I can see. I mentally take inventory of her. Her hands are bound behind her back. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the chair and ropes circle her abdomen securing her in place. Her once beautiful red hair is a snarled nest of filth and dirt.

Tears burn my eyes as I raise a shaky hand to my mouth.

Oh, my God. He’s killed her.

“Scar...” The sound of my voice is so faint, it barely registers as a whisper.

“Take off your clothes.”

I spin on him. The strands of hair in his grip pull and break free with my movement, but I don’t even register the pain. I punch him in the mouth.

“You sick, demented mother fucker!”

I scream as I lunge for him again. He tightens his hold on my hair, using it to pull me to the ground. He twists my hair in his hand, so tightly, tears sting my eyes, and then he drags me toward a wall.

I scratch and claw at the hand he has twisted into my hair but gain no purchase.

“Raven.”

That voice.

Her voice.

It stops every bit of fight within my body.

“Scarlett, you’re alive!”

Tears pour in torrents down my cheeks.

He hasn’t killed her.

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