Page 89 of Together We Burn
“First Ronan,” she said, the hint of sadness for her dead son she’d had that night at the warehouse now gone. “Then Nissaney and Martinez.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and tutted. “Forcing me to hire investigators to find and retrieve my grandson for me.” She slowly pulled off the ridiculous long white gloves she’d matched to her dress. “You’ve cost me a great deal of money.”
“Blame Will,” I replied coldly. “After all, he sets my assignments. If you have an issue with my performance, take it up with management.”
Emilia’s nostrils flared the way Will’s did when he was mad. It was remarkable how similar these two psychos were to each other. A comparison before last week I would never have made.
The slap landed across my cheek before I had time to anticipate it. My eyes closed as the sting radiated up the side of my face, making my eyes water. With a sneer, I slowly opened my eyes to look at her, lifting my thumb to wipe the corner of my lip, split by that fucking massive diamond ring she wore.
“Doesn’t matter now,” she said, swallowing down her rage but gripping her gloves with white knuckles in one hand. “I might not have Nathaniel, but I have the next best thing.”
My eyes burned into her as she pulled out her mobile phone from between her boobs. Clicking the screen, it lit up, and she smiled down at the image before showing it to me.
Chris, scared and held by two men built like brick houses, their gaits menacing, filled the display. My pulse rocketed, whooshing filled my ears as blood hammered around my body, and my lungs burned as I stopped breathing.
Darting my gaze across the screen, I noted the date stamp–31 Oct 2022, 20:47.Tonight. Less than an hour ago.
“No,” I whispered, my hand lifting on its own accord and trying to take her phone. Emilia held it to her chest with another condescending tut. I snapped, wrapping my hand around her neck and digging my nails into her throat. Her eyes bulged in horror as my grip tightened.
Panicking, she dropped her phone and clutched both hands around my wrist, trying to pull my hold from her. But I was stronger than her. Even if I weren’t, the adrenaline and fear that fuelled me at this moment would have helped crush her windpipe beneath my fingers, squeeze the life out of her, and watch as she turned blue from lack of oxygen.
This won’t help you get Chris back.
Immediately, I released her, pushing her to the side and running for the door. The skirt of my dress clung to my legs as I darted down the corridor toward the ballroom in search of Will. But I wasn’t going fast enough until I reached for the hem of the dress and tugged hard.
The nosy old lady who accosted me earlier turned the corner and smiled when she noticed me.
“Oh, dear, what happened to your dress?”
“It’s fine,” I grated, continuing to tear the skirt to no avail. I huffed a lock of hair out of my eyes and reached under the dress to the thin blade strapped to my thigh. The old woman gasped as I widened my stance and stabbed the knife into the skirt, tearing down the material in one smooth rip.
“What are you doing?” the old lady cried, touching the wrist of the hand I held the knife in as beads pinged across the tiled floor. “Your beautiful dress!”
She was right to be upset about my reckless treatment of my dress, but beautiful dresses meant shit when my sister was in trouble. I brushed her hand off me and took off running down the hallway, my heels echoing with every step.
Shoving the double doors open, I burst into the room, my eyes frantically searching for Will or Jake, neither of which I could see at first glance. Sweat slicked the palms of my hand, my throat ached at the pressure of trying not to succumb to the increasing fear that was tightening around my heart.
Where were they?
Several people stared, their gazes judging my dishevelled appearance, but they could all go to hell. God fucking knew I was there right now.
Finally, I noticed Will standing with his back to the dancefloor, spinning a glass of scotch in his hand. I lunged forward, coming to his side and gripping his shoulder, and as I turned him to face me, confusion knitted his brows together.
“She’s got Chris,” I panted, digging my nails into his suit jacket.
Strong hands held my hips as Jake appeared at my back. Nausea and dizziness surrounded me, making my hands shake as I clung to Will’s arm, desperate for him to do something.
“Stefany, what happened?”
I twisted in Jake’s hold, patting the outside of his tux, then shoving my hands into the inside pocket to retrieve his phone. My fingers shook as I tried to unlock it, each time missing the correct combination of numbers.
Jake took his phone from my hands and unlocked the screen with his thumbprint. Sixty-two missed calls from Alex flashed on the home screen. I snapped my head to Will, looking at his phone, his stone-cold exterior softening marginally as he looked up.
“Ninety-seven missed calls.”
This wasn’t happening.
Not Chris.
Not my baby sister.
