Page 101 of Jane Deyre
“W-what do you mean?” I stutter, still repulsed by the puckered scar I left over half his visage. A scar he will have forever.
He shoves the lingerie into my face. Almost smothering me with it.
“Get undressed, bitch!”
“No!” I scream.
On my next panicked breath, the pocketknife he stabbed me with years ago is pointed at my neck. The razor-sharp switchblade a hair’s breadth away.
“Do it now, cunt!”
“NOOOO!”
“Now! I mean business!” He runs the blade across my neck. Lightly but enough for blood to trickle down the shaft.
With a cold rush of fear coursing through my veins, my fingers trembling, I’m about to lift my hoodie over my head when the door bursts open. Two words.
“You motherfucker!”
CHAPTER 52
Ward
“NOOOO!”
I can hear the scream from across the lawn. It pierces the air. Pierces my ears.
Despite my fatigue, both physical and mental, having flown on a plane for over twelve hours and battling the emotional strain of the last ten days, I race to the guesthouse, fueled by adrenaline, my heart in my throat, my pulse in overdrive. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
I kick the door open, not prepared for the clusterfuck that awaits me. It’shim!
“You motherfucker!”
It’s John Reed. The motherfucker who assaulted Jane at her house. The son of a bitch who almost raped her. What the fuck is he doing here? Jane assured me he didn’t know where she now lived.
But this is not the time to ask questions. He’s got a knife pointed at her throat. And he’s already used it to cut her. Blood is dripping down her neck, staining her hoodie.
My sudden, unannounced entrance takes him by surprise. “What the fuck?You?”
His shock morphs quickly into hot-blooded wrath. Unlike our last encounter, he shows no fear. His face darkens, turning the ugly scar a deep shade of purple. In one swift move, he wraps his forearm around Jane’s bleeding neck and yanks her away from the wall. The tip of the razor-sharp blade on her jugular vein, ready to take the plunge. Terror flickers in Jane’s eyes and she whimpers.
Taking several steps backward with Jane his prisoner, he faces me. His eyes flash with madness. “If you want to see this bitch alive again, you need to get the fuck out of here.”
I don’t move. Not a muscle. Not even the blink of an eye. I know the sick fuck is bullshitting me. He’s going to rape Jane. Then kill her. For a split second, I contemplate lunging at him, but he’s too far away from me. The knife will be lodged in Jane’s throat before I can take him down. She’ll bleed out before I can free her.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. I weigh my options. Fuck me. I have none.
The knife still firmly planted on Jane’s neck, Reed holds me fiercely in his gaze. He grows more enraged. More deranged. “What part of get the fuck out of here don’t you understand?”
I don’t answer him. I back up slightly and, for the first time, eye a sheet of paper and a book strewn on the floor. A portrait of me, for sure Jane’s creation, andThe Queen of Thornhill. Jane must have dropped them upon encountering the bastard.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks as a plan of attack formulates in my head. It’s a long shot, but the only chance I have.
“Keep your pants on,” I snap back.
“I’m gonna count to three...”
“Okay, okay.” I put my hands up in surrender.