Falling with Grace - Page 179

His fingers tightened. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you. I thought I heard you speak out of turn, but that couldn’t be…my little one obeys me.” He released his hold on my hair and pet me like a dog. “Doesn’t she?”

I sneered, his front to my back.

He shook me, his fist clenching against my scalp. “Doesn’t she?”

“Yes.” My hushed words reached my ears as Miguel stepped into the room, his eyes rounded and heavy, a handgun tight in his palm.

“Good girl.”

No.

No.

Andrés shoved me to the ground as Miguel passed him the weapon.

“I’m sorry. Andrés. Please.” I crawled on my hands and knees. My lips pressed against his boots just how he liked it. “It was me. Don’t blame them.”

“Sit up, Grace.”

Every muscle in my body tensed, my legs quivering, my hands pressed together in prayer—prayer to a God who’d given me a taste of heaven only to rip it from my grasp.

“I want you to see why you should never try to leave me again.”

My cheeks trembled as I fought the ache.

Rachel cried, her head bowed, her shoulders shaking.

“It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry—”

Bang.

I screamed, my entire body startling into mid-air.

Bang.

I sprang to my feet, fists swinging. “You bastard.”

Two shadows materialized behind me, their vice-like grips yanking me backward by my arms.

Andrés snarled, his hand sailing through the air. “You dare to hit me.” Spittle sprayed from his clenched teeth, the back of his hand connecting with a resounding crack against my cheek.

The bite of copper exploded in my mouth.

His hands rained down on me, a relentless storm of blows assaulting my body. Each punch found its mark – my stomach, ribs, and face.

The room spun in a spiraled dance, my moans a macabre symphony. My legs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor, the men’s hold slipping from my arms.

Andrés huffed above me, his face red, his head shaking with rage. “They were always going to die.” He pointed at me as he bent over. “No one leaves me without my say so. Not even you.”

He loomed over me, forcing my gaze towards the lifeless captives slumped against the wall. “Look at them. This is your doing, Grace. You could’ve stopped this.”

Little Rachel’s blood dripped down the wall, staining her sandy-colored hair. Duarte’s corpse shifted, and his shattered head made a wet plop against the floor.

“Will you ever leave me again, Grace?”

My gaze shifted to Miguel, who winced before concealing the pistol back in his trousers. I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks, my lip swollen and cut. “No, sir.”

“No, you won’t.”