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   Chapter 22 Her Entire Hand Was Soaked In Blood

The Devil's Lure By The Devil's Lure Characters: 9304

Updated: 2020-03-15 00:34

"Ray, it's a pity that you've torn such a beautiful flower. Why did you do this?"

Tracy frowned. She knew that Ray would not agree with her, but that didn't stop her from persuading him.

Ray scowled at her and ripped the flower to shreds.

He looked at the torn pieces and put them into his mouth.

"No! Ray, it's poisonous. You can't eat it!"

Tracy lunged forward and slapped his hand away.

But Ray grew violent.

He clutched the petals in his palm and moved away from her. Tracy grabbed his hand and unclasped his fingers. She dusted off the petals that were stuck to his sweaty palm. Ray was squirming and wriggling on the spot. Tracy forced his mouth open and pulled out the flower from his mouth.

Ray finally gave up as she managed to take the flower from him.

Tracy closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief.

She looked at Ray's face, that had turned red with rage, and wondered who his mother was.

He was willing to eat the flower despite knowing that they were poisonous. His behavior confused Tracy; he was acting beyond his age.

"Who is your mother?" Tracy asked.

As expected, Ray continued to remain silent.

But she had misjudged something.

His usual, vacant face was filled with remorse. She could see the pain in his glassy eyes; he was staring at Tracy as if blaming her for mentioning his mother.

Tracy felt bad. She regretted questioning about his mother when she wasn't aware of the bond Ray shared with her.

"All right, forget everything. You should not eat these flowers. They are poisonous."

Tracy studied Ray's expression and picked the flower pot to put it in a right place.

Tracy heard Ray making strange noises. She stopped and turned around.

The little boy was waving his hand violently.

"What's wrong with you again?"

Tracy grunted.

The boy ignored her and reached out to touch the flowers on the table.

The boy's stubbornness baffled Tracy. His behavior was beyond her comprehension. She stood in a corner and watched him.

Before Tracy understood what was going on, she heard a loud thud that made her heart leap to her throat.

Ray had pushed the porcelain pot to the ground.

Tracy's eyes widened.

She saw the shattered pieces on the ground.

The vibrant flowers, that were dancing a while ago, were crumpled beneath the pieces.

The beautiful flowers lay on the ground like abandoned trash. Tracy felt them like desperate girls crying for their miserable fate.

Her lips quivered. Anger and disappointment wracked her nerves.

She tore her eyes from the broken pot and looked at Ray.

His cold demeanor infuriated her.

"Did you do this because I touched your flowers? You crushed the beautiful flowers because I admired it for a second. Why do you hate me so much?"

Tracy's voice trembled. She didn't know whether to be angry or sad.

The little boy had killed her spirits. She was tired of making him like her. Tracy was on the verge of breaking down; she met Ray's cold eyes and realized that her guess was right.

He had broken the flowerpot because of her.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

Tracy's voice was barely above a whisper; she was desperate to know the answer.

Her life had taken a downward spiral ever since the boy set foot into their house. Tracy wondered if Brody had deliberately brought him home to torture her.

Ray continued to shoot daggers at her.

Tracy waved her hands in exasperation. She slumped to the ground and began to pick up the debris.

Tears trickled down her cheeks and landed on the tender petals. She loved them; their presence made her happy.

But she wasn't fortunate enough to revel in the momentary joy. All the things that made Tracy happy left her in an instant.

Tracy was seething with rage. The relentless sobs had turned her eyes sore.

She watched Ray throwing the petals into the trashcan.

Tracy hated herself for dismissing her self-respect and enduring the humiliation.

She wanted to leave Brody and escape from the hell-hole. But liberating herself from him wasn't easy.

Ray was as ruthless and heartless as his father, if not worse. There was not a shred of sympathy in his cold heart.

Ray picked the broken pieces one after the other and discarded them into the trashcan.

Tracy wiped her wet cheeks and continued to clean the place.

She had to pick up the pieces. Otherwise, Ray might get hurt.

Tracy began to gather the pieces, but Ray pushed her hand away.

He glowered at her and continued to pick the remnants by himself.

