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“Three years late.” The gun jammed under her chin, bruising soft flesh as he used it to jerk her head back. “Stevens thinks he's so smart, setting Thane on me. Thinks I'm stupid, throwing lies at me, giving me ultimatums. I lost my freedom because of him, our mighty leader. Planted lies in my head that festered, so all I could think about was killing Thane when I got out. Nearly succeeded, too.”
He licked his lips as muddy brown eyes drank her in. “They blamed the driver of the semi for that pile-up. Idiots missed the fact the front tire was shot out, didn’t they? I’m not as good a shot as Sergeant Isaacson here, but I hit what I shoot at.”
Nausea rolled in her stomach when comprehension struck her in the gut. Whoever this man was, there was a high possibility he was insane. What else could he be when he’d just shot Thane without warning—oh God, Thane—and was now taking credit for the accident which had almost cost her lover his leg.
“He always was the luckiest sumbitch. I shoot him and he walks away with a flesh wound, nothing but a scar to show for it. I engineer the perfect murder for him, and he hops away with a mangled leg. Not so fucking lucky now, is he? Asshole rats me out to our superiors, lands me with a dishonorable discharge, then carries on with his life, whistling a merry tune.” He laughed and trailed the gun muzzle down her throat. “Turned me into a career criminal while he keeps himself busy fucking pieces of ass like you. And you…oh, I’ve read all sorts of interesting things about you, baby. Kinky shit.” He poked his cigarette into the cuff on her left wrist, burning into the leather. “Ended up in the hospital, didn't you? Don't worry, you won't end up there today. By the time I'm through sating my needs, you'll be on an adjoining slab next to your boyfriend in the morgue.”
Connie swallowed, fighting to break through the heavy fog suffocating her. She was useless like this, disassociated from reality in an effort to protect herself. Where the hell was her phone? She ignored the comment about her past because she couldn't afford to think about Evan and what he'd done to her. “If you broke in here, you've triggered the alarm,” she told him haltingly, her tongue numb. “Security will be here any minute.”
It was a lie, a brazen one. There was no one coming, because no one knew they needed to. No one knew Thane was bleeding all over the floor, dead or alive. No one knew she was screaming for help inside a mind perilously close to shattering.
Pain exploded across her right cheekbone and temple, splintering into her eye and teeth. She cried out, spinning with the force of the blow. She heard a faint sizzle, smelled the cigarette up close, then the acrid scent of her hair burning.
“If you can’t tell, I hate liars. Thane did a very bad thing, and now he’s paid the price. Stevens is next on my list, but I can make room for you if you utter one more goddamn lie. I'll leave you here, ass up in the air, cum leaking from every hole. They can see what a slut you were, being fucked just feet away from your dead boyfriend, before I do some pretty nasty shit to your insides with a bullet or two.”
Connie cringed, taking a step back toward Thane. If a crazy person was going to kill her, she'd rather just take the bullet to the head and skip the rape. She inched back as the monster followed her, then stopped when the deadly weapon poked her between the eyes. “Who are you?”
“Oh, where are my manners? Corporal Mikhail Guthrie, former. Ex-convict, bringer of justice.” He took one last drag on the cigarette, then dropped it to the hardwood floor and ground it under the heel of his battered boot. “I'll be the man fucking you up so good, your mother won't recognize you.”
Asshole. Connie rolled her shoulders. Her parents had been dead for years. It was just one small blessing that they wouldn't have to see what their daughter was reduced to in the hands of a madman. She hoped none of her friends would have to bear witness to what the promise of violence in Guthrie's eyes did to her.
“Get in there and strip,” he ordered, using a couple of twitches of the gun to indicate the living room. “I haven’t got long to play, and I intend to make the most of every minute. You hesitate, you make one wrong move, and I empty this clip into the Sergeant’s head. Won't make him any deader, but he sure as fuck won't be having an open casket funeral.”
