by Laura Kaye
Ever since Jenna had learned all the horrors Sara had endured—for her—she’d had random moments where it was suddenly hard to breathe. Sara had been caught in the middle of a living hell, and Jenna had been going to freaking college and worrying about things like tests and grades and annoying professors and what’d happened at Saturday night’s party. Like any of that actually mattered.
How would Sara ever forgive her for not knowing, not realizing, not helping?
Jenna couldn’t begin to answer that question because she would never forgive herself.
What kind of person didn’t know her sister had been raped? What kind of person didn’t know her sister’s back bore a mass of scars from a brutal whipping? What kind of person didn’t know her sister was being forced to do her skeevy job waitressing at a strip club and be with her Neanderthal of a “boyfriend”?
What kind of person actually blamed her sister even the littlest bit for any of those situations?
Nausea rolled through Jenna’s belly. She smothered her groan in the sweat-dampened pillow beneath her. The movement of her face against the soft cotton set off a throbbing ache around her whole eye. From backhand number one.
When the worst of the sensation passed, she inched closer to Easy. He had muscles so well-defined, their contours revealed themselves through the Under Armour shirt he wore. Even sitting there relaxed, his shoulders were like a mountain. He was tall, too. Well, pretty much any guy was compared to her, but Easy was the kind of big that gave you the feeling he could shield you from the brunt of a bad storm. And his skin was the richest, darkest, most perfect shade of brown.
Slowly, softly, she dragged her fingers to the bare skin on the back of his neck. She let her hand rest there, skin to skin, cupping his warmth and strength against her palm. There was something truly beautiful and compelling about the contrast of her skin against his.
Jenna knew it the instant he woke up because the muscles under her fingers flinched and tensed. Heat roared into her cheeks. How being caught admiring him could embarrass her after she’d vomited in the man’s presence all night, she wasn’t sure, but it did. She withdrew her hand.
“Don’t,” he said, voice tense and gruff.
“Sorry,” she whispered, pulling farther away.
“No, I meant don’t . . . stop. I don’t mind,” he said, one shoulder lifting in the barest shrug.
For some reason, the invitation in his words made the idea of touching him feel intimate in a way it hadn’t moments before. She stroked her fingers up his neck to the close-shaved black hair of his head. The shortness of his hair was almost ticklish against her skin. “Have you ever worn it completely bald?” she asked, as her hand gently palmed the back of his head. She wasn’t sure why she was engaging a freaking former soldier who had protected her and saved her life in a conversation about hairstyles, of all things, except maybe that she was curious about him.
Curious about every part of him.
“Nah,” he said. “Too high-maintenance.”
The words beckoned her smile. She sucked in a quick breath at the pulling sting on her lip.
Easy turned to face her, wearing a concerned frown. Dark circles marred the skin below tired, deep brown eyes. He looked exhausted and wary and not a little pissed off. Sexy. Intimidating. “What’s the matter?” His voice reflected the concerned-tired-angry combo, but it didn’t seem like the anger was directed at her.
“Uh.” So many potential answers surged forward in response to his question, she couldn’t say anything intelligent at all. Her gut and back hurt from all the heaving. Her throat was raw. Random spots on her arms hurt from how roughly she’d been handled. Finally, she licked dryly at the corner of her lip and winced. “Just stings.”
His gaze tracked the movement, and despite how dreadful she felt, her body reacted to his interest. Her pulse jumped, her cheeks heated again, her belly flipped, especially when his gaze remained locked on her lips. Maybe it was the chemistry that had simmered between them the other night when he’d protected her at her apartment. Maybe it was her gratitude for being saved, or maybe it was how jumbled everything felt in her head after the total whirlwind of the past few days, but Jenna would’ve given anything for a fresh mouth and a clean body so she could kiss him. And maybe other things. Definitely other things.
If her kidnapping had taught her anything, it was to live in the moment. Because who the hell knew when a gangbanger was going to bust down your door, grab you in broad daylight, and stuff you in the back of a van. And then you’d never once get to experience all the things you’d waited to do, to try, to have.
Except Easy had rescued her and given her a second chance.
