The storm was merciless.
The rain attacked the windshield as though it had a vendetta, curtains of water slashing across the surface to smear everything beyond into nothingness but darkness and lightning and the continual sweep of my wipers. Overhead, thunder slithered and rattled my bones it was so loud and for a moment it felt like the sky itself were splitting.
I gripped the steering wheel with fingers I could barely feel and squinted through the drenching sheet of rain; fatigue hung thick and heavy behind my eyes. My body hurt like the deep down, bone-tired hurts can only feel after hours under unforgiving operating room lights.
I was still in my scrubs, disheveled and faintly antiseptic-stained, with the lab coat I never seem to take off slung over my shoulders. My stethoscope dangled around my neck, the bit I hadn't stuffed in a pocket rhythmically kissing my chest on every bump.
Today, I hadn't bothered changing.
I was excited; I couldn't wait to get home.
Mom had called that morning, her voice warm yet insistent. Come for Dinner and don't be late, Enora.
I looked off into the distance and grinned at the memory before pushing on the accelerator just a bit more as I stepped through one hell of a snowstorm. The rain didn't stop, never let up for a moment. Lightning burst again, the road stark white for a rare moment and thunder roared immediately after it, sending tremors through the car.
Then the pavement ended.
The gravel crunched under my tires when I turned onto the small road that led home. In the rain the Hurt house rose before them, its outline black against the stormy sky.
My stomach twisted.
Outside was a fancy, black SUV.
It didn't belong there.
I was slowing the car, and I had no idea why my pulse was doing this anxious tick as it droned upward. No one we knew had a car like that — not there, not on this empty piece of land. The engine whined, and I pulled over to the side of the road, rain rattling against the roof.
I snatched up my phone, then my purse as I rummaged through it for an umbrella.
Nothing.
"Shit," I muttered to myself.
I looked back at the house, my unease twisting tighter across my chest. "Alright… here I go," I whispered to myself and pulled the door open.
Rain came on at once, drenching me in seconds. I whirled around and locked the car, then headed for the house shielding my head with my purse.
My hair stuck to my face and neck, chilled water seeping into the scrubs until the material was clinging to me all over.
I barely noticed.
Because before I had even got to the door, the smell hit me.
Blood.
I froze.
It was clear and sharp, cutting through the smell of rain-soaked ground. My heart started racing and I caught my breath.
It had always been like this.
Sometimes from a far distance, I could smell the blood. Sometimes, I listened to things other people couldn't hear: whispers, footsteps, heartbeats from impossible distances. Mom had always laughed it off with a smile, calling it a gift.
At this moment, that felt like a curse.
My hand trembled when I reached for the door.
"Mom?" I shouted back, my voice sounding hollow in the silence of the car. "Dad? Liora? I'm hom—"
The words died in my throat.
The dining room was destroyed.
Chairs lay broken and overturned. The table was snapped in two, the plates shattered on the floor. The cable led to my feet, a sodden length of metal that had been wrapped around me like plastic ribbon. Blood had seeped from it onto the tiles, black and sticky and vivid. "Where?"
My heart thudded painfully inside my chest.
"No … no, no, no," I murmured.
I fumbled for my phone, shaking so hard I almost dropped it. My pulse was pounding in my ears as I dug into a coat pocket—
Footsteps.
Behind me.
My heart stopped.
I turned slowly.
Two great hulking men stood there dressed in black suits, their faces impassive. They were manshaped in the doorway, like a pair of shadows given form.
Before I even had the chance to scream, someone else took a step forward.
And the world tilted.
God.
And handsome barely covered its look.
He was tall, muscular, and he filled a space as naturally as you might breathe air. Black hair still damp and slicked back from a face more carved than born. Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. A slight scar that bisected one eyebrow. A blue-grey look that pinned me and wouldn't let go.
He had a tattoo snaking up the side of his neck—black ink disappearing under the sharp edge of his white-cotton collar. The sleeves were rolled up and strong arms, veins showing against tanned skin. His hands were buried in his pockets, informal and relaxed.
Dangerous.
Every fiber of my being knew it.
"Fancy seeing you here," he murmured, his voice silky and low with an undertone something dangerous.
He began walking toward me, slow and steady, never breaking eye contact.
I fell back, my fingers touching the cool screen of my phone at last.
"There's no where to run, doc," he said with an evil grin.
His face lit up for a moment during a flash of lightning outside through the thin curtains. For a moment, his eyes seemed almost predatory.
"W-who are you?" I stuttered.
He didn't answer.
He kept coming.
'Stay away from me!' I gasped, as my back thumped against the wall so forcefully it winded me.
"Oh, I won't be able to stay away from you," he murmured, leaning closer. "Until I get what I want, at least."
"And what do you want?" I asked, fear and fury coiling in my chest. "Where are my parents? Where is my sister?"
A smile crossed his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
"You don't have the luxury to ask questions, Enora.
"How do you know my name?"
"Don't come any closer, or I'll do —"
"Or else what?"
He invaded my personal space.
His breath warm radiateding off him was colder than the cold could ever be.
"I'll call the police," I said, struggling to inject some strength into my quaking voice.
He chuckled. "Darling, I own half of them."
Rage flared in me. "Where are my parents?"
"They are right where I want them to be," he responded coolly. "To make you stay exactly where I want you."
My jaw clenched. "When my parents are?" I demanded, teeth gritting.
He came in close, his breath wafting over my cheek. "You a nosy little doctor, ain't you?"
"Answer me." I shot back at him.
His eyes darkened.
"Your parents," he said slowly "sold you to me."