He’d come to kill Jace.
Shit. Hinges squealed, then the front door of the trailer thumped closed. I whirled on the gravel to face Marc, my back against the front bumper of the rental car. Glad none of the windows faced the row of cars, I waved one hand frantically. I couldn’t tell if Marc saw me, but I was sure he’d heard Alex approach; his cat ears were much better than my human ones.
Hoping he was still watching, I pointed toward the back door of the trailer in an exaggerated motion, then walked hunched over in front of the first two cars until I reached the corner of the building. Now out of sight from the rest of the compound, I stood against the wall, scanning for any sign of Marc in the woods as I listened to the muffled voices from the trailer at my back.
The windows were all closed against the winter chill, and while that had worked in my favor while I was crunching on gravel, closed windows were a definite inconvenience for eavesdropping. Desperate for information, I inched my way along the wall, the brick ledge catching on my jacket, and the indistinct voices inside grew clearer with each step. I stopped next to the first uncovered window, my heart beating a frantic, staccato rhythm against my breastbone.
“…how stupid do you think we are?” Alex demanded, and my racing pulse pumped blood through my body so quickly my cat vision started to go dark around the edges.
Jace’s response was too low and calm for me to make out, and I was suddenly glad I’d texted him. Otherwise, he would’ve been caught off guard by his half brother’s accusation.
“Mom may believe that, but I’m not quite so…gullible. You didn’t really think you could come spying for Sanders, then walk out of here with your face intact? Or, alive.”
“Alex…?” Jace sounded wary, then there was a solid thump behind my head as something crashed into the wall. Jace groaned.
“Pick him up,” Alex ordered.
Adrenaline spiked in my veins. That was my cue.
I glanced toward the tree line just as Marc stepped out of the woods, and I held out one palm, begging him silently to wait. If I could get Jace out without revealing Marc’s presence, I would. Besides, we stood a better chance with him as surprise backup—if they didn’t know he was there, they couldn’t defend themselves against him.
Marc shook his head, and though I couldn’t hear it, I was sure he was growling softly. Insistent, I waved him off again, and finally he nodded. But I knew that at the first sign—or sound—of trouble, he’d be at my back.
I was counting on it.
Still clutching the folding knife, I raced up the steps and threw open the back door, then stepped into a small kitchen walled with cabinets.
In the adjoining living room, Alex gaped at me in surprise, a hammer held high, ready to deliver a blow. Jace was on his knees on the worn carpet, his wrists bound at his back, the right side of his head swollen and turning purple. His eyes were unfocused, and he didn’t seem to know I was there. In the second Alex spent in shock, Jace began to tilt to the right like a felled tree. He would have fallen over if not for the grip Lance had on his arm from behind.
It took me half a second to absorb what I saw. Then I dropped the knife on the countertop and launched myself across the kitchen. I vaulted off the end of the short bar with both hands, but my left arm took the brunt of my weight, so I flew crooked. As I swung into the living room, my right foot slammed into the side of Lance’s head instead of his arm. He splayed across the couch, out cold.
Startled, Alex leaped back, and the hammer-wielding arm fell to his side.
“Jace?” I knelt by him, one eye on Alex, suddenly wishing I’d kept the knife. Jace’s head was swollen from his ear all the way into his hairline, and his skin was darkening by the second. I couldn’t tell if he had any cracked bones, but he’d been knocked silly. Almost unconscious.
He started to fall over again, and I lowered him onto his rump against an armchair—not an easy task with his ankles taped—hoping he’d come back to himself quickly. If he’d been hit with the hammer, his skull would have been caved in rather than merely bruised. So he must have been punched. Or kicked. Either way, he’d be fine.
He had to be.
I stood slowly, facing Alex and his hammer with nothing but my fists. Make that one fist—pain was shooting through my right wrist again, thanks to my vault off the countertop. “He’s not spying, Alex.” I tried to sound calm and confident, but I was unarmed and in enemy territory.
“Yeah, and you’re proof of that, right?” Alex sneered. “That he’s not spying for your dad?”