His brown eyes flashed to hers and went absolutely molten. “You’re hurt, Jenna.”
“Feeling better,” she managed.
Those eyes narrowed. “And you’ve been through a lot.”
“All over. Thanks to you,” she whispered. “Easy, I just—”
Knock, knock, knock.
Easy flew to his feet as the door pushed open, and Sara peeked in.
“You’re awake,” Sara said, green eyes filled with both relief and concern. “Can I come in?”
Jenna nodded and threw some effort into scooting into a sitting position, her back against the unpainted wall. “What is this place?”
“It’s . . . well, kind of a long story. Shane and Easy’s team are using this building as a base to stage an investigation. There’s a tattoo parlor on the first floor that one of the guys owns. Most of the rest of it is unfinished, like this.” Sara shrugged and shook her head. “How are you?”
Jenna frowned. “Oh, uh, okay. Mostly.”
From behind Sara, Easy crossed his arms, arched an eyebrow, and gave her a pointed look that said if she didn’t spill, he would.
Hadn’t she done enough spilling? Which she guessed explained the hard-assed look. She sighed, not really wanting to burden Sara any more than she’d already done. For years now. “I got sick a few times.”
That eyebrow was still hitched in disapproval. What a hard-ass! Who’d saved her. And cleaned up her puke. So, okay.
“Well, actually, I got sick a lot of times. Like, I couldn’t stop dry-heaving most of the night. But I feel much better now,” she rushed to add. Her gaze cut to Easy’s, and she threw him a There. Satisfied? look. He gave a single nod.
All of Sara’s delicate features dipped into a frown. “How many seizures did you have? How bad? I packed your medicine, so that might help.”
Her medicine. She wasn’t sure she should take it—at least not yet. But if she refused, then she’d have to explain why she was refusing something she knew she needed. And that meant telling Sara everything that had happened on the second day she’d been held by Bruno, Sara’s not-really boyfriend/gang leader/all-around lowlife. And that wasn’t something Jenna really wanted to do, especially as another knock sounded against the door.
“It’s Shane. I brought Jenna’s prescription like you asked,” he said from out in the hall.
“Mind if Shane comes in?” Sara asked.
Shane’s presence made Jenna question for the first time how the hell she was dressed. Funny that she’d never once wondered or worried about that when it had been just her and Easy. Her gaze dropped down to her chest and she lifted the navy comforter to see what was going on down on the bottom half. Same T-shirt and yoga pants she’d had on the day Bruno had kidnapped her. God, when Jenna had the chance to change, she was having these clothes burned immediately. She’d never be able to wear them again despite the fact that she adored this vintage Lenny Kravitz concert T-shirt because, well, it was Lenny. What more needed to be said, really?
A hand fell on her knee, making Jenna jump.
“Jen?” Sara prompted.
Jenna blinked. “Uh, sure.”
Shane stepped through, and his smile shifted from hesitant to full when he looked at her. “Welcome back, Jenna,” he said with the hint of a Southern accent. Tall, with light brown ha
ir that looked like he constantly ran his fingers through it, Shane was so handsome he was almost pretty.
Her gaze flickered to Easy, who radiated none of Shane’s charm or warmth, just a stone-cold protectiveness that made it easier for Jenna to breathe—exactly what she needed right now. “Thanks,” she said to Shane, though the word felt grossly inadequate. But she had to say something because no doubt Shane had been involved in whatever they’d had to do to get her back from Bruno.
Sara smiled up at Shane as she accepted the white pharmacy bag and a bottle of water. And with that one look, that one brief exchange, Jenna knew. Sara was in love with him. Jenna had seen Sara fake a relationship for four years, so she knew what her sister looked like in that situation. She wasn’t seeing any of that here. Her sister’s body relaxed in Shane’s presence and gravitated toward his. Her smile was full and easy, not at all forced. And she didn’t think she was reading Shane wrong in seeing a lot of the same signs from him.
Tears pricked the backs of Jenna’s eyes. Somehow, in the midst of all the crap, Sara had found a bit of happiness. Nobody deserved it more.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sara asked, scooting closer.
