Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Point me in a direction,” Cesare demanded.
Luckily, I knew exactly where I was going.
To a store full of various sharp and blunt objects I could use against the bastard who betrayed not only me and the whole Costa Family, but Ezmeray.
And that, well, that was unforgivable.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ezmeray
I thought I knew fear.
I’d certainly felt it far too many times during my life with Eren.
That cold, clammy sensation to my skin, the way it made my heart feel like it somehow both sped up and slowed down at the same time, the swirling discomfort in my stomach.
But it was a whole different beast when it wasn’t just me and my own wellbeing to worry about.
By the time I made it to my mother’s neighborhood, a cold sweat had broken out badly enough that my shirt was sticking to my skin as I actively kept needing to choke back the sick feeling rising up in my throat.
There was a quiet, rational voice in the back of my head telling me that I needed to be smart, that I had to wait for Brio.
But it was drowned out by the other voice, the one telling me that every single moment I didn’t act was a minute I could be saving my family, getting them to safety before something happened to them.
I should have known right away that something was wrong when the knob turned in my hand.
I mean, the area had been a little sketchy when I’d left, and judging by what I heard on the news since, it had only gotten rougher.
My mom never would have left the door unlocked.
When I was still living at home, it was a rule that we kept our apartment key on a chain around our necks, so we never risked being stuck outside if no one was home to let us in.
I doubted much had changed in the year and a half since I left.
What had changed, however, was the apartment itself.
It had always been a somewhat cluttered space.
Both my parents had inherited little heirlooms from their parents. Nothing of any value, of course, but trinkets and blankets and works of art, stuff that provided character. And, yes, made the walls feel like they were closing in.
But in a warm hug kind of way.
Now, though, the walls were bare. There were no knick-knacks on any of the shelves. Half the furniture was gone, as was the ancient record player that used to always be playing during dinner.
Of course, it was always possible that my mom and sister got sick of dusting everything, or developed a more minimalistic style.
My gut said no to that, though.
Too many of those items held sentimental value. Especially to my mother.
No, there was another reason it was all missing.
And the sick, swirling feeling in my stomach was telling me that it all stemmed back to the same bastards that had me rushing across town to my childhood home.
Eren had never held up his side of the deal.
And because he’d made sure I couldn’t have contact with my family, I had no idea. Not that knowing would have changed anything. He had always been the one with all the power.
My mind was reeling with those thoughts so loudly that I almost missed it.
A thumping sound from my sister’s room.
“Alara?” I called, making my way down the hallway. “Alara, it’s Ezmeray,” I added, walking past my mother’s room, but seeing no one in there. “Hellooo…” I called, tone sing-song, not wanting my first words to her to be filled with fear and uncertainty after so long being away.
It wasn’t going to be the reunion I wanted, but at least I could offer her a minute or two of pleasantries before I demanded she pack a bag and abandon the only life she’d ever known to go into hiding.
All thoughts of that flew out of my mind, though, as I stepped into the bedroom doorway.
And saw a stringy-haired man pinning my little sister to the bed.
Her wrists were bound with duct tape, and a swatch of it was over her mouth, muffling her cries as the fucker hiked up her skirt.
“You motherfucker!” I shrieked, charging into the room, arms swinging, pounding into the man’s head and face as he reared back away from my sister.
It wasn’t until blood gushed from his nose, sending him back a step that I was able to see clearly enough through my rage to place him.
“You,” I hissed, feeling my lower lip trembling. “Oh, you’re going to die really slowly. And really painfully when he finds out what you did,” I said, trying to grab my sister, to encourage her to get off the bed and run.
She got caught up in the comforter, but got down and behind me as I charged at the goddamn pawnshop owner again.
I never would have called myself a violent person before.