𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴

2.

Ares's P.O.V.

Week passed by. Not even 1 clue was found. It feels like someone is making sure our sister is out of sight. 

Today is Monday, 4PM and we are digging through papers - documents, certificates, reports - anything to find our sibling. Mostly we are looking for list of things that remained under mother's name because it is likely for her to have left to whatever property she owned back then. 

Just as we we were about to move onto another pile, I froze, reading some letter. 

"Fucking bastard."- I muttered in rage, capturing my brothers' attention. 

"Let's go."- I told them, taking keys from my Bugatti, and they got up, following me out. 

"Don't. We are taking 1 car."- I said just as they were about to take keys from their cars. 

We got in the car and I hit the pedal, seeing red. 

"Are you going to explain this?"- asked Winston, watching as I took turns, skipping red lights. 

"Mother got married to Paulson's son."- I said in anger that coloured their eyes in mere second. 

The Paulsons are abusers and rapists. They don't care who you are, what you did, what you have - they will rip you apart. Quite frankly, neither of us cares about what happened to our so called mother because she left dad and us without looking back, turned to drugs and whoring around; she didn't even bother to contact us in any way, be it as simple as a goddamned card for Christmas.

But we are worried about our baby sister to no extend. If the fucker laid at least a finger on our sister, no God will help him. 

I stopped at the hole, where that asshole was located at the last time, and we saw darkness in every room of the house, if one dares to call it that.

"You know the drill."- I said surely and they nodded, one hand on the gun on their waist line. 

We approached the door, attentively listening to our surroundings - no even a squeak echoed. I twisted the door handle and we walked inside, not seeing a soul here. Dozenth of bottles lay around, scattered glass, cigarets, needles and ripped curtains. It is cold here, even though it is the end of May. The empty, dreadful interior design is like a warning of pain and hurt.

"Let's go upstairs."- I spoke, gulping in concern, and they nodded, not liking this just as much. 

We went up the stairs, seeing bloody spots on the floor. The three of us divided to check out all rooms, but met up in mere minutes because there was nothing to find. 

"Is that attic?"- asked Winston, pointing in its direction. 

Without even thinking twice we went there, floor cracking as we walked. Mathew pulled the door handle and we peered inside, stepping in the small, prison-like room: no bed, no windows, no light of any form - nothing. 

"Fuck."- we muttured, rushing to the tiny girl, dropping on our knees next to her as Mathew check on her, fear highlighting his face.

"She is freezing."- said in rush Mathew, taking off his jacket. 

I gently rubbed her back, wanting to wake her up, only for my eyes to fly wide open when I felt bones. 

"She is underweight."- I spoke, tenderly lifting up her weightless, limp frame. 

I wrapped her minute self in my brother's jacket and we left, driving to our mansion immediately. In matter of 5 minutes we arrived and hurried inside. Winston fetched everything Mathew listed down while I carried the small girl in the guest bedroom.