“What? Yeah, sure.”
“Sweetie, I was talking to you, and you didn’t even hear me.” Sara slipped her hand into Jenna’s.
Pulling her hand away, Jenna grimaced. “You don’t want to touch me, I promise you. Not without a HazMat suit.”
“Stop it. I don’t care about that,” Sara said, taking her hand again. “But I do need to know what happened.”
“Why? It’s over, right? I’m fine. Really.” A thought hit her over the head, and Jenna gasped. “What happened to Bruno? Do you think he’ll find us here? We should get out of the city—”
“Bruno’s gone,” Sara said.
Gone. The word froze the frenzied thoughts darting around inside Jenna’s head. “Gone. Gone how?”
A series of emotions flitted over Sara’s face. “He’s, uh . . .”
“Dead,” Easy said from the post he’d taken up against the wall by the door. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore. Neither of you.”
A moment of shock, then a whole torrent of relief. “Thank you,” she said, meeting Easy’s roiling gaze, as if he were almost daring her to disapprove. Hell to the no chance of that. “Thank you,” she said again. The words remained inadequate no matter how many times she said them.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and ducked his head. And a part of Jenna wished it could just be the two of them here again. Easy had a quiet way about him that was peaceful and comforting, even though—clearly—the man was seriously and unabashedly lethal.
“So, then, it really is over,” Jenna said. “You’re free, Sara.”
“Yeah,” she said with a little smile that soon fell. Her grip tightened around Jenna’s hand. “Please tell me what happened,” she whispered. “I . . . if you don’t . . . my mind goes right . . . to the worst . . .” Her words drifted off, but Jenna knew what she was thinking. Because, unlike her, Sara had actually lived through the worst.
So, no matter how much she wanted to just put what happened behind her, Jenna wasn’t getting out of this. She owed it to Sara to put her mind at ease.
Fine. Then she’d stick to the highlight reel. Or would that be the lowlights?
Jenna inhaled deeply and let out a long breath. “Okay. They busted into our apartment, grabbed me, backhanded me when I tried to fight back, which is how I got this,” she said, pointing to her right eye. The way it throbbed, it had to be black-and-blue. As the words poured out, Jenna’s heart tripped into a panicky sprint. Just recounting what had happened—even in this cursory way—put her mind and body right back in the moment. She rushed to get it all out. “And then they tied me up in the van and held a gun on me. When we got to Confessions, they took me downstairs, and when I saw the black room, I had a seizure, and I don’t remember much of anything until I woke up in darkness so total I couldn’t see anything.”
Sara’s breathing hitched, and her eyes pooled with unshed tears.
And that reaction confirmed Jenna’s suspicion that it was the same room Sara had been held in four years before. Sara hadn’t given her too many details about what had happened to her during the week of her captivity, but she had mentioned a black room that deadened your senses and left you disoriented. After a seizure, especially a big one, Jenna needed no help whatsoever with disorientation, thank you very much. Damn epilepsy had that little nugget of awesomeness covered.
“Anyway, then a while later an older man brought me food. I didn’t eat it because I didn’t trust it. And then a while after that these two goons came and got me and I almost escaped, which is how I got this,” she said, pointing to the corner of her mouth. Her right cheek was none too happy either, but it didn’t feel swollen to the touch. And, really, who knew where the hit to the eye left off and became the hit to the mouth. She released a shaky breath and mentally jumped over a whole lotta stuff, hoping against hope that Sara would be satisfied with what she had shared. “And then I vaguely remember seeing Easy’s face before I woke up here. So, yeah, that’s about it.”
There. Done.
Jenna’s stomach did a loop-the-loop as her gaze cut from Sara’s concern and confusion to Shane’s scowl to Easy’s rigid fury. The guy looked wound so tight that a flick of her finger might snap him in two.
“God, Jenna, I’m so sorry,” Sara said, her voice cracking. “This is all my fault.”
“No, it’s not, Sara. It’s never been your fault.” Jenna would regret ’til her dying breath whatever role she’d played in ever making her sister believe otherwise.
Shane stepped up behind Sara and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I agree. The real miracle is that Bruno didn’t go off the deep end sooner.”
