His Twisted Heart by Ellie R Hunter
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Victoria
Flickers of an old, abandoned office are the first thing I see as I struggle to open my eyes and keep them open. My head rolls to the side, and my eyes fully open when I see Mom tied to a chair. Jerking forward, I don’t get far. Trying to move arms is a fail. Looking down at myself, I’m too tied to a chair. We’re not the only ones. My whole family is here, bar Grandpa. Though where here is, I don’t know.
We’re positioned in a circle, and I have a view of everyone. Both my brothers clearly fought back against whoever took us, judging by the bruises and split lips. Mom looks untouched, but Dad has dried blood plastered against his hairline, and his chin is resting on his chest. What the hell is going on?
“Don’t be afraid,” Mom mouths.
Strangely, I’m not scared. So far, this is nothing like Ellis tormenting us, and it’s hard to believe anything will top that night in the fear department.
In all my years, I’ve seen more than I should have, thanks to the club. I’ve learned that when people want you dead, they kill you. If they want to send a message or negotiate a deal, they keep you around, tied up in dingy rooms.
Concentrating on Mason’s moving lips, I try to figure out what he’s saying to Myles. All I get is fragments. Grumps… dead man… Haywards.
Blowing out a long breath, my cheeks balloon with relief. Maybe it’s the shock, or perhaps it’s the faith in the club I have, but whatever it is, the level of fear I should have isn’t there.
In place of fear is an anger, ranging from a simmer to a boil. I’m always going to be connected to the club, but whoever has us only went after me and my mom, because we’re only seen as women, and in this world, women are classed as weak and easy targets. I’m sick and tired of being used to get at men because of men.
The door opens off in the corner, and two men wearing ski masks walk in. I have no chance of trying to read their lips, their masks not showing much of their mouths through the slits.
There’s nothing descriptive about the pair. One goes over to my dad and nudges him until he stirs. My heart races with joy, seeing him waking up.
The other walks over to Mason and presses a phone to his ear. His eyes widen, and his mouth moves too fast for me to keep up.
The call lasts for all of a minute, then the two guys walk out of the room.
Jerking my chin to get his attention, I make a face, asking silently what the call was about.
He mouths, “Cas.”
At least the club knows we’re all missing for sure now. No one’s dead yet, and contact has been made with the club. Hope we’ll get to go home rises.