“I’m here for moral support.” I stepped to the side, drawing his focus from Jace as I edged my way closer to the knife I’d left on the countertop. “He didn’t want to come here alone. In case this happened.” I gestured to the entire room with my right arm, glad my jacket hid my wrist brace, concealing my weakness.
“And you were what? Hiding in his trunk?”
But before I could answer, Jace stirred on my right, gingerly rubbing his head. “Faythe? What the hell are you doing here?”
Great. There went my half-assed cover story.
“Rescuing you,” I hissed, shivering in the draft from the open back door.
Alex laughed and gestured with the hammer. “And doing a fine job of it. Now, if you’ll sit pretty while I call my dad, I promise we won’t hurt you. My father’s going to be almost as happy to see you as I am.”
I raised one brow. “Why don’t you sit down and shut up, and I’ll promise not to kick your face in on my way out the door?”
Alex’s gaze flicked to my left. I turned as a blur of motion raced toward me from an open doorway. I barely had time to gasp. Pain gripped my neck, squeezing. My body slammed into the wall. Fresh pain shot down my spine and whipped around my head. Air exploded from my lungs in one violent rush.
I couldn’t breathe past the hand tightening around my throat, pinning me to the wall. My feet dangled above the floor. My head spun. The blurred face in front of me wouldn’t come into focus. Without air, I couldn’t identify my attacker’s scent.
I clawed at the hand, raking it with my nails. My mouth sucked uselessly at the air. I kicked aimlessly, my boots slamming into his legs over and over, to no avail. My blurry vision darkened. My throat felt thick and useless. My ears rang. The pressure in my head made it feel huge.
“Hey, Faythe, good to see you again.” The voice was vaguely familiar, and the sour mental aftertaste called forth unfocused memories of pain and anger. I rolled my eyes upward and forced them to focus on the towhead whose huge hand squeezed my throat.
I knew him. How did I know him? Without more oxygen, I couldn’t place his face or remember his name.
“Damn it, Dean, let her breathe,” Alex swore. “That’s my future wife you’re choking.”
The hand around my throat loosened, and I sucked in several short, sharp breaths. But I still dangled above the floor from his grip on my neck. I still clawed at his fingers, trying to pry them from my throat. “She’s not yours yet.…” Dean leered down at me, and his gaze landed south of my neck. He could see right down my shirt.
“Not. Ever,” I gasped, struggling to open my mouth in spite of the pressure his grip put on my jaw.
“Anyway, I think this particular puss is more than you can handle,” Dean continued, still looking me in the chest. “She throws a hell of a left hook.”
And suddenly I remembered. Tall goon with white-blond hair and more muscles than brains. Colin Dean. The idiot Canadian import I’d knocked out in order to save Brett Malone in Montana during my trial.
“Put her down,” Alex growled. Dean shrugged, then lowered me to the floor, his hand still around my neck. Still pinning me to the wall, though my fingers pried at his.
I threw my right knee up, but he blocked it easily with his free hand. “You’re going to make me get rough, aren’t you?” The gleam in his eyes said that’s exactly what he wanted.
“You. Work. For. Malone?” I gasped.
Dean grinned. “For ab
out a month now.”
Malone was recruiting from outside the country. The bastard was drawing neutral parties into our civil war. That could not end well.
“Let her go,” Jace ordered from the floor where he’d fallen, on the lower edge of my vision. His eyes were clear; he was back with us, thank goodness. But where the hell was Marc?
Dean laughed without turning, and Jace growled until Alex kicked him in the ribs. Jace grunted and tried to curl around his new injury, but with his limbs bound, the best he could do was pull his knees up as far as they’d go.
I tried to yell for him to leave Jace alone, but my effort ended in strangled coughing. I wasn’t pulling in enough air to shout.
“Let the poor girl breathe,” Alex ordered, and Dean’s grip loosened a little more. His blood was sticky beneath my nails, the scent fragrant, now that I could inhale properly.
But I only had eyes for Alex. “You touch him again, and I’ll kill you,” I swore, still trying to dislodge Dean’s grip.
