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Page 94
“I’m fine,” I insisted before Jace could ask. He looked unconvinced but knew better than to argue.
I turned to survey the room. Alex and Lance were out cold and bound hand and foot with duct tape. Colin Dean was bleeding all over the carpet, propped against the front of the couch, his face pale from blood loss, his eyes glassy.
“Can you pull the rental around back while I find Marc?” I asked Jace. I couldn’t risk anyone from the middle building seeing me, and I was worried about Marc. If he could have helped us, he would have, especially when Dean was carving up my face.
Unless he’d heard too much.
If he knew I’d slept with Jace, would he leave us? Would he have let them kill Jace and hand me over to Malone? Would he have let Dean cut me?
No. I shook my head, trying to shake off thoughts and questions I wasn’t ready to confront. Jace dug the car keys from his pocket, but as I turned to follow him through the open kitchen door, a small glint of light drew my focus to Dean, where he still sat with one hand around the body of the folding knife protruding from his chest. The flash had come from his other hand. What the hell?
Squinting, I came closer, and Dean tried to slide his left hand beneath his thigh. But I’d already seen what he held: his cell phone, flipped open and ready to dial.
“Nice try.” I stomped faster than he could react and smashed three of his fingers along with the phone.
Dean howled in pain, and I held my open palm out to Jace. He tossed me the roll of tape, then headed straight for the car. I peeled off a strip of tape and slapped it over Dean’s mouth, then pushed him onto his side—ignoring his wordless moan of pain—and bound his hands at his back.
With Dean silenced and immobilized, I marched toward the kitchen—and nearly jumped out of my own skin when Marc appeared in the open doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans from the backpack I’d left with him in the woods.
“Damn it, you scared the shit out of me!”
“Chingao!” Marc crossed the trailer in an instant, brows drawn low, gaze trained on my fresh cut. “What the hell happened to your face?” He took my chin and carefully tilted my cheek toward the light. “It’s straight and clean. Shallow, but it’s gonna scar.”
“I’m fine. What happened to you?” He was bleeding from a four inch gash on the left side of his rib cage.
“Found another one of Malone’s men in the woods. Fucker had a knife. Now I have his knife.” He patted his right pocket, where the outline of the folded blade stood out against his hip. “Your turn.” He glanced pointedly at my cheek.
I avoided his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid cut.”
“Faythe, it’s your fucking face. Did Alex do this? Pinche carbon! I’ll kill him.”
I grabbed his arm, and before he could shrug free, Dean began edging away from us on the floor, stupidly drawing Marc’s attention. “Is that…? Colin Dean?” He tugged loose from my grip and dropped into a squat beside Dean. “Did you do that? That why she stabbed you?” He thumped the handle of the blade, and Dean groaned miserably. “This was Faythe, right?”
Dean sucked air in through his nose so fast I thought he’d hyperventilate.
“You fucking cut her?” Marc demanded. “Why? Just to do it?”
“He marked her,” Jace said, and I glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, looking three different brands of miserable. “Left his fucking calling card on her face.”
Marc was fury given form. His fist flew before I could stop him. His first punch smashed Dean’s nose, and blood spurted everywhere. Dean sputtered and choked on it. “How the hell is he supposed to breathe now?” I demanded, trying to turn the gory Canadian on his side to keep him from choking on his own blood.
“He’s not.” The next blow broke at least two ribs.
“Marc!” I pulled him back. “You’re killing him.”
“Damn right.”
“No.” I shoved him back and flinched at the pain in my wrist. “He’s not worth it. Not for revenge.” Death, we avenged with death. But I’d already cut Dean worse than he’d cut me.
Jace knelt and picked up Lance, tossing the unconscious tom over one shoulder. “We need to go.” His voice was calm. Too calm.
Marc rounded on him, eyes flashing in fury, pupils too pointed to be fully human. “Where the hell were you while he was carving her up?” He stomped across the floor, but Jace held his ground. He looked guilty as hell, but the twitch in his right arm said he was ready to defend himself, even one-handed.
Marc pulled his fist back, and I raced across the room. “What good are you, if you can’t protect her?”
I threw myself between them and shoved Marc with my left hand. “Stop it! Jace is the only reason Dean didn’t carve his initials into my chest. And we do not have time for this shit!” Marc blinked and forced his eyes to focus on me. When he dropped his arm, I exhaled slowly and Jace headed out the door with Lance. “Help me lock up. Kaci’s waiting for us.”
Marc blinked again. His nostrils flared as he tried to rein in his temper. Then he spun around and stomped to the front of the trailer where he locked the front door, then started covering windows.
I rolled Dean over again, giving him at least a fighting chance to breathe, but his nose was a lost cause. It was swollen and still pouring blood. He bubbled and gurgled with each breath.
