Third Person's POV
“Who are you? What do you want?!” Hazel warned, backing away and reaching for her phone to call the police.
But a sharp-eyed thug saw the move and slapped her hard across the face.
“You bitch, trying to call the cops?” he spat.
Fear flashed through Hazel’s eyes.
“I haven’t done anything to you. Why are you picking on me?” she demanded.
The gang members laughed, ugly grins spreading across their faces.
“You pissed off the wrong person,” one of them said. “And that person told us to teach you a lesson.”
Before she could react, a steel pipe came down and smashed into her knee. Hazel fell to the ground with a thud; the pain ripped through her so fiercely she couldn’t hold back the tears.
Without giving her a moment, pipe after pipe rained down on her like hail. Her screams of pain echoed through the alley as bones cracked beneath the blows. Yet, no one came to help.
As darkness closed in, she saw her dead mother, smiling and waving at her, as if to say it was all right.
When she came to again, she was in a hospital bed. Dominic sat nearby, with dark circles under his eyes that showed he’d been there a long time. For a rare instant, pity softened his expression. His voice was unusually gentle as he asked, “You’re awake. Do you feel okay anywhere?”
Hazel didn’t answer. She asked instead, “How long was I out?”
“Five days,” he said.
Her hand clenched into a fist at that. Five days, proof of how vicious they’d been. She reached for the phone on the table to call the police.
But Dominic grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Calling the police, of course.”
He frowned. “No need. Those thugs were arrested.”
Hazel snorted. “They were arrested, yes. But whoever hired them hasn’t been.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “The thugs said they were just in a bad mood and happened to run into you. They said no one ordered them to do it.”
She laughed in disbelief at how confidently he defended that lie. It was impossible that no one had hired them. She had seen the woman clearly before she blacked out. Even if the face were burned to ash, she would recognize it. It was Caroline. She’d watched that woman hand money to the thugs, kick her in the face, and say, “Good job. If the police ask, tell them it was just venting. I’ll pay you a fortune when you get out, enough to set you for life.”
Hazel yanked her arm free from Dominic and said coldly, “It was Caroline. I saw her with my own eyes. She will pay for what she did.”
Ignoring Dominic’s protests, she dialed the police.
It didn’t take long, and the police found surveillance footage showing Caroline handing money to the thugs, confirming Hazel’s claim. Hazel refused any private settlement and demanded that the law put the woman behind bars.
Caroline wept, makeup streaked, eyes full of venom as she glared at Hazel. But Hazel ignored her and left the station.
The next second, a van pulled up in front of her, and strong hands forced her inside. She tried to scream, but when she looked up, she saw a familiar face.
“Dominic? What are you doing? Why are you taking me?!” she cried.
He lounged in the passenger seat, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Hazel, you’re really insubordinate. It irritates me.”
With a single look from him, someone dragged out a large yellow dog. The animal was emaciated, its body marked with whip scars and dried blood; it looked close to death. But the moment it saw Hazel, it thumped its tail weakly.
Hazel went pale and rushed forward, scooping the dog into her arms and choking on its name.
“Cooper! Cooper!” she sobbed.
“You could have aimed that anger at me, Dominic. Why hurt a dog?” she cried.
