The first thing I notice is a drop of blood on the cream colored sheets. It has me moving forward fast enough for the girl to notice even with her eyes closed.
“I’m Eian.” I make myself speak softly to her. “What’s your name?”
“Au-Aurora,” she stutters through her harsh breaths, but when she looks at me and I see those eerily green eyes, there’s no pain there.
She’s not crying, doesn’t look like she’s been crying either, and that’s harder on me than if she were.
What has she gone through thatthisdoesn’t make her cry?
“I know he hurt you, but can you tell me if he injured you?”
“He twisted my arm but I think it’s just sore, and I have a cut on my leg. It’s small though.” Her monotone words aren’t... that’s not how she’s supposed to...
Problem for another day, I decide.
“Where did James take you from?” I ask her. I need to get her back home before?—
“What do you mean?” She looks innocently confused.
“He kidnapped you, so?—”
“No he didn’t,” she interrupts, and even if they believe I’ma useless, spoiled brat, no one has ever interrupted me before who isn’t my family.
She can’t know who I am, though.
“He’s my father,” she tells me, matter-of-factly. “And I’m fine. I need to go back home and check on Duffy.”
She bunches up the sheet around her and moves to stand so decisively that I only spring up when she’s almost at the doorway.
“Wait,” I call out. “James is your father?” I ask, just to make sure. I didn’t fucking know he had a daughter. And is Duffy her dog or something?
“Yes,” she says simply. There’s something missing behind her eyes, but I can’t let her leave like this and walk around the city or try to get a cab to wherever she lives, with only Mac’s coat over her shoulders and a sheet draped around her.
“I’ll take you to your home, please wait.” Asking nicely feels foreign outside of my house.
Mac comes back then.
“Blake’s here. He’s loading them up into the van.”
“Okay, tell him to take them to the bunker, and get the car.”
I look around and find tattered clothes, and when I pick up the fabric I realize it’s a torn shirt.
“Aurora, we’ll take you home.” And figure out what the fuck is going on there for James to have brought her here without anyone—like her fucking mother—having put a stop to it. “Let’s find you some clothes and shoes.”
She doesn’t protest at all, just quietly gets dressed in the pair of jeans she finds under the bed and grabs the sandals that were by the wall.
I stare at the dark-green wall and stew, fantasizing about how much pain I’m going to put James through before he meets his maker.
“Until I come back,you’re in charge,” I tell Frida. She looks over my shoulder at Aurora, worry in her eyes, and though I can’t blame her, I need her to focus. “You know how to run this place?” I demand.
Her dark eyes snap up to me.
“Y-yes.” She nods once and keeps her gaze level on me.
That’s good. I might keep her in charge, but again, a problem for another day.
“If anyone gives you shit”—I hand a gun to her—“you point and shoot. Then you drag the fucker to an empty room and wait for us to come back, okay?”
