She heard faint squeaks. The softest of rustles. Her eyes had closed. When had they closed? She should look around and see what was happening.
But she was afraid and she didn’t think she wanted to see anything else.
Her right side kept hurting. Throbbing. She could still smell that terrible scent in the air. I think that’s me.
“Mary Jane…” A soft voice called. Her brother Drew’s voice. “Mary Jane…are you okay?”
Don’t be here. Don’t. Run away.
“Y-you didn’t tell them I was here.”
Now she did cry. One long tear slid down her cheek.
“I’m gonna…I’m gonna get you out.”
She shook her head and kept her eyes closed. But she felt him pulling on the ropes that held her ankles down. There was a faint sawing motion. It sounded so loud to her ears. She was afraid he would hear. “Stop.” The barest of whispers.
But the rope gave way. Her legs were free and her feet hurt because it felt like needles were shoved into them. She bit her lower lip as hard as she could, trying to hold back her cries. Now wasn’t the time to scream. She knew that.
Her eyes opened.
Her dad’s sightless eyes stared back at her.
No, look away. Look away!
Then the rope was gone from her wrists. Sawed away. He’d cut her wrists with the knife he had, but she didn’t care about that small pain. Then he was pulling her, pushing her toward the window. Such a small window. They were in the basement. And that window was up high.
“I’ll go through first,” he said. He shimmied up and vanished.
I don’t want to leave mom and dad. But…they were already gone. They’d left her. They weren’t suffering anymore. No one could ever make them suffer again.
“Mary Jane!” Drew reached down for her. His hand was small, barely bigger than hers. Dirty. Bloody. “Come with me, Mary Jane!”
Had he been hiding during everything? Hiding and waiting? He’d seen everything, too, just as she had. She looked up into his eyes—eyes that were the exact shade of her own. He’d been crying. He never cried.
Her gaze darted back to his hand just as she heard the basement door opening—the faintest of clicks from the top of the stairs. The monster was coming for her again.
She grabbed for the dirty little hand, and he pulled her up, yanking with all of his strength. Her body slid through the narrow opening of the window. Her shoulders. Her chest. Her stomach. Her—
The monster grabbed her feet.
”No!” she screamed. And then she held that dirty little hand even tighter. “Drew, help me!”
***
The nightmare-slash-dream-slash-walk-into-hell faded. Jane cracked open one eye. She wasn’t in the old basement any longer. Her face was shoved into a familiar leather couch—Aidan’s couch. She moved just a bit and saw the floor of his office and—
Legs. Legs in fancy black pants.
“Rise and shine, Jane,” an amused voice murmured. A voice that did not belong to Aidan.
Her head lifted and she stared at Paris. He smiled at her.
And she realized she was naked from the waist up. Good thing she’d only lifted her head. Jane took stock of her body, checking for aches and pains, but she actually felt good. No, better than good. Strong. Powerful.
She flexed her back but didn’t feel the pull from her wounds.
“Already healed,” Paris told her, rather helpfully. “It was quite amazing to watch, really. Your skin just starting closing about an hour ago. Like it was stitching itself up.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
“Um.”
That wasn’t an answer.
So she tried a different question. “Where’s Aidan?”
“Where else?” He waved one hand in a rather bored gesture. “Out looking for the men who attacked you. Come on, Jane. You know how he gets. Anyone hurts you and he flips the hell out.” Some of the amusement slipped from his golden eyes. “A very dangerous thing for an alpha of his power.”
“The men who attacked me are dead.” She distinctly remembered sending one to hell. “So there was no need—”
“Aidan thinks more is at play. More involved in the game than just two humans deciding they were going to kill you. After all, they were packing wooden bullets.” He walked to Aidan’s desk and lifted one blood-stained bullet. The bloody bullets had been lined up in a neat little row on top of the desk. “Wooden bullets mean they were after special prey. They knew what you were, and they were ready to see you die.”
She swallowed. Twice. “How—how did—” Jane broke off. Okay, no, she would not keep talking to him without a shirt on. “Turn around.”
He quirked one brow but did as she asked. Paris was the charmer, the lady killer. So, yes, he’d probably seen hundreds of women without their tops, but he wasn’t seeing her that way.