I turned to survey the room. Alex and Lance were out cold and bound hand and foot with duct tape. Colin Dean was bleeding all over the carpet, propped against the front of the couch, his face pale from blood loss, his eyes glassy.
“Can you pull the rental around back while I find Marc?” I asked Jace. I couldn’t risk anyone from the middle building seeing me, and I was worried about Marc. If he could have helped us, he would have, especially when Dean was carving up my face.
Unless he’d heard too much.
If he knew I’d slept with Jace, would he leave us? Would he have let them kill Jace and hand me over to Malone? Would he have let Dean cut me?
No. I shook my head, trying to shake off thoughts and questions I wasn’t ready to confront. Jace dug the car keys from his pocket, but as I turned to follow him through the open kitchen door, a small glint of light drew my focus to Dean, where he still sat with one hand around the body of the folding knife protruding from his chest. The flash had come from his other hand. What the hell?
Squinting, I came closer, and Dean tried to slide his left hand beneath his thigh. But I’d already seen what he held: his cell phone, flipped open and ready to dial.
“Nice try.” I stomped faster than he could react and smashed three of his fingers along with the phone.
Dean howled in pain, and I held my open palm out to Jace. He tossed me the roll of tape, then headed straight for the car. I peeled off a strip of tape and slapped it over Dean’s mouth, then pushed him onto his side—ignoring his wordless moan of pain—and bound his hands at his back.
With Dean silenced and immobilized, I marched toward the kitchen—and nearly jumped out of my own skin when Marc appeared in the open doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans from the backpack I’d left with him in the woods.
“Damn it, you scared the shit out of me!”
“Chingao!” Marc crossed the trailer in an instant, brows drawn low, gaze trained on my fresh cut. “What the hell happened to your face?” He took my chin and carefully tilted my cheek toward the light. “It’s straight and clean. Shallow, but it’s gonna scar.”
“I’m fine. What happened to you?” He was bleeding from a four inch gash on the left side of his rib cage.
“Found another one of Malone’s men in the woods. Fucker had a knife. Now I have his knife.” He patted his right pocket, where the outline of the folded blade stood out against his hip. “Your turn.” He glanced pointedly at my cheek.
I avoided his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid cut.”
“Faythe, it’s your fucking face. Did Alex do this? Pinche carbon! I’ll kill him.”
I grabbed his arm, and before he could shrug free, Dean began edging away from us on the floor, stupidly drawing Marc’s attention. “Is that…? Colin Dean?” He tugged loose from my grip and dropped into a squat beside Dean. “Did you do that? That why she stabbed you?” He thumped the handle of the blade, and Dean groaned miserably. “This was Faythe, right?”
Dean sucked air in through his nose so fast I thought he’d hyperventilate.
“You fucking cut her?” Marc demanded. “Why? Just to do it?”
“He marked her,” Jace said, and I glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, looking three different brands of miserable. “Left his fucking calling card on her face.”
Marc was fury given form. His fist flew before I could stop him. His first punch smashed Dean’s nose, and blood spurted everywhere. Dean sputtered and choked on it. “How the hell is he supposed to breathe now?” I demanded, trying to turn the gory Canadian on his side to keep him from choking on his own blood.
“He’s not.” The next blow broke at least two ribs.
“Marc!” I pulled him back. “You’re killing him.”
“Damn right.”
“No.” I shoved him back and flinched at the pain in my wrist. “He’s not worth it. Not for revenge.” Death, we avenged with death. But I’d already cut Dean worse than he’d cut me.
Jace knelt and picked up Lance, tossing the unconscious tom over one shoulder. “We need to go.” His voice was calm. Too calm.
Marc rounded on him, eyes flashing in fury, pupils too pointed to be fully human. “Where the hell were you while he was carving her up?” He stomped across the floor, but Jace held his ground. He looked guilty as hell, but the twitch in his right arm said he was ready to defend himself, even one-handed.
Marc pulled his fist back, and I raced across the room. “What good are you, if you can’t protect her?”
I threw myself between them and shoved Marc with my left hand. “Stop it! Jace is the only reason Dean didn’t carve his initials into my chest. And we do not have time for this shit!” Marc blinked and forced his eyes to focus on me. When he dropped his arm, I exhaled slowly and Jace headed out the door with Lance. “Help me lock up. Kaci’s waiting for us.”
Marc blinked again. His nostrils flared as he tried to rein in his temper. Then he spun around and stomped to the front of the trailer where he locked the front door, then started covering windows.
I rolled Dean over again, giving him at least a fighting chance to breathe, but his nose was a lost cause. It was swollen and still pouring blood. He bubbled and gurgled with each breath.
