“That. Fucking. Bitch.” Dallas’s voice is cold and hard and even. If I weren’t already scared by the damn text, his tone alone would have terrified me. “Track it,” he says to Liam. “Find her.”
And then he hangs up. Just ends the call. He tosses the phone across the bed. It slides off, and lands with a thud on the carpeting. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even notice.
Slowly, he stands. Paces. He’s like a caged cat, and it’s only when I realize that I’ve slid backward in the bed and have pulled my knees up to my chest and am holding the sheet under my chin that I realize just how on the edge I am from watching him. Not a cat, I think wildly. A spring, wound tight.
And even as that metaphor enters my head, the explosion I’d been anticipating comes. He topples the armchair in the corner. He sweeps his arm over the dresser, sending small boxes flying. He puts his fist through the drywall beside the closet door.
But when he heads into the bathroom, I race after him, terrified that he’ll punch the mirror and slice himself to ribbons.
“Dallas, don’t!”
I catch him right on the threshold, and he whips around to look at me. In the same motion, he grabs my shoulders and slams me back against the wall. For an instant, I see the wild fury in his eyes. Not at me, but at the world.
And then I can’t see his eyes at all, because he’s too close, his mouth hot on mine. He breaks the kiss just long enough to yank my arms above my head, then holds them there, his hand cupping my wrists even as his mouth slams hard against mine.
He needs this—I know he does. And, dammit, so do I. The feel of him against me. The safe reality that it is Dallas touching me. Not fear. Not the world. And definitely not the Woman.
I want what he is taking, this demanding, heated longing. This passionate assault.
And yet despite my desperation, I can’t handle it. I’m too sore, my body still too battered, and though I try to hold it back, I whimper as my abraded shoulder sings with pain, and he immediately shuts down, his anger buried fast and completely by his concern for me.
It’s such a simple thing, and yet it fills me with so much joy that I wrap my arms around him and kiss him tenderly.
When we break the kiss, he looks at me softly, his hands stroking my hair. “You’re mine, Jane. Don’t ever leave me again.”
There’s a hardness in his words, but I know it’s not meant for me. This isn’t really about me walking away. It’s his challenge to a fucked-up universe. It’s his threat to the Woman. It’s his way of telling me and the world that he can’t bear to lose me again.
And though I understand all of that, the answer that comes to my lips is simple and personal. I look into his eyes and say softly, “Don’t ever lie to me again.”
He steps back, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’re still angry.”
“No. Maybe a little.” I frown, because I’m honestly not sure. “Does it matter?” I ask. “The bottom line is, I love you.”
“Say that again.”
I raise my hand and cup his cheek in my palm. He hasn’t shaved today—maybe not even since yesterday—and his face feels scratchy against my skin. “I love you,” I say, and I watch as my words light his face. And then I frown as I see the shadow touch his eyes.
“Dallas?”
“I was so goddamn scared of losing you.”
I swallow, then nod. I know that he’s talking not only about the attack, but about the way I stormed out of our apartment. But that one’s not a real fear, because we both know that I could never have stayed away. Not really. I tried before, after all, and I failed. Thank god, I failed, because now I’m with Dallas.
But the other fear—that I will be taken from him—is real, and it terrifies me, too.
I tilt my head to look up at him, wishing that he would say consoling things. That he would begin talking and tell me that it’s all going to be okay, that there is no one out there to hurt me. But that’s not going to happen. I have to face this. And I’m so damn grateful that I don’t have to face it alone.
“You really think it was the Woman, don’t you.” My words are a question, but I already know the answer.
“How much did you see? Did you see her wearing the mask?”
I nod. “But it could have been anyone,” I add lamely. “That text could have come from someone who thinks that killing me would erase some horrible sin.”
“Could be, but it wasn’t. And you know it wasn’t.”
I nod again. I know the truth. I just want to wrap myself tight in a warm blanket of denial.
“We have to find her. We have to keep you safe.”
I close my eyes, then simply breathe. “She could have killed me then. She said so in that damn text. Why didn’t she?”
“You know why.”
He’s right. I do. “She’s playing with us.” I mull over my own words, not sure how to say this, but knowing that I owe him the truth. “I’m scared,” I admit. “I don’t want to be, but I am. And that pisses me off, because that bitch already took too much from me. I don’t want to give her my peace of mind, too.”
“Jane.” He reaches for me, but I turn away, not yet finished.
“I’m scared,” I repeat. “But it’s not just for myself. You’re the one she’s really after. You’re the one she’s going to want to hurt.”
“But, baby, you’re missing the point. She does want to hurt me. And she knows that the surest way to do that is to go through you.”
His words chill me, and I hug myself and nod. He’s right, of course. Dear god, he’s absolutely right.
I take a deep breath and force myself to think rationally. “She thinks there’s something between you two and I’m the thing that’s keeping you apart.”
“There’s not. You’re not.”
That actually makes me smile. Almost. I tilt my head back, take a deep breath, and say, “Well, duh.” Then I press on. “But what’s going to happen when she’s forced to realize that? It’s going to be bad, Dallas. We have to find out who she is.”
“Believe me when I say we’re working on that.”
I nod, understanding that we’re working on it means Quince is working on it. Or more accurately, Quince is working on Colin.
I draw in a breath. “I need to see him.”
“Jane—no.”
There’s a tightness to his voice that I know is worry, but I shake my head, dismissing it. “I have to. If he really did this, I’ll know. I need to know for sure. Whatever little bits of doubt are left in my mind, I need them erased. Dallas, he’s my father—”
“Is he?”
“Don’t play that game with me. If there’s anyone who knows the import of blood ties versus legal ties, it’s you and me.”
He holds up his hands in defeat. “Jane, I—”
“I know. You want to protect me. We’ve been down that road before. Protect me all you want,” I add with a magnanimous smile. “But just don’t stop me.”
