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But then the face smiles, sick and smug.
Not Orion.
Nathan.
“What a good girl.” Nathan thumbs my cheek.
I go lethargic.
From the smoke—not his touch.
A hot coil of hate keeps me lucid even as my eyelids droop.
I let my hand drop to my pocket, just as Nathan pulls me into his chest.
Feel him relaxing.
Guard totally down because I’m fading fast.
“Get them—”
Nathan chokes.
Gurgles.
I twist the knife I just jabbed between his ribs.
He drops, and I fall, driving every pound of body weight and every muscle I have left into the knife hilt.
Nathan makes a wheezy groan.
I try to crawl away, smearing blood across the garage floor.
Voices rise.
“Shit. What do we do?”
“Nathan? Nate?”
“Do we get the others?”
“No. Fuckin’… Run. Grab her and run.”
Someone yanks me into their arms.
Nathan’s down.
Pool of blood.
But they’re taking me away and my body can’t fight.
While the masked men run me to their getaway car, my head lolls.
My vision’s blurry, but I spot JJ crawling out of the van.
Hands and knees through shattered windshield glass, arm dripping, leaving a snail trail of gore.
“Lilac!” his voice rips.
