Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
"I can't," I growl. "I have to do something."
He watches me as I stew in my frustration. He doesn't know that every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I feel her body against me. And I smell her. The ghost of her scent haunts me, even when she isn't here.
Something has snapped inside me. I don't know what it is, but I feel... broken. I never truly knew what that word meant until now.
"We have to find her, Marco." I grab him by the shirt and shake him because I don't know what else to do. "I need her back.”
"I know you do, boss." His hands come up to grip my arms, gently removing them from his shirt. His lips are set into a grim line, reflective of the way I feel. He knows as well as I do this won't end well.
"There's one other option," he says quietly. "It isn't a pretty one."
"What?" I demand. "What is it?"
"The little girl," he says. "She might know more than she's letting onto. And I don't like bringing children into this, but if this is a life-or-death situation..."
He's right. Evangeline is the key. She could give me answers. More places to search. Something on Abel. Anything.
I'm already moving for my door handle when I freeze and turn back to Marco. "I don't know how to talk to children. I terrify them."
"That may be true." His lips tilt up at the corner. "But not this one. I've seen the way she looks at you. She's not scared."
"Scared, no," I admit. "She's defiant. Like her sister. But she's still young—"
"Talk to her like an adult," Marco suggests. "And maybe she will surprise you."
* * *
Evangeline is still awake when Antonia opens the door and leads me inside. She's curled up in a chair next to the window, staring outside in contemplation. She's only thirteen, but she looks like someone burdened with the responsibilities and worries of an adult, and I realize Marco was right. She hasn't ever had the chance to be a child, I suppose. Not with a mother like hers, who would abandon her to the wolves for the sake of her own self-preservation.
"What do you want?" She glares up at me as I move toward her.
Despite the somber mood, I can't help but smile a little at her response.
I pull the chair from the desk and come to sit across from her while Antonia lingers in the doorway.
"You can go, Antonia."
She hesitates for a moment before shutting the door softly and taking her leave. Eva watches and swallows before turning her gaze back to me. Her hands curl in her lap like she's preparing herself for a fight.
"You are so much like your sister," I tell her.
The softness in my tone seems to catch her off guard, and she jerks her chin in agreement. "I know. I don't need you to tell me that."
"I think I never really saw it until now," I confess. "She must have been just like you at this age. Hardened by the world around her. Parents who are oblivious to her needs. It couldn't have been easy for her, as I'm sure it’s not easy for you."
Eva's lip trembles, despite how much she's trying not to let it show. "You don't know anything."
The tears clinging to her eyelids tell me otherwise.
"I know that you think I’m a monster, and I suppose in many ways it’s true. But your sister has shown me that I am capable of more. I am capable of feeling things I never thought I could."
Eva shifts, her eyes darting to the floor as her hair falls around her face. "If you care about her, then you wouldn't make her cry. You wouldn't have made her end up in the hospital like she did. That's not love."
Love.
The word hits me like a bullet, fragmenting inside my soul.
"I'm not capable of love," I confess, throat raw. "But I have... feelings."
My voice sounds foreign to my own ears as I try to unpack these thoughts to a child. I feel like I'm fumbling through this, and I don't know that I'm making any progress. But when Eva looks up at me, the tears have fallen from her eyelids and streamed down her cheeks, and she does not try to hide them. She is showing me her own vulnerability.
"Everyone is capable of love," she whispers. "Even monsters. Because monsters are still men, and men have hearts. Even you, Santiago De La Rosa."
I can feel my grimace. My doubt. It must show on my face. But Eva leans forward, studying me with an intensity that no girl of her age should possess.
"I hate you for taking her away from me," she says. "You don't let me talk to her or see her. And you keep her locked up like a prisoner. If I'm being honest, I don't think you deserve her."