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The knocking onSavannah’s forehead spread to her temples. She squeezed her eyes together against the blistering pain as awareness crept into her senses. She was lying on something hard. A floor. The scent of dust and wood wafted to her nostrils.
Memories rushed back at the speed of a rocket. She’d been attacked, no, kidnapped and then beaten in the woods.
Jace.She shivered with horror.
All this time, she’d thought he was dead. The fact that he’d lived and breathed these last three years while she suffered made angry tears sting her eyes. Seeing his face hovering over hers in the woods had been like a violent kick to her senses, sending her back in time three years.
She’d barely survived the last time she’d tried to run from him...
The knocking continued, a ferocious headache. She forced open her eyes and took in a large living room. The brick fireplace near her head and the brown leather furniture were somehow familiar. She tilted her chin slightly. A staircase led to the second floor, and the kitchen beyond had a table long enough to seat twelve. Exposed wooden beams stretched across the length of the house—this feature had always been her favorite. She remembered now. She’d spent the odd weekend here with Jace. Sometimes he used the space as an escape, or for a guys’ weekend. He’d inherited the place from his grandparents and had talked about selling it.
When they were dating, Jace had sometimes grabbed her roughly or gotten in her face, but he’d never struck her. Her face throbbed, and she brought her fingertips to the sore, delicate skin on her cheekbone. The flesh around her eye was puffy. She’d do just about anything for ibuprofen.
No one knew she was here. But she knew the house and the property. Knew the neighbors to the left of the six-acre lot.
All she had to do was get outside again.
She fought to keep from wheezing through her nose. She needed to be quiet. Without lifting her head, she moved her gaze around the room. Where was he?
He’d left her on the floor unbound. Odds were he was close. Her next breath came out on a shudder.
Get yourself together unless you want to die here.
She had to think. And she needed a weapon. Daring to turn her head, she looked around the room. There wasn’t much for décor, just whatever items had come with the property. An empty vase sat on a sideboard next to the couch, adjacent to the fireplace. Too far. She needed something closer.
A few feet away, hanging on a hook on the fireplace, was a poker.
Yes!
Footsteps sounded from the kitchen, and she quickly brought her head back to position, but it was too late.
“I see you’re up. Thinking of an escape?” Jace strode into the living room and sat on the coffee table parallel to her, his gaze intent. Blood stained the skin on his neck where she’d gotten him with the screwdriver. The inch-long gash hadn’t done enough.
She pushed into a sitting position. The room spun violently. She brought her hand to her head as if doing so would hold the room still.
“You shouldn’t have made me do that,” he chastised.
Annoyance flared inside her. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been three years ago. Hell, she wasn’t the same girl she’d been three days ago. “I made you hit me? That’s funny, could’ve swornyouswung your fist.”
His eyes darkened. “You always have to make things so fucking difficult.”
She dropped her hand. Her surroundings stood in place. “Why are you doing this?”
“Your dad fucked me over.”
She clamped her lips together with the effort it took not to scream at him. Fighting with Jace would get her nowhere. She needed to not be his enemy if she wanted to survive. She swallowed her pride. “What did he do?”
“As if you don’t know.”
She reared back her head and the pain in her skull intensified. “He told me he killed you after you left the hospital with his men.”
His glare was scrutinizing. “I bet you were happy about that.”
The muscles in her throat clenched. She’d wanted to scream and hit him, maybe even kill him herself. But she’d been robbed of that experience.
She moved her tongue around the inside of her mouth, but the cottony texture remained. “No, I wasn’t.” Sticking closely to the truth might be the only thing that kept her alive. “I was mad at him for that. Hurt.” She focused on his eyes. “I hated you for what you did. But I couldn’t properly mourn her because I was so conflicted about how I felt about you. He took that from me.”
Jace stood and stalked to the window. Folding his arms across his chest, he didn’t look at her. “I never forgot her face.” He spoke so softly she could barely hear him. “She looked like you.” A smile touched his mouth then vanished. “You might hate me for what happened,” his said, his voice thick. “But I hate myself more. No one can hate me more than I do.”
