He rapped on the heavy oak door as icy calm overtook him.

A minute passed and he thought he heard shuffling on the other side, but the door didn’t open. The chickenshit was going to ignore him? Oh, hell no. He pounded on the door with the side of his fist, the wood rattling beneath it. “Open up, Ackerman. We need to talk.”

So much for subtlety.

When no answer came, he reached for the handle in frustration and jiggled it. The lever handle gave easily and the lock clicked. He gave the door a tentative push and it creaked open, revealing a darkened living room of whitewashed furniture. Moonlight streamed in from the wall of windows at the back of the room—the lake glinting a few yards beyond the small backyard. Reid slipped his hand behind him, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the gun. He took a cautious step forward, the carpet absorbing the noise.

He paused in the entryway, tuning his ears to each nuance of sound around him—the breeze rustling the bushes outside, the hum of a refrigerator in the nearby kitchen, the click of the air-conditioning shutting off. The ordinary soundtrack of an empty house. But the hair on his arms was standing on end. Despite all the normalcy, something was off.

He closed the door behind him with a gentle snick, shutting out the outdoor noises, and listened more closely. There it was. Underneath all those mundane hums and clicks, a muffled sound that started then stopped in an irregular pattern. He eased the gun from his waistband and moved toward the kitchen with silent steps.

The unfamiliar sound grew a shade louder. He scanned the kitchen, quickly determining it was empty, then approached the only closed door in the room. He pressed his ear against the door and strained to hear what lay beyond. The sound he’d been following increased in volume and hit him straight in the chest. A soft groan. Human and undeniably female.

All caution flew from his brain, and he grabbed at the handle with his free hand. The door eased open and exposed a shadowed flight of stairs. Basements weren’t normal in Texas, and Reid could think of only one reason why Davis would have a house built with one—to conceal his dirty secrets.

The pitiful sound of whimpering increased, and Reid had to force himself not to rumble down the stairs like a charging bull. Keeping the gun poised in front of him and clinging to the shadows, he eased down the steps. When he reached the point where the shaft of light from the basement angled too wide for him to stay hidden, he crouched down to peek around the wall blocking his view.

His heart jumped into his throat. Brynn—naked and hanging upside down on a St. Andrew’s cross. She’d been blindfolded and ball-gagged, but her choked sobs and moans made it past the blockage. Angry welts striped her torso, breasts, and thighs, and blood seeped from the lashes as her body heaved with her panicked breaths.

Rage whipped through him like a gale force wind. After a quick scan to make sure no one else was in the room, he hustled toward Brynn. She tensed and turned silent, apparently sensing she was no longer alone.

He tucked the gun in his waistband. “Brynn, sugar, it’s Reid. I’m here.”

A strangled cry escaped from her.

“I’m going to get you off this thing,” he said, reaching for the blindfold first, knowing that scared her as much as anything.

When he pulled the material from her, her bloodshot eyes were wide and swollen from crying. Unintelligible noises emanated from behind her gag, but he wanted to get her freed before anything else. He searched for the mechanism to turn the bondage wheel that the cross was attached to right-side up. “Shh, it’s okay, baby.”

He hoped Davis had taken off when he’d realized he’d been caught, but Reid knew he could still be in the house. They needed to get the hell out of here. Fast.

He found the device and cranked the wheel. The thing groaned and squeaked as he slowly spun Brynn right-side up. Damn, could the thing be any louder? Might as well have a bullhorn announcing his location. He threw a glance over his shoulder, verifying they were still alone.

Once he’d gotten her fully upright, he went to work on the straps securing her wrists. She shook her head frantically and tried to speak. He frowned. “Sugar, it’s all right. I’m going to get you out of here. Just try to breathe. I’ll get the gag off you in one sec.”

His big fingers fought with the intricate fastenings, and he cursed under his breath. He should’ve brought Jace in; he could’ve worked the equipment with his eyes closed. Finally, one of the straps came free. Brynn grabbed at her mouth, yanking the ball out of it, as he went to work on the next binding.

“Reid,” she whispered, her voice raw.

He kept his eyes focused on the task at hand. “What, baby?”

“Behind you.”

Reid whirled around, and Davis stepped off the bottom stair, a pistol trained on Reid’s chest. “Oh, look. Company. How lovely.”

Reid shifted to the side to stand between Brynn and Davis’s steady hand.

“Sorry, I’m late. I had to take care of your friend out there. Can’t have him interrupting the party,” Davis said, his tone sickeningly calm.

The words hit Reid like one of the bullets in Davis’s gun. Jace.

The councilman walked toward the two of them with deliberate steps and a satisfied smile. “Step away from my slave, Reid. I don’t plan on sharing her like you do.”

Reid’s teeth ground together, the urge to murder this man a living, breathing thing inside him. “I’m not going to let you touch her.”

He smirked. “Roslyn always worried this girl would be your downfall. After all the trouble she’s gone through to keep you two apart, she’ll be so disappointed to see she’s failed.”

Reid’s focus stuttered at the mention of his aunt’s name. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Davis gave a put-upon sigh. “Blackmail, dirty pictures, letting me have my fun with Brynn. I told her you were a lost cause, but she had these ridiculous notions that you could actually make something of yourself.”