Tracy was shocked; he was too young to clean the place all by himself.

She feared that he mig

ht get hurt and decided to help him.

Ray picked all the shards of the flower pot, leaving only one remaining piece.

Tracy picked it up and stared at the sharp piece, but Ray clenched his jaw and grabbed the piece from her hand.

His gesture offended Tracy; anger rose from the pit of her stomach, but she tried to control herself. Tracy feared that the sharp porcelain piece would cut Ray, so she held his wrist. "Ray, let me take care of it. Be careful of your hand..."

Before Tracy could finish the sentence, Ray pulled the piece from her hand, tearing her flesh.

Tracy was caught off guard. Her body shook slightly by the force.

Tracy cried in pain. She withdrew her hand and looked at her palm.

Tiny pieces of porcelain were stuck to her skin.

Sweat beaded on her forehead; her face had turned pale.

Tracy bit her bloodless lips as pain coursed through her body.

She staggered to her feet and let out a painful groan.

Tracy closed her eyes and took a moment to compose herself.

She took a deep breath and looked at her throbbing hand. Panic rose in her heart when she saw the pool of blood dribbling down her fingers.

Her hand began to tremble.

Her entire hand was soaked in blood.

A lump formed in Tracy's throat. She swallowed the tears that were fighting their way out.

Tracy tried pulling the pieces out, but the pain stopped her.

The pieces were too small; she couldn't take them out.

Her legs became weak.

Tracy was drenched in sweat.

She bit her lip and saw Ray tidying up the place as if nothing had happened.

The cruelty in his behavior surprised her.

He was too vindictive and heartless for a child.

But she soon remembered that Ray was Brody's son--he was no different from his father.

Ray ignored Tracy and walked out of the room after cleaning the mess.

Tracy was all alone in the room.

Her hand was throbbing; she tried hard to pick the pieces, but they were too deep for her to pull out.

The pain suffused through her body. But it was her heart that she felt more deeply hurt.

It was said that the mental agony tormented people more than physical pain, because one's heart was more sensitive than their body. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, but her tears had dried up.

Tracy felt helpless.

She tried pulling the pieces out but ended up submerging them into her skin.

Tracy was heartbroken.

She felt her hand weak; she couldn't move an inch.

Her body trembled in pain. Every time she took a step, blood continued to trickle down her hand, and it soon formed a small pool on the ground.

Just when Tracy was about to step out of the room, she heard an angry voice.


Brody was standing by the door; he was a picture of pure rage.

Tracy tried to remain calm, but Brody's unexpected entry frightened her.

She knew why he was here.

The man had returned home to reprimand her for not taking good care of his child.

"You don't give a shit about what I say, do you?

Is this how you take care of Ray? How could you let him pick the broken pieces by himself?'' Brody lifted Ray in his arms and glared at her.

Tracy looked at him.

His anger and hatred towards her were evident in his eyes.

Tracy couldn't help but laugh.

"I didn't take good care of him? What a perfect observation!"

Sweat and tears dribbled down her sore cheeks.

Did he not see that she was in pain?

Hatred and humiliation were all she got for taking care of Ray.

Tracy's face had turned pale; she was feeling dizzy.

"Brody, I hate your son. I will torture him to death. What can you do? Huh? If you don't trust me, send him to a fucking orphanage."

Tracy screamed at the top of her lungs.

She was soon tired; her vision grew blurry.


Brody lost his temper. He raised his hand to hit her.

Tracy closed her eyes and waited for him to begin his torturous assault.

"Do it, just kill me."

Tracy was heartbroken. She wanted to end her life. That was perhaps the only way to escape from this torment.

She couldn't expect his sympathy because she was a mere puppet.

Brody used her when she needed him and abused her when he despised her.

Tracy wasn't mad at him. She hated herself for letting him use her time and again.

Brody knitted his brows as he noticed that something was wrong with her.

He dropped his hand and looked at her.


The words choked in his throat when he saw the blood on the ground.

He then found that Tracy was covered in a pool of blood that was spreading across her body.

Brody clamped his mouth with his hand and rushed towards her.

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