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Because I don’t care, I say, “Helicopter mechanic. All it takes is planting a guy on that team to sabotage Daddy’s helicopter.”
They stare at me.
“No way. That’s what Anya said, too,” Stellan whispers.
Anya. Anya and Jane. Of course. Of course they betrayed me. Betrayed Daddy. I’m beyond caring, right? The information flows over me like a river of logic. Makes sense.
But how are they connected to Nolan Corning?
Tap tap tap.
Someone’s knocking on the front door.
John’s body lunges, flying over me, arms and legs extended like he’s a flying squirrel. I rotate slightly just before he lands on me.
Big mistake.
His hip bone digs into mine like two foreheads cracking, my left leg going up as he rolls, the pain of his jeans button scraping along my inner thigh. My hands are in front of me and some muscle in my shoulder pulls so hard the pain blinds me, leaving me screaming without sound.
I’m close to fainting again.
“Jesus, Lindsay. Be more careful.” John’s mocking words heat up my ear, his breath smelling like garlic and darkness. I close my eyes, the brush of my bare calf against his jeans like singeing my skin with a hot branding iron. My breasts feel heavy against my chest. The cool air makes my nipples tighten reflexively.
Shame ripples through me as they pucker. The last time that happened, the muscles moved from arousal.
Not terror.
“Get in here,” I hear Stellan say to someone. The door slams shut. I can look through the open bedroom door and see sections of the hallway. Pale shadows cover the wall. A woman comes into the room, her head turned around as she still talks to Stellan, who is handling her roughly.
She turns around.
It’s Jane.
Jane.
I open my mouth to say her name but nothing comes out, because John casually presses his forearm against my throat. Something pops in my neck, right where a man’s Adam’s apple would be. It feels like a chicken bone caught in my trachea.
I can’t breathe. He’s pressing so hard I can’t breathe.
Jane’s eyes catch mine. She’s an animal, feral and caught in a trap, her breathing erratic, her face pale with shock.
Jane is no accomplice.
She’s a victim.
I can’t think. My vision swims. Instinct makes me grab John’s arm, fighting. I need to breathe, my chest spasming. I kick hard, finding leverage, losing it as he effortlessly presses the palm of his other hand on my pubic bone, hard.
I’m trapped.
I’m dying.
I’m fading out.
“Lindsay! God, no,” I hear Jane say as if she’s underwater, except I’m the one who’s drowning.
So this is how I die.
Naked in Drew’s bed with Jane watching.
