BOUND TO HIM (Book II: Captured series)

28. Victor

I was seven when the world stopped making sense.

The sky had been so damn blue that morning. I remember it too well—blue like the toy race cars I used to hoard in a shoebox under my bed. I’d lined them up by color that day, right along the edge of the windowsill. Red, black, green, blue.

I’d thrown a tantrum, begged Mom to let me stay home. 

“Just this once,” I whined, clinging to her arm like a lifeline.

She caved, smiling the way only she could. The kind of smile that made everything feel safe—even when it wasn’t.

And then she was gone. No final words. No goodbye. Just a sheet pulled over her face and a doctor telling us, “It was instant.”

But it wasn’t.

Not for me.

They said the car spun three times. Spun. Like that was supposed to make it easier to understand why there was blood on the dashboard and why she didn’t come home.

I lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. Not because I needed it; in fact, I hated the taste of smoke. But Costello always smoked. And now sometimes—I don’t know—I do things I would’ve hated before.

Like sedating my sister and loading her unconscious body into the back of a black SUV. What I hated the most was that not once did I hesitate as I watched her struggle right before she got injected. My hands didn't even shake as it held onto her limp body and got her settled inside the vehicle. I felt like a monster, like some part of Costello was slowly soaking into me—drop by poisonous drop.

I stared at her through the mirror. She looked so peaceful and serene that it made my stomach twist.

She had no idea that I had men following us. She probably thought that we both were in danger. It was so like Elle to ask me to run. Even as kids, she had always been my first line of defense, one that never gave up and never failed. 

But I wasn't a kid anymore, and it's about time I repay her for everything she's done for me, “I’ll protect you now.”

Because Logan surely can’t.

A few weeks ago…

The warehouse had smelled like rust and rot. Costello was barely breathing, slumped in the chair like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood crusted along his jaw, one eye sealed shut. He looked like death, like a corpse in chains from one of those horror movies Elle loves to watch. But he still smiled when I stepped into the room.

“Takes one to know one,” he rasped, the chains around his wrists clinking with each movement.

“You said you had proof” My words were firm, I wasn't here for deceit. And I definitely didn't have time for his games.

He raised his head. “Your mother’s death? The McKenzie's ordered it.”

My stomach dropped.

“The brakes were cut in her car. It was a way of teaching Malcom a lesson, showing him his place. Your mother was collateral damage” He added, almost as if he was enjoying himself.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. I’d buried that suspicion for years because there was no reason anyone would want my mother dead. She was the kindest and gentlest person. I wanted it to be wrong. But something in me knew—The day I'd met Logan, I had sensed it first. He was quiet in a creepy way, only spoke and let out what was absolutely needed. His eyes are always calculating, judging. Too in control.

How did Elle even fall for a man like him, I couldn't fathom. Maybe it was because Elle had grown too lonely. For me she'd always keep her guard up but when it came to her own well being, she was naive as fuck.