A low chuckle rose within me, growing into a wicked laughter. I threw my head back, still drowning in amusement almost forgetting my hands and feet were tied down.
In a flash, he bent down in front of me and pressed the gun to my chest.
"Do it, I d...
"The body is already taken care of. We had no other choice."
"Iara, if they find out--"
"They won't."
There was a pounding in my head, a pressure in the sides of my temple drilled into my skull. I took a deep breath in, my eyes were still closed while the rest of my senses became acquainted with my surroundings. My fingertips graced the surface of a cool polyester texture beneath me. My muscles were sore but the open gashes on my body were somehow cleaned and taken care of.
Wait, Iara?
My eyes shot open as the sound of her voice filled my ears. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a man slightly taller than her stood before her as they whispered back and forth. We were in a spacious place, much bigger than Harry's living room.
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Harry. Where was he?
My eyes trailed to the identical couch parallel to me, where he was laying asleep. His button-down was covered in dried blood, his curls were tousled and messy.
God, he was actually tolerable when he was sleeping. If only he was always like this.
"What's... going on? Where am I?" I whined, pulling myself to sit upright. There was a painful ache in my bones, my face was tight in certain areas where blood was dried over wounded cuts.
I was oblivious as to why Iara was in the same room and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. A hint of uncertainty hid behind her eyes as she walked over to me.
That's when I noticed a man behind her that I hadn't seen in years. The same man who would tell mystical stories about Iemanja, the Queen of the Ocean, and who gave me seashells whenever I went to Iara's house. It was her father.
"Claudio?" I whispered in disbelief. He trudged over to his desk at the back of the grand room with a troubled look on his face. I glanced around the room, large portraits of him were on the wall and smaller frames of him, Iara, and his late wife laid on wooden tables. We were in his house.
"She's not ready, Iara." Claudio warned.
"She has to know, dad. This is her fight now too."
Iara turned her attention to me. It was difficult to find comfort in her familiarity.
Part of me questioned if she had anything to do with the man who attacked me. The light heartedness in her eyes was lost and it was replaced by a hard and worried stare.
Harry shifted on the couch, bringing himself up as he groaned in pain. He took the space in and released a breath of frustration when he saw Claudio and Iara.
"Not exactly where I wanted to wake up." He glanced at me, side-eyeing until he caught Iara's hard glare.
