Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel

by Shannon K. Butcher

  His mouth was parched, making speech too much of a chore to bother with it. He needed to save his energy for combat, though he couldn’t remember who he was supposed to fight.

  Maybe the woman?

  Finally, his heavy eyelids obeyed and he managed to peer through his lashes at her. Dark red hair, dark, concerned eyes.

  Leigh. He recognized her. She was the one he needed to protect.

  Details began trickling back. Men had come into the house. He’d fought one of them. The man had had a gun, and the way he fought screamed that he was a professional. A second man had aimed a weapon at Clay, and then . . . nothing.

  “What happened?” he croaked out, his words grating the skin of his dry throat.

  “Take a drink,” she ordered in a no-nonsense tone that had Clay obeying without even thinking about it.

  Cold water eased the dry burn and jolted him a bit more into wakefulness—enough for him to realize that she’d dodged his question.

  Water dribbled down his chin. He reached to catch it, but the bite of handcuffs stopped him. “Uncuff me.”

  “I will in a minute. I just want to be sure.” It was the fear in her voice that finally shoved away the remaining cobwebs of sleep.

  Clay lifted his head and forced his eyelids open all the way. The lights of the room stabbed him, dragging a hiss of pain from his chest. He blinked as tears flooded his eyes, washing some of the grit of sleep away.

  Leigh was crouched in front of him, a stethoscope draped over her neck. She had a glass of water in one hand and a syringe in the other. Both hands were shaking, and she was so pale the little constellations of freckles on her cheeks were easy to see. So were the bruises along her jawline.

  Something had happened to her—something that had terrified and hurt her. Only the certain knowledge that she was standing here, safe and alive, gave him room to breathe.

  “You want to be sure of what?” he asked.

  She hesitated for so long, he wasn’t sure she was going to answer him. “You weren’t yourself.”

  The terrible truth crashed down on Clay like a bucket of ice water as he pieced everything together. He was bound. She was afraid. She was bruised. He had a missing section of time.

  “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

  She looked away, the truth plain in the way she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m fine.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Leigh backed away, setting the water on a nearby end table. “Payton will be here soon. Everything is going to be fine.”

  A moan drifted in from the kitchen. Clay’s body went on red alert, tensing for action. The cuffs jangled and held firm. “Who is that?”

  “One of the men who broke in. I restrained him.”

  That wasn’t good enough. If he got free, she was an easy target. She didn’t even have her revolver on her—it sat several feet away, as if she’d have all the time in the world to reach it if she had the need.

  “There were two intruders.”

  She gave him a shaky nod, swallowing hard enough that he could see the movement in her throat, below the darkening bruises along her jawline. “One of them is dead.”

  A flash of a memory hit him—his hands on a stranger’s head, twisting. The muted snap of bones breaking beneath skin. The satisfaction of an enemy conquered.

  Clay had done that. He’d killed the man. And if the other intruder got free, he’d do the same thing to Leigh. She wasn’t trained to handle an opponent like him.

  “Unlock the cuffs, Leigh.”

  She backed away, bumping into the couch. “I will as soon as Payton gets here.”

  If he hadn’t already been able to see the truth of what he’d done in her eyes, he would have known it now. “I won’t hurt you again. Whatever it takes, I’ll hold it together long enough for you to get to your car and leave. I’m myself again. I swear it.”

  How long he’d be that way was another story, but for now, he was in complete control.

  “I can’t leave,” she said. “If the man in the kitchen manages to get free, he could hurt you.”

  “Is there a chance he can get free, Leigh? Because if there is, you really need to let me go. He will kill you.”

  She shook her head. Her pretty red hair was a tangled mess, as if she’d tossed and turned in bed for hours. Dark circles haunted her brown eyes. She kept wiping her palms on her pants, alternating which hand held the syringe.

  Clay craned his neck to follow her nervous gaze to the kitchen. A man clad in black and strips of silver duct tape lay on his side, struggling against his bonds. It wouldn’t take much for him to get free. The fact that she’d used the cuffs on Clay told him which man she feared most.

  That thought snapped s cghton omething deep inside him right in two, making him bleed. He’d done some pretty fucked-up things in his life, but he’d never before hurt a woman—at least not that he knew. Seeing the bruises he’d left on her soft skin made him want to rage and weep all at the same time. Whatever else happened, it would never make up for what he’d done. He could spend the rest of his life serving others and doing good, and it wouldn’t even make a dent in his guilt.

  Still, somehow, he had to get her to listen. Her life was at stake. “I know you’re afraid, but this is way too dangerous. You need to knock him out.”

  “I can’t drug him. I don’t know what was in that dart. The drug interaction could be bad.”

  “I don’t really give a shit about what happens to him. He broke in. He deserves whatever he gets.”

  “You don’t understand. He may know something. What if he knows how to help you and Garrett?”

  She intended to question him? “Hell no. That’s way too dangerous. He’ll say whatever he has to, to string you along just long enough for him to get free. You won’t be able to trust a word he says, and then, just when you think he’s given in, he’ll break out of that tape and kill you dead.”

  “You don’t know that’s what will happen.”

