He was dead. He was dead, and she had killed him. He’d been standing right in front of her, talking, and now he would never do so again.
She’d been so focused before. Had been so intent on making him stop that she hadn’t fully realized what was happening. How close it got before he…
Nausea burned in her throat. Lights swarmed in front of her eyes, dizziness following with such speed that she almost collapsed.
He would have made her into a toy. A glorified broodmare. He would have raped her against the desk, taking her over and over, until she got too exhausted to fight him. Until she was nothing but a shell. An obedient pet that did everything she was told without hesitation.
The only reason he hadn’t was because she gotlucky.
She grabbed the wall and closed her eyes, blocking out the scene, but it didn’t help. Every second after she was pulled into this room flooded her mind, hitting like a tidal wave now that adrenaline wasn’t keeping them at bay.
Everyone had known, too. They had seen him drag her away. Had been fully aware of what he planned on doing, and they’d been fine with it. Had thought themselves so right in their twisted cause that any action they did, no matter how deplorable, became not only acceptable, but encouraged.
Now their leader was dead. The murder weapon still warm in her hands.
The door slammed open. Kieran’s people had heard the gunshots. They would barge in, see the carnage, and kill her for causing it. Not quickly, either. They would make her sprintinto such exhaustion that she’d feel relieved when death finally caught her.
Eyes still closed, Harper swung the gun towards the doorway. She fired blindly, over and over until the magazine clicked empty.
A hand closed around her wrist, and the gun clattered to the floor.
“No!” She tried to wrench free. “Let go! Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me, you piece of—”
“Harper!” Hands grabbed her shoulders. “Harper, it’s me!”
She stopped fighting. She opened her eyes, and instead of a stranger, she found familiar soft features. Dark brown hair. Beautiful golden-black eyes.
“Maya?”
She was covered in blood. On her face and neck, and her skin was pale and patchy. She was wearing the same clothes as back at the cabin, now ripped and wet from melted snow.
But she was alive. Alive and holding onto Harper’s arms. Keeping her steady.
A sob tore through her chest. She fell forward, burying her face against Maya’s shoulder, and clung to her with all her rapidly fading strength.
“You’re safe.” Maya hugged her close, the hold almost painfully tight. “I’m here. I’m here now. I got you, and you… you’re safe.”
It sounded like she said it mostly to herself. As though she had to voice the words to believe them, and hearing it just made Harper cry harder. Everything had been so hopeless just a moment before, and this embrace—familiar andsafe—made everything before it stand out in devastating contrast.
Maya cupped her jaw, eyes flicking over her body. Pausing on her bruised cheek and torn t-shirt.
She tensed. She looked towards Kieran, lying dead on the floor, then back to Harper’s ruined clothes. Her eyes hardened as though transformed into inky black stone.
“Did he…”
Harper took a trembling breath. Then shook her head.
“No. But he tried.”
Fire filled Maya’s gaze. Such pure fury that it would have been frightening had she not pointed her glare at Kieran’s corpse.
She looked like she wanted to tear him apart. Like she wanted him to come back to life, just so she could kill him again, and this time it would happenslowly.
Instead, she turned back to Harper. She took off her leather jacket and wrapped it around Harper’s shoulders, covering her.
“I’m sorry.” Maya pulled her close again. “This shouldn’t have happened. He should never even have touched you. I’m so sorry.”
Harper hid her face against her chest. She had told herself that Maya was coming, but that belief wasn’t confident. It was loud only because of necessity. To block out the terrifying alternatives that were far too easy to believe.