She refused to believe he was dead, even as a snapshot of his wide, dull eyes filled her head. She wouldn't believe it until she felt for herself that he had no pulse, no heartbeat. “Let me help him and I'll cooperate. I won't fight.”
“Can't help a corpse, and I'm done being nice.”
The gun lashed against her face, the butt slamming into the side of her head. Pain flared, then her legs gave out on her as consciousness wavered. A boot slammed into her stomach, doubling her over and making her retch, then another kick sent her sprawling on her back. Groaning pitifully, she tried to curl into a ball, but a heavy hand landed on her head, fisting her hair and dragging her away from Thane.
She thrashed weakly when he released her in the living room, cried out a sobbing breath when he kicked her again, this time in the side. He fell onto his knees, straddling her. He knelt on her forearms, then reached into his back pocket and yanked a switch knife free, snapping the hypnotically sharp blade into position.
“I like it when they fight.” Guthrie hacked through her clothes, not caring that the tip of blade caught her skin multiple times. Blood trickled as he spread the material wide over her chest, eyes lighting up with a perverted glow. “These are nice tits.” Hard fingertips gripped her nipples and pinched them until the tips turned white. “You're gonna scream sooner rather than later, might as well make me happy.”
She swore on her life she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Guthrie belted her again, his fist connecting with her jaw this time. When she went limp, stunned, she felt him fumble with her jeans, popping open the button and wrenching the zipper down before he flipped her belly down on the living room carpet. Her boots disappeared, tossed aside, then he yanked her last defense down her legs and left her naked on the floor.
His chuckle of lewd delight was enough to have her shutting herself away, locking herself into her head. Her body was useless, swimming in pain, unresponsive to commands. She heard the thunk of something heavy beside her, felt him kick her legs apart before rough fingers skimmed over her pussy.
It had been more than ten years since she'd been exposed to viciousness, and her formerly impenetrablebarriers were rooted in place. Her body was accustomed to a peaceful existence now, aside from when it submitted to Thane. This level of infliction wasn't the worst she'd lived through, but by God, it hit her hard.
Her heart stopped beating for a long moment at the sound of a zipper being lowered. She knew what it meant, and she was powerless to prevent it. The pain pulsing in her head was quickly gathering momentum, the nasty blows to her face and skull acting as a trip switch for a migraine. Stress compounded the reaction, bringing the debilitating pain to the surface faster.
Lips curled in an attempt to appease the agony, Connie twisted her hips, locking her thighs and ankles together. Her muscles tightened, fending off the biting fingers trying to wrench her apart. She yelled when a hand fisted in her hair and slammed her head into the wooden floorboards. Once, twice. The third time, her consciousness wavered in splinters of darkness, then spiraled apart.
Limp, she surrendered.
*
Thane jolted awake to the flames of a thousand suns burning into his shoulder. He grunted harshly, gathering his bearings before he tried to move. He was crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, laid in a pool of his own damn blood. Blood that, at a guess, was still pissing out of the bullet wound beneath his collarbone.
Fuck.
For the rest of his life, he would never forget the scent, or how his clothes were beyond saturated with the contents of his veins.He bared his teeth, not quite believing someone had shot him again, in the same goddamn shoulder.
The sound of the gunshot had triggered something he hadn't even considered would be an issue—it mimicked the sound of his truck hitting the semi before it began crumpling around him, metal folding and stabbing through him. As much as he loathed the idea, the PTSD had knocked him well and truly on his ass. Grimacing, he rolled onto his back, stifling a yelp as the fire streaked untamed down his left arm, across his shoulders…hell, it consumed him.
But he was alive. He wondered if Connie knew she'd saved his life by stopping on the stairs and changing his direction. One more step down and he'd have walked straight into a full-frontal shot, rather than the deadly projectile taking a random route down a familiar path. It was the only explanation why he wasn't dead yet, although the blood pool was rather concerning.