“Okay,” Sara said after a minute. “Okay.” She blew out a breath. “I guess, though, what I don’t understand is why you’re still so sick if your only seizure happened more than twenty-four hours before we got you back.”
“I don’t know. Just a bad one, I guess,” Jenna said, dropping her gaze to her lap and picking at the edge of the sheet. God, she hated lying.
“Well, as long as you’re feeling better, that’s all that matters,” Sara said. “Here.” She handed her the bottle of water. “I’d take it slow, though.”
Jenna gave a small chuckle. “Yeah. No kidding.” She uncapped the water and tilted the bottle to her lips. And, oh God, the cool moisture was luxurious against the aridity of her mouth and throat. She snuck another sip—and her gaze snagged on Easy. Who was looking at her with narrow eyes and a tilted head. Like he was analyzing her. Or doubting her. She blinked away. Probably just her own guilty conscience talking.
“Here, take this.” Sara offered a pill in the cradle of her palm.
And Jenna’s stomach began a slow, sinking descent. Her medicine. Which she really shouldn’t take until she allowed plenty of time for whatever they’d given her to get out of her system. So many regular drugs—hell, even some foods—caused bad interactions with her antiepileptic meds, so she had no doubt that what they’d given her not only had an equal or better chance of doing the same but was also probably why she’d felt so sluggish and been so sick. Her brain went haywire enough without adding recreational drugs into the mix.
Which was why she avoided such things like the plague.
Then again, Bruno and his goons really hadn’t asked for her opinion. More than that, one of them had slapped a big, beefy palm over her mouth and nose to force her to stop expressing it and swallow what they’d given her.
For some reason, it was the memory of that man’s hand across her mouth and against her nose—smothering her until she thought her lungs would explode—that removed every last inch of the distance she’d shoved between her rote description of what had happened and the completely irrational but no less avoidable feeling that it was about to happen again right this very minute.
Ice-cold t
error slammed into her out of nowhere. Her heart raced, her breathing shallowed, white spots played around the edge of her vision, and her fingertips went tingly.
“Jenna?” Sara said. The alarm in her sister’s voice only made her panic worse. “Sweetie?”
Voices that Jenna couldn’t interpret. Motion she couldn’t make sense of. She grasped at her chest, sure her heart wouldn’t be able to beat this hard much longer.
Her throat narrowed. Her chest tightened. Her breathing screamed as it sawed in and out of her windpipe.
Warmth. On her hand. On her face. She turned into it. And found Easy looking into her eyes. Intense. Focused. Determined.
“E . . . E . . . E . . .”
“Don’t talk. Just breathe. But slow it down. Can you do that for me?” As she watched, he inhaled an exaggerated breath and slowly blew it out. Then again. And again. Needing him to ground her, she grabbed his arm as she gulped for breath and tried to pace her inhalations with his, using his steady, deep in and out as a metronome of peace and life. After a few minutes, it worked. Staring into his eyes, Easy talked her through the panic, helped her slow her breathing, and gently pulled her back from the brink. “There you go. You’re just fine. No worries here. I gotchu.”
He has me. Inhale. He has me. Exhale. He has me.
Jenna nodded. Suddenly, the need to purge every bit of her experience from her soul flooded through her. It almost felt like if she didn’t get it all out, it might stain her forever. On the next exhale, she unleashed the words she knew she wouldn’t be able to say unless she did it right now. And given what she yet had to admit, it was somehow easier saying it to someone other than Sara.
“I can’t take my meds. They held me down and forced me to swallow something. A drug.” Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t . . . know . . . what it was. I tried to fight. I did. But then it hit me, and it was like a lead blanket, or maybe a magic carpet, because I was flying but so damn relaxed I couldn’t move my limbs. And then the one guy . . . he, um—” She shuddered and gooseflesh sprung up over her skin. God, she wished she could hold this part in. Hadn’t Sara suffered enough? But the words were right there and falling from her tongue. “—t-touched me, just to prove he could and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him.” Just saying the words brought back the remembered feel of big, rough hands groping and squeezing her breasts.
