The Blood Between Us

THE MAN BEHIND THE BULLETS

(Ella’s POV)

---

The room smelled like burnt coffee and cheap cigarettes.

The light above my head flickered every few seconds, and every time it did, I caught a glimpse of the faces watching me from across the metal table.

Two officers sat opposite me. One was young, nervous, tapping his pen on his notepad. The other...the older one, with a thick mustache and a permanent scowl

stared at me like I was a monster he couldn’t wait to cage.

I had been sitting here for over an hour, silent, my hands folded. The air was heavy. The clock ticked loudly.

“Ella Styles,” the older one finally said, leaning forward. “Twenty-three. No criminal record. No history of violence.”

I didn’t answer.

He smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “You don’t talk much, do you? Strange, considering your whole family was just slaughtered in that fancy mansion of yours.”

My chest tightened. “I already told you,” I said quietly, “I don’t remember what happened.”

“Convenient,” he said, smirking. “You were drunk, weren’t you? Had a fight with Mommy and Daddy? Maybe they said something you didn’t like. You rich kids think you can do anything.”

I looked him dead in the eye. “I wasn’t drunk.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, throwing a file down on the table. Pictures spilled out...crime scene photos. My parents. My home. My blood.

My heart lurched, but I didn’t flinch.

He smiled wider. “You look awfully clean for someone who claims she woke up in the middle of that. Not a scratch. Not a bruise. Nothing.”

“I said I don’t remember,” I repeated, my tone sharper this time. “And if you’re going to accuse me, at least have evidence.”

His smile faded. He slammed his hand on the table, making me jump. “Don’t play smart with me, princess! You think your father’s money can clean this up? You were there. You did it!”

The younger officer flinched, glancing at me like he was almost sorry. Almost.

I clenched my fists under the table, forcing myself to stay calm. “I want my lawyer,” I said.

“You don’t get to—”

“I said I want my lawyer,” I cut in, my voice loud enough to echo. “Until then, I’m not saying another word.”

He leaned closer, his breath sour. “You think that name of yours still means anything? You’re nothing without your parents. Nothing.”

I stared back at him, my jaw tight. “And you’re nothing without that badge.”

For a moment, the room went silent. Even the younger officer froze.

The older man’s face reddened, his nostrils flaring.

Then he laughed...a slow, mocking laugh that made my skin crawl. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. Must run in the family.”

He gestured to the other officer. “Fine. Let her call her damn lawyer. Let’s see how far her daddy’s money gets her now.”

---

They led me out of the room into a small hallway lined with old phones. My hands were finally uncuffed long enough for me to dial the only number I remembered...Mr. Hollard, my family lawyer.

He picked up after two rings. “Ella?” His voice was calm, deep, reassuring.

“Mr. Hollard…” I breathed. “They...they think I killed them.”

“Where are you?”

“Central Police Station.”

“I’m coming now,” he said firmly. “Don’t say another word to anyone. Understand?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Please hurry.”

“I’m on my way.”

The officer beside me ended the call and cuffed my wrists again. “Back to your seat,” he muttered.

---

When Mr. Hollard finally walked into the interrogation room, the whole atmosphere shifted.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and a voice that filled the room even when he spoke softly. “Gentlemen,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “my client will not be saying another word without my presence. Is that clear?”

The older officer grumbled, “She’s not a suspect...just giving a statement.”

“Then you don’t need to intimidate her like a criminal,” Hollard replied. “I’ve seen your files. She was drugged. Sleeping gas residue was found in her bloodwork, and the guards too. Whoever did this wanted her alive. That’s not coincidence. That’s a setup.”

The officers exchanged glances.

“Release her,” Hollard said. “You can question her again tomorrow after she’s rested.”

The younger one hesitated. “Sir, with respect...”

“No,” Hollard cut in. “You’ll release her in the morning. And if I find out she’s been mistreated in any way before then, I’ll bury this station in lawsuits before sunrise.”

He turned to me, his expression softening. “Ella, you’re safe now. I’ll be back tomorrow to take you home, alright?”

I nodded, the knot in my chest loosening a little. “Thank you.”

He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then walked out.

The moment the door closed behind him, the older officer muttered something under his breath. “Spoiled brat,” I heard him say. “Let’s see how spoiled she feels sleeping in a cell tonight.”

I ignored him. I was too tired to fight anymore.

