Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Allegra.” My heart pounds against my chest. Nothing. “Little Moth?” I ask more gently.
At that she stops her rocking, if only momentarily. That’s something.
“It’s me, Little Moth. It’s Cassian.” Nothing. “Look at me, babygirl. Look at me. It’s me. You’re safe now.”
At that she lifts her face, her mouth open, lips cracked, her eyes huge with terror. I touch her face, and she blinks, but her eyes don’t quite focus on me.
“You’re safe now, Little Moth,” I repeat because she seems to understand that, to register something in the pet name it’s become. “You’re safe.”
She starts her rocking again, whimpering, muttering. Her gaze moves back to that rag and my stomach twists at the thought of what I’ll find. Of what he might have done to her.
I crouch down in front of her. “Allegra, shh. It’s okay now. I’m going to take care of you now.”
She’s still muttering, rocking, eyes locked on that rag.
“Let me look. Let me see.” My heart thuds heavy against my ribs. She’s alive, I tell myself. Whatever else he did, she’s alive.
I reach for her hands, but she shakes her head, draws back.
“Shh. I’ll fix everything, I promise. You’re safe now, Little Moth. You’re safe,” I keep repeating.
Her resistance when I cup my hands gently around hers gives way and I’m not sure if it’s relief or she simply has no more strength, no more energy.
Footsteps at my back have me dropping to one knee to block her from sight. I half turn, my weapon aimed, my finger ready to pull the trigger.
“Whoa relax, man.” It’s Jet. He looks beyond me to her, his brow creasing.
I turn back to Allegra. She’s still holding that rag, eyes locked on it again, muttering again.
“It’s going to be all right,” I tell her, setting the gun and flashlight down to gently take her hands in mine.
She starts to shake her head, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Shh,” I coax, and draw that rag away and the instant I do, Allegra screams a deafening scream, her entire body shaking violently as I hold her hands in mine looking at what’s inside it. At what he did to her.
She screams and screams and screams.
9
CASSIAN
“Jesus Christ.” I shift my gaze up to look at her face, her eyes. They’re huge and locked on that bloody rag. That filthy, bloody rag.
“Fuck,” comes Jet’s voice.
I push my hand into my hair. Something clinks onto the ground. I look down to watch a ring roll a small distance then come to rest.
“Shh now,” I say, letting her hand go, pulling my shirt out of my slacks and ripping as much of it as I can get. It’s cleaner than that rag. “Shh, babygirl.” I close the makeshift bandage over her hand as gently as I can, but she still cries out when I do it and that tightening in my chest of earlier, it’s back and it’s closing up my throat. I look at her face, her wet face, her searching eyes locked on me now.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
“I’m here now, babygirl. I’m here. I’m going to take you home now. I’m going to take you home and I’m going to fix everything,” I promise although I’m unsure I can fix anything at all.
Wrapping one arm around her, I pick up the old rag she was cradling her hand in and register the new blood with the old. I shove it into my pocket, that twisting in my chest expanding into my gut and morphing into regret then fury. I pick up the ring and push it into my pocket.
“Shh, babygirl. I’m going to take you home now.” I slide my other arm under her knees. She just cradles her bloody hand, staring at it again, in shock or worse. Or maybe she’s reliving the hell she survived five years ago. The work her father began. The work Malek Lombardi continued.
I rise slowly, careful to be gentle with her. I ignore the screaming pain in my shoulder.
“Soldiers?” I ask, not looking away from her, but registering the quiet. The gunfire has stopped.
“Dead. There were half a dozen. You’re shot, Cassian,” Jet says.
“Flesh would.” I grit my teeth against the pain.
“Doesn’t look like a flesh wound.”
“Yeah, well she lost a finger, so that takes fucking priority, doesn’t it?” I snap, angry. Furious. Furious at myself. At Malek. At this fucking world.
Allegra begins her whimpering in my arms.
“Shh, Little Moth.” She looks up at me and I imagine she looked a lot like this five years ago. A child lost, now a woman lost. “I’m going to take you home now. No one is going to hurt you ever again.”
Her gaze moves to something beyond me. I follow it to a small table beyond. On that table is what looks to be an old, stained butcher’s block. Wedged in that block is the butcher’s knife.