  “You don’t know it won’t. Please, Leigh. Let me out of the cuffs.”

  She shook her head and bit her bottom lip. “I can’t be sure what you’ll do to him. And what you won’t. I’m sorry, Clay, but I can’t trust you.”

  Those simple words crushed him, grinding him further under the heel of what had been done to him. He wanted to scream at her, but she was right not to trust him. Any man who could leave marks on her and not even remember it could never be trusted.

  Even so, he couldn’t leave her to defend herself against a threat she couldn’t understand. She was a healer. She helped people. No way was she going to be able to see the kind of evil that man could do coming her way. Not until it was too late.

  Clay went to work removing the tape covering the keyhole to the cuffs. Leigh knew he could pick the lock, and she was smart enough to protect herself from him by making the job harder. He only hoped that meant she was also smart enough to protect herself from the intruder lying on the kitchen floor.

  “I’m going to question him,” she told Clay, squaring her shoulders as if marching into battle.

  “Wait until Payton gets here.”

  “No. I need answers. So do you.”

  Before he could think of a way to stop her, she left him cuffed to the wooden newel post and walked into the room with the enemy.

  Everything inside of Clay rebelled at her putting herself in danger like that. He had to get free, and when he did, he had to convince her to get as far away from him as possible.

  She knelt down next to the man. He could barely see them if he craned his neck fo cd hidth="2rward. Her voice was gentle, coaxing. If that man in there had any kind of soul at all, the sound of her voice alone would have him spilling his guts in minutes.

  The deep rumble of the man’s response reached Clay’s ears, but he couldn’t understand the words. They seemed to carry on a conversation—her speaking, then him. Clay could hear no sign of distress, but the way the man was wiggling slightly meant that he was doing
more than just talking.

  The tape covering the lock was thick, and Clay had made it through only a few layers when he saw the man jerk as if yanking something free.

  A thick jolt of panic speared Clay, stealing his breath for a moment. His fingers tingled, and he could do nothing to make them move faster to free himself.

  “Leigh. Get away from him,” he warned.

  He saw a look of startled fear widen her eyes. She propelled herself backward, but it was too late. The man had freed his hands, and those hands were now batting away the syringe she held while taking her captive.

  Clay had only seconds to act. He couldn’t open the lock in time. The manacles were too tight for him to slip them off. Leigh had been careful in restraining him.

  The scrape of metal on wood screeched in his ears as he pulled against the railing. Red flooded his vision as helpless rage took hold of him. He strained against the cuffs, feeling blood seep along his wrists.

  The intruder tore away the tape holding his legs together, while easily fending off Leigh’s inexperienced blows. She had no weapons. Her gun was left in the living room. Her syringe was lying on the floor somewhere. Even her fingernails were too short to be of much use.

  Still, she fought him, kicking and punching with her free hand.

  Leigh landed one good blow to his neck, stunning him for a few precious seconds. She tried to wrench her arm free, but his hold was too tight.

  Clay roared in outrage and threw his weight against the newel post. The wood creaked and groaned but held firm.

  She yelled again, only this time the sound was full of rage rather than fear. The intruder grunted in pain, and Clay strained his neck to see what had happened.

  Leigh had freed herself and was backing up as fast as she could. Only she was headed farther into the kitchen.

  “Don’t let him corner you!” shouted Clay. “Come this way.” Maybe if she got close enough, he could fend the man off with his feet—at least long enough for her to grab the gun.

  Clay grabbed the newel post. His hands were slick with blood, but he managed to get a decent grip. With every ounce of strength left in his abused body, he pulled at the post. His ribs burned, and cuts along his skin reopened under the strain.

  He heard nails squawking. The post moved a fraction of an inch. But it wasn’t enough. When he looked again to see what was going on, he saw that the intruder had control of Leigh’s body. One thick arm was wrapped around her neck, and her hands were pinned beh cre thind her back.

  The man’s gaze met Clay’s, then went straight to where Leigh had left her revolver lying.

  “We don’t need you alive,” he heard the man tell Leigh. “Only him. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you don’t settle the fuck down.”

  He was lying. He had every intention of killing her. Clay could see it in his eyes as he moved closer to the weapon.

  Leigh had only seconds left to live if Clay didn’t act.

  Suddenly, that now familiar haze tried to cloud his head—the one that happened right before he woke up and found someone else dead. Just like earlier tonight. Just like in Arizona.

  He couldn’t give in to it. He couldn’t lose himself right now. He’d hurt Leigh again, and if he did that, he knew it would kill him.

  Clay fought the haze, gritting his teeth and putting every scrap of effort into pulling the newel post free.

  The man was a few steps away now, moving slowly toward where he’d be within range of Clay’s feet.

  Blood dripped into his grip. He held the post low, tugging hard enough to hear the nails coming free. Pain burned along his arms and shoulders. His thighs shook as he used his legs for added leverage.

  Leigh stared at him with a mix of hope and rage lighting her eyes.

  Clay would not fail her. He would not let her die.

  With a final hard shove of his whole body, the post ripped free and he stumbled forward. His wrists were still cuffed, but that wasn’t going to stop him from fighting.