Alex’s brows shot up. “You’d kill me over Jace?” He stepped closer to me, and Jace growled again. Alex glanced from me to him, then back to me, and when I flushed, his eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. He knelt and jerked his brother’s head back with a handful of hair, then leaned down to stage-whisper in his ear. “Are you fucking my future wife?”
Jace’s jaws bulged with fury, but he could only writhe uselessly without the use of his hands or feet. I struggled harder against Dean, kicking and clawing, but kept my mouth shut for fear of incriminating myself. Marc was probably right outside, waiting for the best time to lunge through the open door.
Alex glanced up at me. “I don’t think this is what they mean by ‘all in the family.’” He turned back to Jace. “You know I’d kill your bastard kitten while it’s still bloody, right? Just like my dad should have killed you. Guess the honor’s all mine now…” Alex pulled the hammer over his head with both hands.
“No!” I let go of Dean’s hand and slammed my left fist into his ribs. He grunted and blinked, then pinned my arm to the wall over my head with his free hand. “Alex, no! Please,” I begged, blinking desperate tears from my eyes so I could focus on him.
Alex glanced at me. Something moved at his feet. I looked down to see Jace’s right hand whip out from behind his back. He grabbed his brother’s ankle and pulled.
Alex hit the floor hard, stunned. Jace rolled onto his knees and leaned over Lance, who still lay on his left. He straightened an instant later with a folded pocketknife in his hand. Alex swung up with the hammer. Jace blocked his brother’s forearm. The hammer thudded to the floor.
Metal clicked. Jace twisted around behind his brother, still squatting. He pressed the knife to Alex’s throat, and Alex froze. “Get up slowly,” he whispered, and they stood in tandem.
Jace’s left hand was now a fur-covered paw. He’d cut through the duct tape with his dew claw, a technique I’d discovered just two weeks earlier.
Alex stood with his hands loose at his sides, eyes wide and angry. One flick of Jace’s knife and he’d be dead. Jace pulled his brother to the side, and we could all see one another.
“Let her go or I’ll kill him,” Jace said, and my pulse thumped against the hand at my throat. He’d do it. I could see that in his eyes.
“Let him go,” Dean countered. “Or I’ll kill her.” He could break my neck with one squeeze of his huge fist.
“You kill her and Cal will hang your bones from the porch for a wind chime. If Alex doesn’t do it first.”
“Cut her,” Alex ordered, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right at first. But Dean didn’t hesitate. Without losing his grip on my neck, he dropped my arm and snatched Gary’s knife from the counter where I’d dropped it.
I threw another punch he barely noticed. An instant later the tip of the knife pressed against my left cheek, just in front of my ear. Panic flooded me, and I froze. “Let him go, or I swear I’ll slice her up.” Dean stared down at me, eyes gleaming in anticipation.
“You guys need her. You not going to cut her,” Jace insisted, but I knew better. In Montana, I’d bested Dean physically, then proved him a coward and a liar. He’d been sent home in shame, and he was eager for payback.
“Do it,” Alex said, and my heart tried to break free of my chest. “It’s not her face I need.”
Dean grinned down at me. My blood rushed so fast I felt light-headed. I couldn’t breathe, though my airway was clear. “Remember that left hook?” He pressed down, and the blade sank through my skin.
Twenty-Eight
“Ask me to stop,” Dean whispered, the point of the knife piercing my cheek. “Beg me, and I’ll stop.”
My hands fisted at my sides. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to claw his eyes out with my bare fingers. But I was afraid to move for fear of pushing the blade deeper.
And I would not beg. For my life? Maybe. For someone else’s life? Definitely. But not to avoid a little discomfort and an ugly scar. Not to indulge some vengeful psychopath’s thirst for power.
So Dean dragged the blade through my skin. I held my breath and fought not to close my eyes. Not to look weak. He cut slowly, tracing the line of my cheekbone, and I stood frozen, screaming on the inside. The pain was minor compared to the jagged gash in my arm, but my eyes watered immediately. Tears stung my new wound, thinning the blood running down my face, dripping from my chin. I could smell it. I could see it, a haze of dark red on the lower left edge of my vision.