Reid stared at gun. All the puzzle pieces were crashing through his brain like jagged pieces of shrapnel, ripping through the fabric of his reality, but he couldn’t lose sight of the situation at hand. He raised his eyes to meet Davis’s. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”

His voice turned colder. “I’m going to ask you one last time to step aside.”

“Go to hell.”

He shrugged and cocked the pistol. “Suit yourself. It’s not going to be much of a matchup. In man versus gun, gun usually wins.”

“Wait,” Brynn said, her hand touching the small of Reid’s back. “Listen to him, Reid. Let him have me.”

Reid’s back stiffened beneath her fingertips as she made the suggestion, but she prayed he would listen. Davis wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. She’d seen the crazy in the councilman’s eyes as he was tying her up. The man had no soul.

“I can’t,” Reid said, his voice strained. “Won’t.”

“You have to. Please, Reid. Listen to what he says and maybe he’ll let us go.”

“He’s not going to let us—”

She slipped the gun from his waistband and pressed the butt of it into his back, hoping he could feel what she was doing. “Please. Move aside like he said.”

“See, my pretty slave wants me to touch her. Now get the fuck out of the way, and maybe I’ll let you watch.”

Reid glanced over his shoulder, giving her a pointed glace, and mouthed the word “one.” She nodded, counting the next numbers in her head.

Two.

Three.

In one swift motion, he took a wide step to the left. Automatically, Davis’s gaze and pistol followed the movement, giving Brynn the beat of time she needed to aim. When Davis’s attention returned to her, the pompous smile wilted. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger of Reid’s gun, shooting the man of her nightmares squarely in the chest.

But the deafening sound of the shot seemed to stutter as the gun recoiled in her hands—two bangs, not one. She looked down at her weapon, confused. Only when she heard the dueling groans of agony did she realize her shot hadn’t been the only one fired. Horror ratcheted through her as she lifted her gaze to find two crumpled and bloodied men on the floor.

“No!” Brynn yelled, and jolted forward, but the waist and ankle straps held her fast to the cross. “Reid!”

Tears pricked her eyes as she set the gun aside and frantically unfastened the bindings. Low moans came from Reid, giving her hope she still had time to help him. She couldn’t lose him—wouldn’t. Davis had taken so much from her; she refused to allow him to take any more.

She freed herself and raced to Reid. Blood covered the entire left side of his shirt and the hand he had clamped over the wound. She couldn’t tell if he’d been shot in the chest or shoulder. She brushed a hand over his ashen cheek. “Reid, can you hear me, baby? I’m going to go find a phone. Can you try to stay awake for me?”

“My pocket,” he said through a grimace of pain.

She patted his pockets, then dove in when she felt the cell phone.

She hoped her rushed words to the police conveyed the situation clearly enough. They assured her help was on the way and that they’d send someone to her house to find her sister and Roslyn. They wanted her to stay on the line, but she couldn’t focus on the 911 operator. She needed to keep Reid conscious.

She stepped around Davis and the pool of blood spreading beneath him. Her stomach threatened to heave. She’d killed someone. Granted, he’d deserved it, but she knew she’d be seeing this scene replayed in her mind for a long time.

Dragging her focus away from the macabre sight, she hurried to the far wall and grabbed a stack of clean towels off a shelf. She wrapped one around herself, then brought the rest to Reid’s side. Gingerly, she lifted his hand away from his shirt and placed a towel against his wound, applying pressure. His bloodied hand settled on top of hers.

“I’m sorry I… lied to you,” he said, sounding like each word was a monumental effort. “But need you to know, everything between us… was real. I—”

“Shh,” she soothed. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll save your ass-kicking for then.”

A choked sound that could’ve been an attempt at a laugh escaped him, causing him to wince. “Look forward to it.”

He went quiet and anxiety clawed at her as his breath turned shallower, but she couldn’t let Reid sense her fear. She channeled every ounce of her remaining strength into her voice. “You stay with me, Reid. I don’t care how bad it hurts. You’re not allowed to go to sleep. You understand?”

His lips quivered into a hint of a smile. “I’ll try.”

“Trying isn’t good enough,” she said, keeping her tone firm. His commands had always cleared her mind, sharpened her focus, and she hoped to God it would work the same way for him right now. “I’m done losing the people I care about. You don’t have permission to leave.”

His mouth curved into a full grin, even as his skin took on a sickly shade of gray. “Yes, ma’am.”

But right as the paramedics thundered down the stairs, the grip of his hand on top of hers went slack and the smile faded from his face.

TWENTY-THREE

now

Brynn shifted in the hospital’s vinyl-covered chair, pulling her knees to her chest and setting her chin on them. The change in position relieved some of the pressure on the healing welts striping her back, but irritated the ones on her front side. No matter. She’d survive.

The monitors at the nurses’ station continued their steady beat, lulling her into a near catatonic state. She hadn’t slept in days. Couldn’t. Reid’s surgery had gone well even though he’d lost a lot of blood, and the doctor had said he should make a full recovery. But watching Reid lie in bed for two days—only waking up for brief, drug-induced moments—had her on edge. She needed to hear from the man himself that he was okay.