“Hey, Faythe, good to see you again.” The voice was vaguely familiar, and the sour mental aftertaste called forth unfocused memories of pain and anger. I rolled my eyes upward and forced them to focus on the towhead whose huge hand squeezed my throat.

I knew him. How did I know him? Without more oxygen, I couldn’t place his face or remember his name.

“Damn it, Dean, let her breathe,” Alex swore. “That’s my future wife you’re choking.”

The hand around my throat loosened, and I sucked in several short, sharp breaths. But I still dangled above the floor from his grip on my neck. I still clawed at his fingers, trying to pry them from my throat. “She’s not yours yet.…” Dean leered down at me, and his gaze landed south of my neck. He could see right down my shirt.

“Not. Ever,” I gasped, struggling to open my mouth in spite of the pressure his grip put on my jaw.

“Anyway, I think this particular puss is more than you can handle,” Dean continued, still looking me in the chest. “She throws a hell of a left hook.”

And suddenly I remembered. Tall goon with white-blond hair and more muscles than brains. Colin Dean. The idiot Canadian import I’d knocked out in order to save Brett Malone in Montana during my trial.

“Put her down,” Alex growled. Dean shrugged, then lowered me to the floor, his hand still around my neck. Still pinning me to the wall, though my fingers pried at his.

I threw my right knee up, but he blocked it easily with his free hand. “You’re going to make me get rough, aren’t you?” The gleam in his eyes said that’s exactly what he wanted.

“You. Work. For. Malone?” I gasped.

Dean grinned. “For about a month now.”

Malone was recruiting from outside the country. The bastard was drawing neutral parties into our civil war. That could not end well.

“Let her go,” Jace ordered from the floor where he’d fallen, on the lower edge of my vision. His eyes were clear; he was back with us, thank goodness. But where the hell was Marc?

Dean laughed without turning, and Jace growled until Alex kicked him in the ribs. Jace grunted and tried to curl around his new injury, but with his limbs bound, the best he could do was pull his knees up as far as they’d go.

I tried to yell for him to leave Jace alone, but my effort ended in strangled coughing. I wasn’t pulling in enough air to shout.

“Let the poor girl breathe,” Alex ordered, and Dean’s grip loosened a little more. His blood was sticky beneath my nails, the scent fragrant, now that I could inhale properly.

But I only had eyes for Alex. “You touch him again, and I’ll kill you,” I swore, still trying to dislodge Dean’s grip.

Alex’s brows shot up. “You’d kill me over Jace?” He stepped closer to me, and Jace growled again. Alex glanced from me to him, then back to me, and when I flushed, his eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. He knelt and jerked his brother’s head back with a handful of hair, then leaned down to stage-whisper in his ear. “Are you fucking my future wife?”

Jace’s jaws bulged with fury, but he could only writhe uselessly without the use of his hands or feet. I struggled harder against Dean, kicking and clawing, but kept my mouth shut for fear of incriminating myself. Marc was probably right outside, waiting for the best time to lunge through the open door.

Alex glanced up at me. “I don’t think this is what they mean by ‘all in the family.’” He turned back to Jace. “You know I’d kill your bastard kitten while it’s still bloody, right? Just like my dad should have killed you. Guess the honor’s all mine now…” Alex pulled the hammer over his head with both hands.

“No!” I let go of Dean’s hand and slammed my left fist into his ribs. He grunted and blinked, then pinned my arm to the wall over my head with his free hand. “Alex, no! Please,” I begged, blinking desperate tears from my eyes so I could focus on him.

Alex glanced at me. Something moved at his feet. I looked down to see Jace’s right hand whip out from behind his back. He grabbed his brother’s ankle and pulled.

Alex hit the floor hard, stunned. Jace rolled onto his knees and leaned over Lance, who still lay on his left. He straightened an instant later with a folded pocketknife in his hand. Alex swung up with the hammer. Jace blocked his brother’s forearm. The hammer thudded to the floor.

Metal clicked. Jace twisted around behind his brother, still squatting. He pressed the knife to Alex’s throat, and Alex froze. “Get up slowly,” he whispered, and they stood in tandem.

Jace’s left hand was now a fur-covered paw. He’d cut through the duct tape with his dew claw, a technique I’d discovered just two weeks earlier.

Alex stood with his hands loose at his sides, eyes wide and angry. One flick of Jace’s knife and he’d be dead. Jace pulled his brother to the side, and we could all see one another.

“Let her go or I’ll kill him,” Jace said, and my pulse thumped against the hand at my throat. He’d do it. I could see that in his eyes.

“Let him go,” Dean countered. “Or I’ll kill her.” He could break my neck with one squeeze of his huge fist.

“You kill her and Cal will hang your bones from the porch for a wind chime. If Alex doesn’t do it first.”

“Cut her,” Alex ordered, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right at first. But Dean didn’t hesitate. Without losing his grip on my neck, he dropped my arm and snatched Gary’s knife from the counter where I’d dropped it.