Bryan roars and spins, catching me with a backhand that sends stars exploding across my vision as my head whips to the side. I taste blood and realize my lip has split, but I can't let the painslow me down. I drop low and sweep his legs, and he crashes to the ground with a satisfying thud.
I scramble to my feet and aim a kick at his head, but he rolls away and surges upright with frightening speed. His hand shoots out and closes around my throat, and he slams me backward into the wall of the storage unit with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. The metal digs into my spine and my feet leave the ground as he lifts me, his fingers tightening around my windpipe until black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
"You should've let the hitman kill you." Bryan's face is inches from mine, and I can see the veins bulging in his forehead and the fury burning in his eyes. "Would've been faster this way. Cleaner. Now I have to do it myself, and I'm going to take my time making sure you suffer for everything you've cost me."
I claw at his hand, trying to pry his fingers loose, but his grip is too tight and my strength is fading fast. The lack of oxygen makes my limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, and my lungs scream for air that won't come. I try to knee him again but my legs don't cooperate, and the world starts to gray around the edges as consciousness slips away.
The sound of an engine roaring toward us breaks through the fog, and Bryan's head snaps around to look at the source of the noise. Jace's truck barrels down the driveway at a speed that seems reckless, and Bryan releases my throat just as the truck slams into him with a sickening crunch.
Bryan's body flies through the air and crashes into a stack of boxes against the opposite wall, and I collapse to the ground gasping and coughing as air rushes back into my lungs.
My throat feels crushed and every breath burns, but I force myself to stay conscious and aware as Jace leaps from the truck with his gun drawn.
"Get the phones." Jace barks out the command as if I have my wits about me already, but I scramble on hands and knees toward the scattered cell phones while he advances on Bryan with his weapon raised. "Get them and get in the truck now."
My hands shake as I gather the phones and shove them back into the box, and behind me, I hear Bryan groaning as he tries to pull himself free from the wreckage of boxes and furniture. I grab the last phone and stumble to my feet, clutching the box against my chest as I run for the truck.
A gunshot cracks through the air and I flinch, looking back to see Bryan firing from behind a stack of boxes while Jace returns fire from behind the truck's open door. Bullets tear through metal and wood, and I throw myself into the passenger seat as another shot shatters the rear window and sends glass raining down across the seats.
Jace fires three more rounds in rapid succession, and I hear Bryan curse and duck back behind cover. Jace uses the moment to dive into the driver's seat and throw the truck into reverse, tires squealing as we rocket backward down the driveway. Another shot punches through the hood, but Jace keeps driving until we reach the main road and he can spin the wheel and put the truck in drive.
We race away from the storage facility with smoke trailing from under the hood and my heart hammering so hard, I think it might explode. My hands won't stop shaking, and the box of phones rattles in my lap as I try to hold it steady. I can't catch my breath. Bryan's face was inches from mine, his hand around mythroat, squeezing the life from me. I'm lucky to be alive. If not for Jace, he'd have killed me.
The hotel appears after what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, and Jace pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine. Steam continues to pour from under the hood, and he turns to look at me with concern etched across his features.
"Are you hurt?" His hand reaches out to touch my face, and I flinch away before I can stop myself. "Sabine, let me see your neck."
I shake my head and clutch the box tighter, and tremors run through my entire body in waves that I can't control. Jace gets out of the truck and comes around to my side, opening the door and gently prying the box from my hands before helping me out of the seat. My legs barely support my weight, and he keeps one arm around my waist as he guides me toward our room.
Inside, he sets the box on the dresser and returns his attention to me, his hands gentle as he tilts my head back to examine my throat. I can feel the bruises forming already, the ache spreading through the muscles and tendons that Bryan nearly crushed. My split lip has stopped bleeding but the taste of copper lingers in my mouth, and when Jace touches the swollen flesh, I wince.
"Hey… we'll get him, okay?" His voice is low and soothing, the tone someone uses with a frightened animal. "But first you need to calm down and clean up. Come on, let me help you into the shower."
He leads me to the bathroom and turns on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam begins to fill the small space. His hands are steady as he helps me out of my clothes, and Istand numbly while he strips away the layers until I'm bare and shaking in the humid air.
The rape crashes over me in vivid detail as I stare at the shower curtain, and I 'm back in that tent two years ago with Bryan holding me down and telling me to be quiet, his weight crushing me against those sand bags and his hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds I made.
The memory and the present moment blur together until I can't tell which is real, and my breathing comes faster and shallower until I'm hyperventilating and my vision tunnels to a pinpoint.
"Sabine." Jace's hands cup my face and force me to look at him. "You're safe. You're here with me and he's not. He can't hurt you anymore. I need you to breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow and steady."
I try to follow his instructions but my body won't cooperate, and the trembling intensifies until my teeth chatter and I can't stop shaking. Jace pulls me against his chest and holds me there, one hand stroking through my hair while the other wraps around my waist to keep me upright.
"I have you." His voice rumbles through his chest into mine. "I'm not letting go. You're safe with me."
Finally, something inside me breaks and I start to cry, great, heaving sobs that tear through my chest and make my throat ache worse. Jace doesn't try to stop me or tell me to calm down. He just holds me while I shake and cry and try to process everything that happened.
When the tears finally slow and my breathing slows to hiccups and gasps, he guides me into the shower and steps in with me, still fully clothed. The hot water pours over both of us, soakingthrough his jeans and shirt while he supports my weight and keeps me from collapsing onto the tile floor.
He washes me with gentle hands, working shampoo through my hair so tenderly. His touch is focused entirely on cleaning away the sweat and dirt and blood from the fight. When he finishes with me, he strips off his wet clothes and washes himself quickly before turning off the water and wrapping me in a towel.
Jace dries me slowly, moving the towel in soft circles over my shoulders, down my arms, across my back, as though every inch of skin is something precious that might bruise if he presses too hard. It seems strange and surreal that a man in his profession can be so gentle. When he’s finished he dries himself quickly, then lifts me without asking and carries me to the bed.
He lays me in the center of the clean sheets and climbs in beside me, pulling the comforter up to our waists. The room is dim, only the faint glow from the parking lot lights slipping through the curtains. I’m still trembling, small aftershocks that won’t quite leave my muscles.
“Come here,” he whispers, guiding me onto my side so we’re face to face. He brushes damp hair from my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. Then his lips find my forehead first, a lingering press that feels too intimate. Then the corner of my eye, the bridge of my nose, the swollen place on my lip where Bryan split it. Each kiss is feather-light, as if he’s trying to replace every hurtful touch with something gentle.
I let out a shaky breath and he answers it with another kiss, this time to my mouth. His tongue strokes mine softly, coaxing rather than taking, until the panic in my chest loosens its grip and makes room for warmth instead.
