Before Her Heart Was Taken

Smack!

Tiffany hit the floor hard.

Hector's chest was rising fast. "Shut up! Just shut your filthy mouth! You're no better than that trashy mom of yours!"

He yanked her up by the hair and dragged her out. "Tough girl, huh? Think you can leave me? Let's see what snaps first—your bones or the door to the basement."

Cold chains locked around her ankles. Then—nothing. Just pitch-black silence.

She crumpled, pounding the door with everything she had. "Let me out! You psycho! Freakin' rapist! I swear I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Ahhh!"

Her mouth tasted like blood.

No answer.

She collapsed. When you hit rock bottom, even crying gives up on you.

No clue how long she was stuck in there.

All she remembered was the panic creeping back, claustrophobia choking her. She refused to beg. So she smashed her head into the floor. Blood sprayed.

Passing out seemed like a win.

Dying? Even better.

She curled into a corner and kept slamming her head into the wall. Over and over.

"Tiffany! What on earth are you doing? Stop!"

The basement door slammed open. Charlotte came running, shrieking, "Esteban! Hector! Somebody call a doctor!"

People rushed in. Someone jabbed a sedative into her arm, and everything blurred as they carried her out.

In just a few days, she'd lived through more pain than most people see in a lifetime.

There wasn't a single spot on her that wasn't bruised.

Red and purple blotches covered her skin. A nasty gash split her forehead. Her arms were raw. Even the doctor flinched while treating her.

"If possible, she needs a full evaluation. And serious rest."

"I'll try to talk her into it," Charlotte said sweetly. "Thanks, doctor."

She stood by the bed like she ran the whole stupid house.

Tiffany didn't move.

She let Charlotte and the doctor fuss over her, but her eyes never left Hector standing in the doorway.

Her voice came out cracked. "You happy now?"

Hector paused, then shrugged it off. "If you're sick, rest. My wedding's in a few days. If Charlotte hadn't begged, you'd be in way worse shape."

"Come on, Hector, don't scare her. She's still just a kid." Charlotte smiled, looping her arm through his. "The hotel says everything's set. You've got a few meetings tomorrow. Tiffany, why don't you come with me to double-check the setup? I'm still a little nervous about it."

That's when it hit her—Charlotte hadn't saved her out of kindness.

"Will you come?" Charlotte asked again.

Tiffany shut her eyes.

She didn't get to say no.

A lamb doesn't get to argue with the butcher. Even if it was a setup, Charlotte had spoken. That meant she was going.

***

The next morning, the driver dropped Tiffany off at the hotel.

Charlotte was already camped at the entrance.

Said she came to check the wedding setup, but after a quick walk through the hall, she claimed she was tired and dragged Tiffany upstairs to a private room.

Charlotte grabbed her hand. "After the wedding, we'll be family. I haven't even given you a gift yet."

"No thanks. Couldn't afford whatever strings come with it." Tiffany yanked her hand back, scrubbing it on her jeans.

"You've got skin hunger, right? And so far, Hector's the only one you've let touch you."

"What's your point?"

"You're sick. As your sister-in-law, I should help fix that."

Charlotte flashed a nasty grin, leaning in close.

"If even a fake brother like Hector gets a pass... shouldn't your real blood be even more acceptable?"