Page 7 of The King of Hearts

“No, he’s bringing them to the estate. He says it’ll be better for the mother. He’s worried she won’t do well around a lot of people.”

“I’ll have a room prepared,” I say. “What time are they expected to arrive?”

“Soon. They’re leaving the mainland with them now. Dr. Bale has been informed and will be there if either of them need medical attention.”

“Details on the situation?”

“He didn’t say,” Dad replies, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Only that he found them in the city. He’ll explain more once they get here.”

I nod.

Mom’s fingers tighten around his. “I’ll have Lea cook something light for the mother and make sure we have something for her daughter.”

“Thank you, sweets,” Dad replies.

I twist my fingers together, anxious for what’s to come, wondering and worrying about the mother and child and the condition they’ll arrive in. Especially the child.

I’ve seen and heard a lot of horror stories over the years, and with each one, my gut twists with pain and sickness for the victims. The world is a nasty place filled with people who like to prey on the innocent.

I wish they’d all die, and I want a hand in making that a reality.

CHAPTER THREE

HER

I’m in the kitchen with Lea, our cook, having helped her prepare a light meal for our upcoming guests, when there’s a commotion at the front of the house. My eyes meet hers as I drop the dish towel on the counter. Lea knows what’s coming, and we share a pained look before I rush out of the room.

Just as I reach the foyer, Dad’s pulling open the door. I come to a stop when my oldest brother, Bishop, walks in holding a woman. I know it has to be the mother, but I’m having a difficult time determining that fact. The woman in his arms is so small and frail that she could easily pass as a young teen.

I can’t see her face because it’s turned toward Bishop’s chest. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings with no shoes and an oversized t-shirt. The sleeves of the shirt come to her elbows, and purple and black bruises pepper the skin I can see. Her long blonde hair is a tangled mess and hangs over Bishop’s bicep.

Ryker comes in next, and my heart stutters to a stop when I see the child in his arms. Hair as blonde as her mother’s, andbody just as frail. The baby girl wears a pink nightgown with white flowers that goes to her knees. Her arms are bare, and her legs are exposed from the knees down. Thankfully, from what I can tell, there’s no marked flesh. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been touched in some way.

“Lead the way, Sav,” Dad says, pulling my attention to him.

I spin around and walk quickly to the stairs. Every few steps, I look over my shoulder. I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m worried they aren’t following.

I take them to the room that’s directly across from mine. It used to be Bishop’s. I chose it because it’s close to mine and has its own bathroom.

I walk to the queen-sized bed, keeping out of the way so Bishop can lay the woman down. Ryker goes to the other side and gently lays the little girl beside her mother. I thought about having a youth bed delivered, but I figured the mother would want her child close to her. Especially considering we don’t know what trauma either of them have endured.

When Bishop steps back, I get my first look at the woman’s face. Bile rises in my throat when I see the condition she’s in. Bruises of all sizes and colors cover every inch of her porcelain skin. One eye is swollen shut and is crusted with so much blood and bodily fluid that she probably couldn’t open it anyway. There’s a gash near the corner of her mouth that looks like it might need stitches, and her nose appears to be broken. Deep red lines in the shape of fingers mark her neck.

My gaze flies to the little girl lying beside her. She’s on her side, her sweet, innocent face free of any signs of abuse.

Mother and child appear to be sleeping, but I don’t really know for sure. They could have been drugged. Whatever the case may be, they’re safe now in their unconscious state.

Only a fraction of the tightness in my chest loosens. There’s no telling what this mother and child’s story is, but something tells me this isn’t the first time they’ve been in trouble.

One thing I do know, they’ll never be hurt like this again. The Raven Group will ensure it.

I turn and face the rest of the room and find Bishop standing behind me, a little off to the side. He stares at the bed with his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes taking in the woman and child. To most people who don’t know him, he would appear calm and detached. It’s the slight pulsing of the thick vein in his neck and the barely noticeable tightening of his eyes that give away his true feelings.

He’s angry.

No, he’s livid, enraged even, and looks on the verge of mass destruction.

I don’t blame him. I’d love nothing more than to wedge a blade into the heart of the person who did this. To watch the life fade from their eyes.

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