"Sarah Winfield!"
Sarah was still deep in sleep when someone yanked her up by the collar and slammed her to the floor.
"What did you do? Do you hate Jocelyn that much? She was only messing around with you, and you'd take her life for it?"
Sarah's whole body burned. Feverish and hazy, she pieced the truth together out of Ralph's words.
Jocelyn had been kidnapped.
A pack of thugs had dumped her in an abandoned warehouse and tormented her for a full day and night. When she was rescued, her clothes were in tatters and she was covered in blood.
"You still dare say it wasn't you?" Fury blazed in Ralph's eyes. "My people looked into it. That gang lives right there in the slums where you spent more than ten years. Sarah, you all crawled out of the same slums. You're going to tell me you don't know them?"
"You're the wife I married in front of everyone, the rightful Mrs. Sanchez. We won't press charges against you. But you owe Jocelyn an explanation. You may be the true eldest daughter of the Winfields, but that doesn't give you the right to abuse her however you please."
Sarah nearly laughed. The whip wounds on her back scraped against the icy tile, the pain washing her vision white, but she didn't cry out. She only turned her head a fraction to look at Ralph.
"Who exactly has been abusing whom this whole time?"
From the moment the Winfields took her back, Jocelyn had loathed her to the bone. Fragile and pitiful in front of others, she mocked and humiliated Sarah every way she could when no one was watching.
But because Mr. and Mrs. Winfield had raised Jocelyn since she was small, and because Ralph had grown up alongside Jocelyn, they all assumed Jocelyn could do no wrong. The one at fault had to be her, the girl raised for more than ten years in the slums.
Sarah laughed, badly timed as it was. She lifted her chin and, past all caring, said, "So what do you want me to do?"
Looking at her indifference, Ralph felt a sudden flicker of unease. But the image of Jocelyn covered in blood came back to him, and his expression went cold again. "Whatever Jocelyn went through, you'll go through the same."
Sarah agreed without any expression at all.
"Fine."
The instant Ralph came storming in, she'd pressed the auto-dial on her phone to call the police. They were probably already on their way.
There was no point reasoning with a man like Ralph. Better to let the law do the talking.
This time it was Ralph who was caught off guard. He'd expected Sarah to beg, to cry, to plead. He hadn't expected this kind of calm.
An anger he couldn't name surged up in him, and his face turned to ice.
The bodyguards dragged Sarah to the mountain retreat. Jocelyn lay in bed weeping, Mr. and Mrs. Winfield keeping watch at her side, their eyes full of tenderness.
"I don't understand why my sister still won't let me go. She's right to hate me. After all, I stole more than ten years of her life."
The choked voice, paired with Jocelyn's innocent, pale face, made it impossible not to ache for her.
Ralph tucked the blanket in around her and said gently, "It isn't your fault either. Don't cry. I'll have Sarah apologize to you."
Sarah dredged up a sneer. "I'm sorry."
Jocelyn turned her face aside and let the tears fall. "I suppose an apology is all I deserve. What can I expect, being nothing but a fake heiress. My sister could ask for my death and it would be fine, let alone a kidnapping."
Ralph lowered his eyes and soothed her softly. "It won't stop at an apology, Jocelyn. To make up for it, whatever you went through, she'll go through too."
He turned back, and his brow furrowed when he took in Sarah's thin clothes and bloodless face.
Jocelyn caught the shift in his expression at once and said softly, "Ralph, I suddenly have a craving for that old duck soup place on the west side. Would you go get some for me?"
Ralph nodded and glanced at the pack of thugs. "Get to work."
With that he left without a backward glance, off to buy Jocelyn her soup.
He didn't necessarily mean to torture Sarah. He only wanted the gang to give her a scare.
Sarah was dumped in the empty lot behind the retreat. She switched on her voice recorder.
The thugs closed in, sneering. They'd done enough dirty work in their time that a few slaps came easy.
"Sarah Winfield, now that you've flown up the branch and turned into a phoenix, don't forget your old acquaintances. Us boys were your loyal admirers back in the day. If that rabid dog Wilfred Vance hadn't stood in the way, you'd have been mine long ago."
"But it's not too late even now. If that Miss Winfield hadn't paid us to help her put on a little show, I don't think I'd ever have gotten the chance to touch you in this life. What do you say?"
Slick, sickening hands roamed over her body, mixed with words she couldn't bear to hear. Sarah's head spun, but she forced herself to stay calm.
The sound of fabric tearing cut deep into her. A cramp knotted low in her belly, and she pushed the words out through sheer will.
"I've already called the police."
At the mention of the police they finally pulled back. By the time they realized something was wrong, a large pool of blood had already spread out beneath her.
"Boss, she's bleeding!"
Panic-stricken and scattered, they instinctively bolted.
"Sarah!"
Just before she lost consciousness completely, Sarah thought she heard a familiar voice, low and hoarse, a little like Ralph's.
Probably just her imagination. Wasn't this whole gang acting on Ralph's orders?
In that last thread of awareness, she knew with perfect clarity: hiring men to hurt someone, deliberate assault, that was more than enough to make Jocelyn and Ralph choke on the consequences.
Sarah closed her eyes. Five years was time enough for her to grow.
