Richard
I groaned as I came gained consciousness again. All the muscles of my body were fighting my movements. My head was pounding, and there was a dull persistent ache at the back of my head where it had made contact with the ground.
The first that I see is Holland Graves next to me, his face white and bloody; his chest rising and falling subtly. I kicked him awake and he jumped up; steadying himself with a grimace.
"What the hell." he rasped, blinking frantically at the burn of whatever was in the air.
We stumbled together, steadying one another like crippled men with no crutch, and staggered through the side wing of the estate into the infirmary.
One of the nurses; a woman I vaguely recognized from home staff; elbowed into our line of passage, her eyes frantic.
" Mr. Moretti. Mr. Graves. Thank God," she panted.
"We didn't know if either of you;"
"We don't have time," I cut across her, throat sore and raw.
"We need something for the pain, and we need information. Now."
Within minutes, the bullets were removed, our wounds were quickly cleaned, the worst of the bleeding stopped. Ice was pressed to the base of my skull while Holland's side was wrapped where a piece of glass had gouged him. Neither of us waited for stitches.
"We're looking for our wives," Holland said through gritted teeth as he stood again, not bothering to fasten his shirt. "And the children. Were they brought here?"
The nurse's eyes moved to the side, avoiding the question.
That said enough.
We didn't even pause long enough to say anything; instead, we turned and ran; half-ran, half-limped back into the bulk of the estate.
Then Lorenzo, our most reliable man, emerged from the shifting shapes, his face set, and his posture stiff. The blood on his cheek had started to dry, but his eyes were stubborn as he came towards us.
"Sir." Lorenzo paused, for an instant, before his tone became harder. "We've started looking. There is something you have to see."
The terror in his voice made my blood freeze instantaneously. I caught eyes with Holland, the two of us fighting to keep up despite our battered bodies' complaints.
Lorenzo led us to the door of the servant, where a table had been wiped clean. And there;
Two bags, recognizable in their plainness. They had been left on the wooden table. Red bathed the sheer fabric, bright and new under the cold stare of the overhead light.
Kia and Daisy's bags.
My breath stopped.
Lorenzo continued, his tone somber. "The invasion was led by Dominic Fernandez."
A hollow silence filled the room.
Then;
"What?" Holland's voice was a low growl, his rage barely contained. "That asshole was supposed to be dead."
I exhaled raggedly, my fists forming at my sides. Dominic. He was responsible for this attack. Nothing more was needed from either of us as a commotion outside caused a fresh wave of tension to spark in the air.
There were screams in the courtyard. Guards walked past, their voices chopping the air in brief orders as they started to come out in from outside. In their hands were black plastic bags; dozens of them. They were being gathered on the center table of the foyer.
As Holland and I moved forward; the bags were carefully opened and a the thick smell of metal invaded my senses.
Holland's whisper. "Tell me it's not them."
The guards squirmed nervously. "We don't know yet, sir." One of them swallowed hard. "They're women. But we; we haven't found the heads."
The words were a punch in the gut.
My stomach knotted. I barely felt the fire in my throat, the ragged gasps I was inhaling. We weren't fools. We knew.
Kia and Daisy were gone.
My own vision blurred at the periphery, my heart thundering in my ears. Holland stood stiff at my side, his knuckles white as he fought to draw breath past the tempest of grief.
And yet, despite our sadness at our loss; something else began to ring in my head.
Betrayal.
They hadn't been killed innocently.
They were already trying to run.