Page 16 of Sold to the Investor

I freeze in shock. Never in his episodes has he resorted to hitting me. Maybe because I was so quick to soothe him in the past.

Before I can recover from the hit, he delivers a punch to my side. I curl into a ball as he starts to kick my side and back. The image of Grayson flashes in my mind, as if he’s giving me support. I summon my inner strength and slam my leg into Daryl’s thigh with all my energy.

It works, and I watch him crumble to his knees. There’s surprise on his face at my strength, and before he realizes, I stand and dash for the kitchen. I need to find a weapon to protect myself and ward Daryl off. If it comes to it, I’ll stab him.

The thought surprises me. Since when have I been capable of such violence? I’m not proud of it, but I’d rather protect myself than allow my brother beat me up.

I hear him stampeding behind me, and as I turn around to see how close he is I crash into a kitchen stool. “Argh!”

Daryl catches me and drags me back to the living room by my hair. I scream. The pain is excruciating, and I kick frantically into empty air. He quickly maneuvers his body and sits on top of me, pinning my hands with his knees.

I’m helpless now. He delivers two hard slaps to my face and there’s a loud ringing in my ears. Everything starts to turn hazy. I can’t give up now.

Suddenly I hear a loud bang.

Grayson’s home.

Chapter Eight

Grayson

I drive my car up the driveway almost absentmindedly. Damien and I checked out the house where we thought Daryl might be staying, and we interrogated his drug dealer—forcefully. But Daryl wasn’t there, and hasn’t been seen in a few days. So the whole trip feels like a waste of time.

Time that could have been better spent with my Sophia.

I can tell that Sophia’s still very worried about Daryl. I’ve had Damien investigating him, the people he owes money, and any other trouble he might be involved in—and I also just want to keep tabs on him. From Sophia’s story, it’s clear that Daryl depends on her, no matter what she thinks. I believe he will start looking for her sooner or later.

I’ll give Damien a few days, and if Daryl’s still missing, I’ll start getting more involved in the search myself. I don’t like the thought of not knowing where the bastard is at all times.

I park my car and climb out, happy to breathe the same air as my woman. As I reach the entrance, I hear Sophia’s scream. My senses come alive and I go rigid. The cold predator takes over. My thoughts and actions are in precision as I kick down the door and rush in.

Sophia is sprawled on the floor and there’s a strange man astride her, hitting her. For a second, my heart stops. She isn’t moving!

My mind blanks and I fly into a murderous rage. My fury is a burning lava. Who dares to touch my woman? My reason for breathing. I lunge at the man before he can bring his filthy hands down on her again.

He crashes to the floor, away from Sophia. I’m barely thinking now.

I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him…The words are on a loop in my head. There’s shock on his face. Before he can recover, I swing a powerful punch across his face and then follow that up with another. My mind is in a haze. I keep punching until he’s powerless and feeble, and even then I don’t stop.

Sophia is weeping in the background. “Grayson, please stop, you’ll kill him, please!” she says through her tears.

And though I hear her, I can’t process the words. I just keep swinging my fist.

How dare he? I’ll kill him for hurting Sophia.

Then Sophia grabs my hand as I try to throw another punch. “Please stop, he’s my brother. Don’t kill him,” she sobs.

That takes all the fight out of me. I look down at my bloody fist and then at the man on the floor. His face is all messed up, and I doubt he’s conscious. So this is the scum that sold Sophia to the auction house to settle his own debts? The same man who made her life miserable in the name of looking after her? I feel my anger rising afresh, but I manage to keep it in check.

“He’s my brother,” Sophia repeats, still sobbing.

I stop and catch my breath for a second. “Did he hurt you?” I ask her.

She stares numbly, but I don’t need her response. It’s evident on her face. There are imprints of hands on her cheeks. I wonder if I’ll find marks all over her body too, and it’s enough for another surge of anger to rush through me.

“Please,” she pleads softly, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Her brother groans on the floor and tries to get up, but he doesn’t seem to be able to move yet.

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