  He barreled into their legs, sending both the man and Leigh tumbling to the ground. She was released and rolled aside, out of the way.

  Clay gave the man no time to recover or regain his feet. He kicked at his head, only to have his blow diverted by the man’s arms.

  Leigh scrambled for the revolver and aimed it at the intruder’s abdomen.

  He saw the gun, went still, and raised his hands. Clay wasn’t in the mood for more threats to her life, so he gave the man a hard kick to the head, knocking him out.

  “Get these fucking cuffs off of me. Now.”

  * * *

  Clay had been right. Leigh was not prepared for this kind of violence, despite that horrible, dark time she’d endured right before Hollis’s death. She had no experience with hired gunmen—which that man had admitted to being—and no way to gauge the threat he had posed until it was too late.

  What she did know was that Clay had torn himself apart working to save her. She wasn’t about to make him do it a second time.

  Using a kitchen knife, she cut the bloody tape coverin c tait a secg the lock free and unlocked the cuffs. The skin along his wrists looked like it had been chewed up by a chainsaw.

  Her stomach knotted into a queasy ball at the sight. Normally, seeing physical damage didn’t faze her. But normally, she wasn’t the cause of it, either.

  Clay took the bloody handcuffs from her and rolled the man he’d fought onto his stomach. He paused in the act of latching the second cuff closed, then stopped, leaving it dangling open.

  “What?” she asked, barely able to push the word out of her constricted throat.

  “He’s dead.” His tone was flat and final, without any sense of satisfaction or grief. “We need to go.”

  “But Payton will be here soon.”

  “Fuck Payton. He must have led them here earlier.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Not on purpose. But someone knows where we are, and I’m sure as hell not going to sit around while we wait for reinforcements to show up. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He went to the kitchen and started opening drawers. He found the weapons she’d tucked away and set them on the counter. “Tranquilizer darts,” he said as he saw the weapons the intruders had been using. Then he continued to search for something. “They didn’t want us dead.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Probably not. If someone kills you, that’s all the harm they can do. If they keep you alive . . . Well, let’s just say that there are worse things than being dead.” He pulled a clean towel from a drawer and ripped it in half. The cloth went around one wrist as he awkwardly bandaged his wounds.

  “Let me do that. I have antiseptic and gauze in my bag.”

  “No,” he barked, his voice hammer hard. Then more gently, “I don’t want you anywhere near me—not after what happened. Just take your car and go. Don’t tell me where. And don’t go home, either. Find a hotel. Pay in cash. Go somewhere you’ve never been before.”

  His staccato orders were starting to scare her. He rattled them off as if he’d done this before. “You want me leave you to fend for yourself? You really have no idea what you’re up against, do you?”

  He paused in the act of knotting the torn towel. His amber eyes were bright with rage, his body vibrating with it. “And you do?”

  “You forget I’ve been through this before with my brothers.”

  “And exactly how well did that work out, Leigh? One brother’s dead, and the other is in prison.”

  She flinched, reeling back from the truth presented so bluntly.

  Things had gone badly for Hollis and Garrett, but she knew more now. She knew what could happen, which made her better armed to prevent it from happeni c frne ng to Clay.

  “I’m sorry,” he said on a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I’m tough. And you need me.” Staring into his eyes, daring him to stop her, she took the strip of fabric he was tryin
g to wrap around his wrist from his bloody fingers. The towel was a poor bandage—it wasn’t sterile and it was going to stick to the wound—but if that was all he’d allow her to use, at least it would stop the bleeding.

  “I won’t be the asshole who makes your life a shittier place.” His gaze lingered on her bruises, and something shifted in his expression, closing him off even more. “I’ve already done enough damage.”

  “And don’t think I won’t be more careful in the future. I’m not an idiot. But I also know I’m the best chance you’ve got at figuring out how to fix what’s wrong with you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because before he died, that man answered my questions. Well, he evaded them at first, but once he thought I had sodium thiopental in that syringe, he gave me information.”

  “Sodium what?”

  “Sodium pentothal. Truth serum. I think the idea of me drugging him shook him up enough to slip and say something he wasn’t planning to.”

  “What did he say?”

  “If I tell you, then you won’t have any reason to let me come along.”

  His mouth tightened and the muscles along his jaw bulged in frustration. “Why the hell would you want to put your life at risk again?”

  “Because Garrett is worth the risk. If we can undo whatever was done to you and him, I can give him back his life. Don’t underestimate the lengths to which I’ll go to make that happen.”

  “Tell me what he said, Leigh.” There was a warning in his tone—one she staunchly ignored.

  She really needed to do a better job of patching him up. With all the blood smeared over his wrists, it was hard to tell exactly how much damage had been done. And the wounds needed to be cleaned, too. If he ditched her, he’d be out there on his own, most likely with some kind of infection to fight off. She would not let that happen, even if her brother’s future wasn’t at stake.

  “No,” she said. “Not until we’re away from here, headed to wherever it is we’re going.”

  He shook his head, and she heard a low growl emanating from his chest. “This is stupid. You’re going to get hurt.”