“Stop.” The fury in Jace’s voice was as bleak as Dean’s future, as dark as my own rage.
Dean paused but didn’t lift the blade from my skin. “Let Alex go and get down on your knees. The longer you wait, the longer I cut.”
“No,” I whispered, moving nothing but my lips. If Jace let his brother go, Alex would kill him. No hesitation. No self-indulgent torture. No bad-guy monologue. Just a single, fatal blow to the head. I would lose him and Kaci. “No, Jace.”
Marc, where the hell are you?
I rolled my eyes toward Jace, and saw his features twisted in agony, as if he literally shared my pain, as well as my fury. The tip of his blade had pressed a dimple into Alex’s neck, but had yet to break the skin. He took a deep, shaky breath, but held his ground, under my order.
So Dean cut some more. Slowly.
A feline whine leaked from my throat. My fists curled tighter. I wasn’t worried about the wound; they weren’t really trying to hurt me.
I’ll admit it: I was pissed about the scar.
We can heal wounds quickly, but we can’t erase them, so whatever Dean did to my face would be permanent. The bastard was carving his mark into me, and it would be there every time I looked into the mirror or touched my cheek. For the rest of my life, every time I saw my own face I would think of Colin Dean, and of what Alex had told him to do to me. Every time Jace saw me, he would remember.
So would Marc.
When he heard me whine, Jace flinched. “Drop the knife now,” he growled, and my eyes rolled to the right to bring him and Alex back into focus. “Or I swear I’ll kill him.”
Dean shrugged, and the blade bit deeper as he dragged it slowly toward the corner of my mouth. “You kill him, and I get the girl. After I’ve prettied up her other cheek.”
Alex growled in protest, but no one acknowledged him.
“What do you think, puss?” Dean continued. “How about a cute little flower on that side? Ooh, or maybe my initials? That way, no matter who you spread your legs for, one look at your face and he’ll know I’ve already been there.”
“Never happen…” I whispered through clenched teeth, trying not to move my cheek. Fury raged in me, hot, heavy, and completely impotent. But there was nothing I could do without making it worse. I couldn’t Shift my teeth or my hands without him noticing. I needed an opening. Something to distract him long enough for me to make a move.
“Never say never…”
Finally, the tip of the knife reached the corner of
my mouth, and Dean pulled the blade away from my face. I set my jaw firmly, trying to stop the tears from flowing. But they came, anyway, and I allowed myself one heartbroken, pissed-off sob. It was done. No matter what happened next—even if I killed him with my next breath—Dean’s mark would always be there.
“Ready to let him go?” Dean’s words were for Jace, but his psychotic leer never left me, and his knife hovered near my neck. When there was no answer, he raised the blade again and slid the cold, blood-wet steel down the scooped neckline of my T-shirt, between my breasts.
“Don’t,” I whispered, acutely aware that the knife was now inches from my heart.
“Dean…” Alex warned. “Her face.”
Just as Jace growled, “Cut her again and I’ll kill you. If she doesn’t do it first.”
Dean grinned. One quick downward stroke split my shirt right down the middle. The blade snagged on the front of my bra, then that gave way, too, and I was exposed from neck to navel. “Maybe your face isn’t all we should decorate. I’m thinking concentric circles.…” He dragged the tip of the blade lightly over the curve of my left breast without breaking the skin.
My pulse pounded, and rage scalded me like the heat from a bonfire. I was ready for help now. I glanced at Jace again and blinked, begging him silently to do something. Anything to keep Dean from carving up my chest. Anything short of letting Alex go.
“What’s wrong, Jace?” Dean taunted, and my skin crawled when he pushed the left half of my shirt aside with his pinkie. “Not gonna want her after our little makeover?”
Jace swallowed and glanced at the blade, the point of which trailed lightly toward my left nipple. He was afraid of making it worse. Afraid that any movement on his part would make Dean cut me again. Leave his mark elsewhere.
I was scared of the same thing. Terrified to take a deep breath for fear of pushing the blade through my own skin. But I would not be this monster’s fucking pincushion!
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