Page 3 of Malicious Claim

A single gunshot shattered the silence.

Leila froze.

Then came another, even louder and closer.

Her breath hitched as a third, fourth and then a fifth crack of gunfire pierced the estate.

No.

Before her mind could process it, she was running; heels pounding out the rhythm across the floor, shadows lengthening endlessly before her desperate steps in the hall.The survival instinct her father made sure to drill in all his children suddenly kicked in. Her hands went to the side of her waist. "Fuck me!" She realized she was putting on one of those fancy suit gowns that didn't have a pocket for her gun.

No other weapon was around, so she decided to throw caution to the wind. She took to her heels and didn't slow down until she burst into the dining room.

The scene she saw made her stumble back. She grabbed her chest, a loud gasp escaping from her throat. There was blood all around. There was so much blood she could barely make out who was who until she looked carefully. All she knew was that her entire family had been wiped out. She couldn't move.

The blood glistened on the polished floors, smearing over the table, and painting the walls in violent streaks. Bodies slumped over chairs sprawled across the floor.

Her father's eyes, once sharp with authority, stared blankly into the ceiling. A fine line of crimson traced down his temple and over his cheek.

Hunter's hand still clutched his knife, the blade catching the chandelier's golden glow. But his throat was open in a silent scream carved into his flesh.

Kyle lay face down, fingers twitching, as if even his body rejected the concept of death.

It felt like she was trapped in her skin. The tears wouldn't come out either, and neither could she speak. She stood still and stared. In her heart, which was more active than her body, she prayed it was one terrible dream.

She would close her eyes, and by the time she opened it, she was on her bed. Her father was coming to call her for dinner. Kyle was being his annoying but funny self. Hunter was trying to get on her nerves when he knew he would still ask her to sneak him some chocolate.

Then, there was also Travis, sweet Travis, who knew all her secrets but never spoke of them. His chair was overturned, legs tangled in wreckage, blood pooling under his head. And how could she forget Jenner? Jenner...dear Jenner.

The closest thing to a mother she had. Couldn't speak. Always watching. Always understanding so much more than people thought.

All taken away from her, but by who? The question came with a fury that rushed through the depths of her being, pushing her eyes open.

Leila's lips parted, a scream rising. Then she felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn, an arm, strong and unyielding, clamped around her waist. She bucked and kicked her nails into his skin. Her assailant grunted but only held tighter.

Blood and gunpowder clung to him in a sharp, metallic tang.

"Let me go!" she yelled, tugging futilely against the iron hold.

A fist crushed into her temple. Stars erupted across her vision.

Pain. Before the darkness finally consumed her slowly, swallowing the dining room, the bodies, the blood.

"Heel-pp, Da-ddy," she whispered slowly. Just before she blacked out, her gaze darted down to the wrist of her assailant.A coiling, fiery dragon tattoo. It seemed to twist and writhe, as if alive.

A memory stirred, one thought cutting through the haze, she knew that tattoo. From where?

Then, everything went totally black.

Chapter Two

The Devil's Proposal

Makros Crete raised a delicate brow as the girl crumpled to the ground with a thud. He looked at his hands as if they belonged to another body. Then, the corner of his lips twitched.

He could have caught her. Should have, perhaps. But he didn't, because he never did anything he didn't want to do.

Crouching slightly, he watched her. He still loomed over most men, even hunched like this. His gaze darted to the head of the table which was now nothing more than a pool of blood and shattered bone.