Chapter 3

Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled check. He threw it at Andrew' s feet. It fluttered to the worn wooden planks of the porch.

"This is the last of it. We don' t owe you a damn thing. Now get out."

Andrew didn' t even glance at the check. He calmly took a cigarette from a silver case, lit it, and took a long drag, blowing the smoke right in Matthew' s face.

"Your family leeched off Gabby, who leeched off me. You think you' re even?"

Before Matthew could react, Andrew lunged forward and grabbed his collar, twisting the fabric tight.

"She begged me to marry her, kneeled on this very porch to convince your dad... and this is the thanks I get? She breaks my heart and costs me a fortune!"

He shoved the lit end of the cigarette onto the back of Matthew' s hand.

Matthew cried out, pulling back, but Andrew held him fast. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

"It was just a bit of bone marrow!" Andrew hissed, his face inches from my brother's. "I gave her a million-dollar recording contract as compensation!"

"What million dollars?!" Matthew yelled, his face contorted in pain and disbelief. "All we ever saw was the money for Dad' s treatment! You' re a liar!"

"So you deny it? Your whole family is pathetic."

Andrew finally released Matthew, shoving him back against the railing. He gave a sharp, almost invisible signal to his security guard, who was standing by the Mercedes.

"Get the dogs."

My soul screamed. Two large Dobermans, sleek and muscular, were unleashed from the back of his SUV. They bounded onto the porch, their snarling turning into a frenzy of vicious action. They went straight for Banjo, who was still cradled in Stella' s arms.

He wriggled free, trying to protect her, placing his small, broken body between the monsters and my sister. It was over in seconds.

"This is a warning," Andrew said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion as he watched the scene unfold. "Get Gabby back here in three days, or this is what happens to all of you."

He turned and walked back to his car as if he' d just finished a business meeting. As he left, his phone rang. I saw the name on the screen: Molly. His entire demeanor shifted, his hard features softening instantly.

My spirit was pulled along with him, a cruel twist of my ethereal tether. I was forced to watch his tender expression, to listen to his gentle voice.

"Hey, Mols. What' s up?"

Molly' s sickly-sweet voice cooed through the speaker.

"Andrew, honey. Is Gabby still hiding? It' s all my fault... my body rejected her precious gift. She must hate me..."

"Nonsense, baby," Andrew soothed, starting the car. "We' ll find a new donor. We have to use a live donor, the doctors said so. Gabby' s tough, she' s a survivor. She' ll be fine."

Just then, his assistant, Brian, a man I always knew had a conscience, rushed to the car window, holding a phone.

"Mr. Scott, an anonymous email just came in. It' s... it' s a death certificate. For Gabrielle Johns."

Andrew glanced at it, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He scoffed.

"She' s resourceful, I' ll give her that. Keep looking. Dig up every damn thing you can. I want to know where she' s buried."