My expression flattened at him just before the shapeshifter seized the front of my shirt and wrenched me back onto my feet. Cliff’s doppelganger flashed perfect teeth at me, a cold pleasure on his face that I’d never seen directed atme. As he slid a hand around my throat, his other pressed the metal barrel of his rifle to my stomach in warning.
Color snagged my periphery: a decorative vase on the marble pedestal beside us, made of blown glass in radiant sunset hues. Surely worth a fortune. I seized it with my free hand and smashed it against the side of the shifter’s face, sending him staggering backward as the rifle clattered from his grasp.
Rage simmered behind Cliff’s stolen eyes—and amusement. This asshole was having the time of his life.
Our blows connected, my arms shaking with the effort of preventing a bash to my head. The shifter grunted, working in a powerful kick to my stomach instead. Pain exploded, and I was once again thrown to the floor.
He was over me in seconds, seizing the table runner off the pedestal, winding it around my neck. My airflow reduced at once, making my heart pound with brutal survivalism.
“Shh,” Cliff’s imposter said, kneeling over me from behind. “Relax, Jonny. I’m not gonna kill you unless you force my hand.”
“Don’t—call me that,” I strained out.
The shifter gripped the gauzy fabric tighter, until it felt like sandpaper digging against my neck. Fingers combed through my hair, grabbing a fistful to pull my gaze upward and force me to look back at him.
“You know, I got a taste of his memories, being close to him,” the shifter said near my ear, his breath warm. “Your friend’simagined his hands around your throat more than once. Plenty of times, actually. Such a gruesome imagination, that one.”
Not Cliff,I reminded myself.Liar.Monster.Not Cliff.
My vision blurred. I clawed at the fabric around my neck, but I couldn’t find leeway with how he was knotting it behind my head. Sheer adrenaline gave me the strength to slam my back against his chest and throw an elbow into his stomach.Anythingto shake his grip and get air in my lungs.
The blow connected, but I was punished swiftly for it, forced down onto my stomach. The shifter pinned my left shoulder down with his knee and stretched far to grasp something in his free hand. I couldn’t spot it clearly, but I felt the blunt object swing hard into my arm—the rifle.
Acracksounded. The pain was blinding. Flexing my fingers felt like driving needles up my arm.
Movement stirred by the steel door—Lee was only a few feet away, straining to twist his bound arms enough to painstakingly urge something out of his pants pocket.
The taser. It finally slid into his palms. He gritted his teeth with the effort of sitting up, positioning himself at a painful angle to aim toward us, keeping his eyes on his target with his hands still bound at the wrists behind his back.
Even when he strained to such feverish extents, Lee managed to look like a movie star—a few chestnut locks splayed across his forehead like they’d been professionally styled to fall that way. It was getting on my goddamn nerves.
Lee discharged the device. The probe narrowly missed me, and for a moment, I thought it was a missed shot, that I wasfucked.
The probe hit the shifter squarely in the stomach. His muscular frame seized up at once, going rigid. A violent, high-frequency crackling echoed through the room. The shifter gasped and jerked, wielding incredible willpower to reach up a hand and seize the prongs dug into him.
I threw an elbow back, garnering leeway to pry the cloth from around my neck so I could draw in some ragged breaths. The shifter kept one hand on me while he wrenched off the sizzling probe with his other.
Myarm. It was all I could do not to whimper. This fucker might’ve broken my arm. Even moving it an inch was agony.
“Gun,” I choked out at Lee, furiously jutting my chin at the silver-loaded pistol that had been tossed near the loading bay doorway. “Use the fucking gun!”
The stench of scorched fabric and flesh filled the air as the shifter tossed the still-sparking taser prongs aside. His grip tightened on my neck, his knees keeping my arms pinned. Just like that, my oxygen was gone again.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Lee painstakingly forcing himself to his feet, knees buckling from the effort of his bound arms working against him. He staggered toward the pistol.
The movement caught the shifter’s attention, Cliff’s eyes narrowing upon Lee’s destination. He yanked my head up and just as swiftly slammed it back down, making my vision go black for a second. For a wavering moment, I wished for a clean, quick death. That might be better than this humiliation ritual.
Through the fog of wavering consciousness, I heard the shifter bark a threat at Lee. The pressure eased from my neck as the shifter lunged in Lee’s direction.
I shoved myself to a seat, blinking hard as Lee planted one foot and kicked the pistol toward me. The weapon spun across the floor.
I briefly locked eyes with the shifter, but I wouldn’t,couldn’tbe shaken by the flicker of fear that he was so utterlyCliff.
Snatching the gun, I aimed and fired.
Bullets punched the air, catching the shifter’s torso and making him stagger from the close range. He moved in mydirection with urgency befitting a soldier, seized my fractured arm. A horrible strangled sound cut the air, and I realized it was my own voice.
“Don’t you know when to quit?” the shifter spat. He wore a vicious, murderous look that Cliff had never aimed my way—not even during our ugliest fights.
