All Your Fault

Chapter Seven

I gagged at the sight of over affection, slipping past their groping bodies. I walked down the darkened hallway, as I stepped passed the kitchen a hand snaked out of the darkness a pulled me into the kitchen. I yelped as the hand tightened its grip, I struggled, trying to loosen the stranger's grip.

"Shut up you stupid girl." A thick Russian accent penetrated the darkness and I froze.

"Dorian?" my breathing was labored as panic dulled my senses.

"Yes" he hissed, dropping my arm.

"What are you doing in my house?" I growled leaning against the counter.

"What is that dog doing here?" he growled menacingly.

"Dog?" I echoed curiously.

"You smell like him, it's disgusting. Go shower and change." His voice was dark with anger.

I crossed my arms tightly, "I smell like him. What the hell does that mean? And I'm not going to take a shower just because you told me to." I spat. Where did he get off telling me what to do, and I smell like Jace, how does he even know what Jace smells like?

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, he grabbed my arm again and pulled me through the kitchen up the stairs. Throwing me into the bathroom, "shower now." He slammed the door shut.

I breathed out a sigh of frustration and braced my palms on the sink, my reflection stared angrily back at me. My curls were tangled, my eyes tired, skin pale; I shook my head and stripped off my clothes. A long shower would do me good, the water was hot against my skin, flushing it an angry red.

I scrubbed my hair until it was foamy with soapy bubbles and scraped the stale sweat from my body, I relished in the dirt washing away.

The red and blue lights exploded through the dark room, lighting it up like a carnival ride. I clutched the now quietly sleeping baby boy closer to my chest, its skin still slightly bloody. My throat was raw from screaming so much, my muscles ached from tension, my eyes burned from staring at the dead body of my captor and the baby's mother.

Her head lulled to the side, skin white, and cold to the touch. I tugged relentlessly at the collar around my neck, in a daze when the door was kicked in and the baby started to cry.

"Kasey? Kasey Grant?" a deep voice broke through my daze. I jerked, clutching at the baby, I started to scream.

"Kasey! It's the police, your okay now." A warm hand settled on my shoulder, I flinched away.

"Kasey my name is detective George Harrison. Why don't you hand me the baby." His warm eyes stared into my, I reluctantly held him out.

"Don't hurt him," I whispered, once again tugging at my neck, "can you please take this off." I mumbled.

"Jack get in here, we've got a dead body, a baby in need of immediate medical care, and young girl as well."

He handed the baby off to another man, "honey we'll get you out of here." I pointed over to the key on the necklace on the other side of the room.

"That's the key, she threw it there so I could help her with the birth." I said in an even, emotionless voice.

He scooped up the key and detached the collar; I side in relief, gingerly touching the chafed and bleeding skin around my neck. I froze, panic suddenly attacking my limbs.

"We need to get out of here before he comes back, please don't let him take me again. Please." I begged.

"Kasey calm down. He's not coming back. He committed suicide." My throat closed.

"That's what she meant." I whispered in fear, flashing back to the anger and hurt in her dead eyes. I grimaced.

I pulled myself out of the disturbing memory, shutting off the water; I wrapped a towel tightly around my body, cursing myself for not demanding for a set of clothes.

Gathering my dirty clothes up, I hugged them against my chest, hoping for them to act as another barrier.

My wet curls dripped down my back as a made a mad dash for my room and let out a breath of relief when I locked the door behind me. At least he had enough decency to stay out of my room. I pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a plain long sleeved top. Always go for comfort.

I glanced towards the white door of my mothers' empty bedroom, my heart gave a painful lurch and I grimaced, shaking my head. I cautiously walked down the stairs, careful to not make any noise. Dorian sat the very end of the couch, hands clenching his knees in a bone-crushing grip; the tendons underneath his inked skin pulled tight. His jaw clenched, body coiled, his nostrils flared and his head snapped to see me. I held my breath, Jace walked through the kitchen door towards me, I watched in partial awe, and anger has Dorian's lip curled in a sort of feral beauty.

I turned to ignore him and focused my attention on Jace, "Andrea said she's hungry and that you can cook the best food." His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his brown hair disheveled. I wonder what they had been doing. He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, a deep throaty growl echoed in the background.

"Looks like your boyfriend isn't enjoying this." Jace smirked.

I glared over at the tense figure on the couch, "he's not my boyfriend." I shrugged off his hand and made my way to the kitchen.

Andrea sat at the wooden table, head in her hand, I slid in the chair across from her.

"Care to explain how you know Jace?" I leaned back, arms crossed defensively over my chest, her ice blue eyes slid up to meet mine,

"He's my husband." She muttered.

I started to laugh at the absurdity of it, her eyes narrowed, I stopped, "your serious?" I questioned.

She clenched her jaw and nodded sharply, "yes."

I ran a hand through my wet hair, pulling a foot up onto to chair, "but your only 19."

She snorted, "that doesn't matter, I love him." I swallowed, pulling my other foot up.

"You can't know that." Anger rushed through me as I said this, my own mother didn't even love me, her own flesh and blood, I quickly made my way to the fridge.

"Yes I do, I love him." Her voice was sharp, demanding. I pulled out ingredients for tacos and started to cook, pouring my anger at my mother into my cooking.

"I see." Was all I could manage.

It was quiet before she spoke again; all that was heard was the sizzling of the browning hamburger. "Kase, I have something to ask you." Her voice was softer than before, my instincts to preserve my own emotional sanity were wary at the tone.

My hand paused in the browning of the meat, waiting, "some men came here today and moved all your mothers' stuff. Her room…it's empty."

I swallowed once more, stabbing at the meat, "yes. I know." I answered shortly, pouring water and the seasoning into the meat.

"Do you know why?" she probed.

I set the spoon down on the counter, "she's not going to be living here anymore. That's all I have to say, can you please cut the vegetables." I asked turning on the oven to heat up the corn shells.

"Of course." She whispered moving to cut the tomato and lettuce.