Strong Enough(86)
THIRTY-SEVEN
Muse
I lie quietly, awaiting the cut that will end my life, when the crushing weight on my chest suddenly disappears. At first, I think he’s merely leaning back to shove a knife into me, but then I hear the scuffling of clothes, the whisper of two bodies grappling in the dark.
Instinctively, I roll off the bed, sparing only a quick glance into the shadowed corners before I scramble down the steps, my only thought now of escape. I don’t know what happened and I don’t care. I only know that I have to get away, my instinct to survive now in full swing.
A loud crash has me screaming and turning to see a man toppling down the stairs behind me, head over heels. He lands with a shoe-clattering thump at the bottom, a few feet from where I’m crouching.
I struggle to understand what is happening until I see another shape appear in the slant of light that cuts across the stairwell. It moves like water and triggers an instant spark of recognition in my heart.
I know who it is before his face is revealed. My body, my soul, my every cell and nerve react to him as profoundly as ions react to electricity. And when I see his face, God help me, I think for a moment that I’d trade my life and every breath I have left for just one more day with him.
Jasper.
My Jasper.
He came for me.
I watch him until he reaches the bottom of the steps. He pauses in front of me, his eyes scanning me briefly in a quick assessment of my current state of injury. Ostensibly determining that I’m not hurt, he turns his focus to the half-conscious man on the foyer floor.
Jasper’s voice is a deadly growl when he bends to hiss into the man’s ear. “You would rape this woman? You would take from her what she doesn’t want to give?” The disgust, the fury in his voice is nearly palpable. He pulls the man to his feet, wrapping one thick arm around his neck and twisting the guy’s arm behind his back before slamming him, face first, into the wall. The door rattles on its hinges. “You would die to taste her? Because I would die to protect her. Which of us do you think has the better chance of surviving?”
The man says nothing, but turns until his cheek is pressed to the wall and he’s facing me. I see one eerily calm blue eye staring out at me, promising that if he gets loose, he’ll hurt me in ways that I can’t even imagine. My blood runs cold.
“Who sent you?” Jasper asks, shoving his weight into the man’s back. I hear a grunt, but no answer. “You’ll tell me. One way or the other, you’ll tell me.”
The guy laughs, his eye still trained on me.
“You may not have realized when you took this job that it would be your last, but it will be. You’re going to die tonight. How you go is up to you. If you tell me what I want to know, I’ll be quick. If you don’t, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”
Jasper’s coolly venomous words echo in the quiet that follows. They’ve fallen to the floor, where they taunt the intruder until he finally breaks his silence. “Get on with it, then,” he goads, his expression never changing, no fear ever registering.
“I’ve killed better men than you, but I’ve never enjoyed it. Until tonight. Until you. I’ll get what I want and then I’ll watch the life drain out of you. Because nobody comes after what’s mine. Nobody.”
Jasper reaches out to twist the doorknob. Without looking at me, he mutters, “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” and then he disappears into the dark.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Jasper
My hands are shaking as I haul him away from Muse’s front door. I’m controlled. Always. Until tonight. I’ve never experienced rage like this. It’s like an all-consuming fire I can’t push through, a red haze I can’t see past. I can only feel the heat. I don’t bother to fight it. I just let it burn right through me.
As soon as my foot hits grass, I pull in and up with all my might, dislocating both shoulders of the man who was going to rape and kill Muse. He makes no sound, as I knew he wouldn’t, but I know he’s in pain. I’ve had more dislocated joints than I can count. They hurt like a bitch until the numbness sets in.
With a foot to the lower part of his back, I kick out, sending him reeling forward, unable to catch himself with his useless arms. When he hits the ground, I follow him down, rolling him onto his back and smashing my boot heel into his kneecap, crushing it so that he’s further incapacitated. I take the knife from my waistband and I jab it quickly into the meat of both thighs, careful to avoid his femoral arteries. I can’t have him bleeding out before I get my answers. I just don’t want to make it easy for him to fight me. I want to be able to look into his dead eyes until they’re just that—dead.