Page 5

He drugged me.

The realization is a shock of cold water—like falling through a frozen pond.

I stop…or I try. My legs are not working right. Archie gives an alarmed yelp as his bag swings wide with my unsteady movement.

"Wait," I say…or at least I try to say. Blackness is edging my vision. The icy pond is sucking me under, the weight of my clothing dragging me down.

Swim!Something inside me screams. It's not my voice. It's not Gramma's. It's not any voice I've ever heard before.

I spin away, the martial arts classes I've been taking pulling muscle memory from deep inside me. Jack's hold breaks, and I flail widely, my arms pinwheeling, Archie's bag drops onto the floor. He squeaks at the impact. I keep moving, my vision a swirling mix of colors.

I slam into something hard, and airoofsout of me. A lamp tips, the shattering of broken glass accompanying our dip into near darkness.

My eyes are not working.

I grasp the table that stopped me, holding on to my mind, to what's left of my vision.

"Dammit!" Jack curses. "What are you doing, you drunk bitch? That was a very expensive lamp."

He's grabbing me again; pain, a dangerous, burning pain, lights in my bicep at his touch. "Let go of me," I slur.

"Shut up," he commands.

My hand searches across the surface of the table I'm holding. My fingers find something big—a bowl, maybe. I grip it. Hot breath hits my cheek. "You need to lie down." Jack’s voice has gone soft again.

"I'm not drunk; you put something in my drink," I think I say, but it comes out all distorted. Distorted like my vision, like the room. Shit, the whole kaleidoscope is spinning. Am I moving?

He's dragging me.

Then Jack picks me up, and everything tilts.

I search for that small, familiar coal of inner strength and, closing my eyes, breathe on it, getting it to glow a bright orange—the way I did when I built the courage to come out here from Kansas. This is how I hunted down the bruises left by my grandma and covered them with makeup because I figured she was better than foster care.The devil you know.This burning coal gave me the power to march into Mary's office and tell her she would regret not taking me on as a client.

The light from this latest blaze brightens, and with it my senses return.

My back is moving, something rough underneath me is rubbing my skin.

I hear Archie barking, but far away. There is hot breath on my face…the huff of desire, of sexual satisfaction. Fabric tears, the sound sharp. Air hits between my legs. My breasts are exposed—cold.

Sharp teeth bite a nipple, and the pain throws gasoline onto the flames of the fire I’m tending.

My eyes pry apart. That's when I feel him at my entrance.Oh no—hell no.

Rolling, turning with all my strength, I knock him away.

Sharp fingers in my hair pull me back. Jack’s eyes are right above mine. They are no longer those Caribbean depths—now they are the shallow, dangerous shores of the Pacific, roiled and dark, with flecks of white swirling.

His lips crush onto mine, stealing my breath, but not my strength. His tongue invades me as he tries to position himself again.

My hands are empty. I lost whatever I was holding. But I still have my nails.

I bring them up—these long, fake, plastic artifices of femininity.My weapons.I rake them down Jack’s cheeks, cutting through his rough stubble and digging into that famous face.

Warm blood follows the force of my dragging fingers. The smell—that metallic tang of life force—invades me, stoking my fire. You'd think liquid would quell flame, but that's not what happens here.

I want more.I want to unleash all his blood.

Jake Axelrod is going to pay.