---

The cell was small, cold, and smelled like rust. A single bulb buzzed overhead, dim and yellow.

There was a narrow bench against the wall and nothing else...no blanket, no pillow.

I sat there with my knees to my chest, staring at the cracks on the wall.

Everything felt unreal.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had everything.

Now… nothing.

I could still hear my mother’s laugh, my father’s voice calling me “Floral,” his pet name for me since I was little. The memories came in flashes, sharp enough to hurt.

The silence in the station was strange. Too still.

I don’t know how long I sat there before my eyelids grew heavy. I must have drifted off for a while, because the next thing I knew...

BANG!

A gunshot.

Then another.

I jolted upright, heart hammering. More shots echoed down the hallway, followed by shouting and the sound of boots pounding the floor.

“What the hell—” I whispered, standing up, pressing myself against the wall.

The lights flickered, then went out completely. Darkness swallowed everything.

Someone screamed. Then silence.

Footsteps. Heavy. Getting closer.

I backed up until I hit the cold bars behind me. My fingers gripped the metal tight enough to hurt.

A light suddenly flickered at the end of the corridor—flashlights. Shadows moved fast, too many to count. Then—

The lock on my cell clicked.

I froze.

The door swung open, and before I could even move, someone grabbed me. Rough hands pulled my arms behind my back. I gasped as a piece of cloth was tied over my eyes.

“Please—what’s happening?!” I cried, struggling.

“Move,” a voice barked. Deep, harsh, unfamiliar.

“Wait! Who are you?!”

No answer. Only the sound of gunfire in the distance and boots against concrete. They dragged me forward. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.

I stumbled as we turned a corner. Someone shoved me, hard. I fell to my knees. My wrists burned from the rope around them.

Then, suddenly—

More gunshots. Closer this time.

I screamed and dropped to the floor, curling into a ball. The air filled with the sound of bullets ricocheting off walls, men shouting in confusion, someone groaning in pain.

I pressed my hands over my head, praying. “God, please, please, please—”

The shooting stopped as suddenly as it started.

The silence that followed was worse. Thick. Waiting.

My breath came out in short, terrified gasps. I could hear someone walking closer—slow, deliberate steps echoing down the corridor.

The blindfold tightened around my eyes, the darkness absolute.

Then I felt it—a hand brushing my cheek, removing the tight smelly blindfold.

Warm. Steady.

I froze. My body went still, every nerve alert. The hand lingered, then slowly untied the cloth.

Light burned my eyes at first, and I blinked rapidly, my heart still racing. The shape in front of me came into focus—black boots, dark trousers, a fitted shirt, a gun strapped to his side.

Then I looked up.

And everything inside me stopped.

He was… beautiful. An angel?... Or a demon?

The kind of beautiful that felt unreal—like he didn’t belong in this world.

His face was sharp and masculine, every angle carved perfectly. Dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, his eyes—God, his eyes—cold and piercing, but there was something in them that made my breath catch.

I forgot for a second that there were dead men behind him, that my wrists were bound, that my heart was still racing from fear.

He looked at me silently, his expression unreadable. Then, his lips moved, voice low, smooth, commanding.

“ Ella?.”

How did he know my name?

My throat went dry. I wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

He crouched slightly, his hand still resting near my face. “Can you stand?”

I nodded, though I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I was too caught up staring at him.

The lines of his jaw, the way his black gloves fit his hands, the calmness in his voice even after the chaos.

My heart fluttered stupidly in my chest. I hated it.

I was supposed to be terrified—yet I was looking at this stranger like he’d just descended from heaven instead of walking out of a gunfight.

He gave a small smirk, as if he could read my thoughts. “You’re staring.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I—I’m not,” I stammered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

I wanted to look away, but my eyes betrayed me.

He was too close. Too intense.

The scent of him—something dark, masculine, expensive—wrapped around me. His gaze swept over my face, pausing on the rope around my wrists.

He reached for it, and I felt his fingers brush my skin as he loosened the knots.

My heart skipped again.

What was wrong with me?

The ropes fell away, and I rubbed my wrists, still staring like an i***t. “Who are you?” I managed to whisper.

He looked down at me, his lips curving slightly—not a smile, but something close.

“Lucas,” he said.

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.

The name meant nothing yet. But something about the way he said it… made me certain this man wasn’t a savior.

He was something else.

Something dangerous.

But all I could think as I stared at him, heart thundering, was—

God, he’s beautiful.