Bethroated to the devil's son

Chapter Two: Blood,Fire, and shadows.

I decided to also stab myself with that same knife.

Yes, if they were going to kill me anyway, why not do it myself?

Maybe that way, I could join my family faster... maybe I could be with them in the afterlife, where there was no fear, no gunshots, no blood.

I sneaked my shaky hand toward the knife one of the men had used to kill Papa. My small fingers wrapped around the cold handle as I quietly pulled it closer, hiding it behind my back. My heart was thumping like a drum. I bit my lips to stop the sobs from breaking out again.

But just as I tried to raise the knife to stab my own chest—

BANG!!

A loud kick sent the knife flying from my hands. It clattered across the tiled floor and disappeared under the couch.

I looked up, startled. Mr. Li had kicked it away.

Why…?

Why would he do that?

Didn’t he come here to kill us all?

Why stop me now?

Tears were pouring down my cheeks, and my throat burned from holding back my screams. I was trying to make it easier for them—wasn’t that what they wanted?

But it seemed Mr. Li had other things in mind for me.

I still hadn’t seen his face clearly. The lights in the room were dim, and he wore a black coat with a hood that shadowed his eyes. Cold, dangerous eyes. He didn’t say a word, just turned to one of the men beside him and gave an instruction in a language I didn’t understand.

The man nodded and grabbed my arm roughly.

"No! Let go of me!!" I shouted and kicked and screamed. But he was stronger. Way stronger.

He pulled me up with such force that I slammed my head against the edge of the wooden table nearby.

CRACK!

A sharp pain exploded in my skull.

Blood began to drip down the side of my face.

Everything became blurry. The lights danced. The walls shook.

I was dizzy, weak, and falling... falling... but the man didn’t stop. He dragged me out of the house.

Just as we reached the porch, I heard a loud whoosh behind me. I turned slowly, my vision spinning, and saw the impossible.

The house—my home—was on fire.

Bright orange flames licked the walls and roof, swallowing everything in seconds. I wanted to scream, to run into it and save the last pieces of Mama’s memory, of Papa’s laughter, of my siblings’ little drawings and books. But I couldn’t.

I could only let out a faint, broken cry.

That was all I had left in me.

I was shoved into the backseat of a black car. It smelled expensive... and cold.

Someone was already sitting beside me, but I couldn’t make out who it was.

My head ached so much I could barely keep my eyes open.

And then... darkness.