Broken by His Hand - Piper Stone Page 0,83
of her detailed information, accusations she presented with data to back them up. I was floored, uncertain what to think. “Where did you get this information? Who the hell are you talking about? Roger? Are you serious?”
When I heard nothing, I jerked the phone from my ear, ready to pitch the damn thing across the room. My entire body shaking, I quickly found some clothes, trying to process what she’d told me. Why the hell hadn’t Michael figured this out? I shoved the phone in the back pocket of my jeans before yanking suitcases from my closet, grabbing handfuls of clothing from both the closet and the dresser. Suddenly, it became urgent to talk to Michael, to tell him what Clarissa had discovered.
A toiletry bag in my hand, I rushed into the bathroom, pulling my hair into a ponytail before grabbing some of my makeup and shoving it into the bag. My hands were shaking as I attempted to tug the zipper on the small duffle. I needed clarification from what Clarissa had told me. There were too many dangling details, the uncertainty I felt only tempered by the events that had occurred.
Michael would figure it all out. I had faith in him.
A slight shudder crisscrossed down my spine as I dragged the bags into the hallway, managing to carry them down the stairs. As I thought about what else I should bring, an odd stench drew my attention toward the kitchen. Dropping the bags, I shifted closer, the hackles raised on the back of my neck, the stink becoming more prominent. The smell hadn’t been here when we’d arrived.
Taking every step slowly, I crept into the room, my eyes falling on the kitchen table. The roses from before were still in position, but placed next to them was another vase, one colored in black, flowers crowding the limited space.
Dead roses, their blackened buds drooping down as they gave in to their... death.
I slapped a hand across my mouth, my heart racing as I scanned the room, unable to detect any sign of entrance. How had these fuckers gotten on my kitchen table? Had Marko actually brought them inside? No, that wasn’t possible. I’d locked the front door after Michael had left. While every part of me screamed to get the hell out of the house, I was drawn to the small card positioned in front of the vase.
What in the hell?
Inching closer, I listened for any sounds. Other than my heartbeat echoing into my ears and the sound of the refrigerator clicking on and off, there was nothing out of the ordinary. As I picked up the card, I could no longer think or breathe, the words written in red. Blood red.
You should have learned. Now, you will pay.
With. Your. Life.
Jerking back, I took a deep breath before turning to race toward the door.
“Hello, Sophia. Have you been waiting for me?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking away the one thing that Michael adores. You.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael doesn’t understand the meaning of family or loyalty. Because my father gave his entire life only to be shut out of everything.”
Scanning the room quickly, I tried to find anything that would provide protection. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
He smiled, yet his eyes held a haze unlike anything I’d ever seen. “Sadly, you’re not going to find out.”
His deep voice penetrated the space, the knife in his hand glistening in the moonlight. As I backed away, he lunged, wrapping his other hand around my throat, a cloth shoved over my mouth and nose.
No. No! I attempted to scream as I struggled in his arms, shoving my elbows into his chest. I wasn’t going to allow him to take me. I refused to... I... I...
* * *
Michael
“Get into her house now!” I barked into the phone as I sped down the highway. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as I attempted to get to Sophia. I heard Marko’s aggressive growl before the phone dropped the call. “Tell me what you know,” I snapped at Christopher. I brought him knowing I needed the muscle. I’d also seen the look on his face after peering at the name, one that was far too coincidental.
He snapped a clip of ammunition into his weapon before answering. “Daniel Samuels was a member for at least fifteen years when our father ran the club. From what I could find, he maintained a significant presence in the club until his death