My eyes feel so heavy. So dry and itchy.

Rubbing them only makes it hurt worse.

I would have slept better had I worked. I know I would have.

My gaze drifts back to the book. I’m only a few chapters in, but I keep walking away from the pages, not remembering where I left off and starting over each time.

Knowing I can’t focus on work, knowing it’s been taken away, has brought out a different side of me.

The side that remembers my sister.

Not the way she was in the last few years, but the way she was when we were younger.

When we were thick as thieves, and my older sister was my hero. Those memories keep coming back every time I read the chapters written from Emmy’s perspective. She’s young, and sweet, but so damn strong. My sister was strong once. Held down by no one.

Once upon a time.

Letting out a deep breath, I stretch my back, pushing the torn-up book onto my coffee table. I sit there, looking out the front bay window of my house. The curtains are closed, but not tightly and I catch a glimpse of a car pull up.

A nice car. An expensive one.

All black with tinted windows. Jenny came home in a car like that once, shaken and crying. Back when all of her troubles started. My blood runs cold as the car stops in front of my house.

If it’s someone she was associated with, I don’t want them here.

Anger simmers, but it’s futile. You can only be angry for so long.

Once it’s gone, fear has a way of creeping into its place.

My pace is slow, quiet and deliberate as I head to my coat closet and reach up to a backpack I haven’t used in years. I figured it would be the perfect place to hide the gun. The one Jenny brought home for me, the one she said I needed when she wouldn’t listen to me and refused to stay. I was screaming at her as she shoved it into my chest and told me I needed to take it.

It was only weeks ago that my sister stood right here and gave me a gun to protect myself, when she was the one who needed help. She needed protecting.

I can’t handle one more thing going wrong.

My keys jingle as the ignition turns off and the soft rumble of the engine is silenced.

Wiping a hand over my face, I get out of the car, not caring that the door slams as my shoes hit the pavement. The neighborhood is quiet and each row of streets is littered with picture-perfect homes, nothing like the home I grew up in. Little townhouses of raised ranches, complete with paved driveways and perfectly trimmed bushes. A few houses have fences, white picket of course, but not 34 Holley, the home of Bethany Fawn.

Other than the missing fence, the two-story home could be plucked straight from an issue of Better Homes & Gardens.

Knock, knock, knock. She’s in there; I can hear her. Time passes without anything save the sound of scuttling behind the door, but just as I’m about to knock again, the door opens a few inches. Only enough to reveal a glimpse of her.

Her chestnut hair falls in wavy locks around her face. She brushes the fallen strands back to peek up at me.

“Yes?” she questions, and my lips threaten to twitch into a smirk.

“Bethany?”

Her weight shifts behind the door as her gaze travels down the length of my body and then back up before she answers me.

The amber in her hazel eyes swirls with distrust as she tells me, “My friends call me Beth.”

“Sorry, I’m Jase. Jase Cross. We haven’t met before... but I’ll happily call you Beth.” The flirtatious words slip from me easily, and slowly her guard falls although what’s left behind is a mix of worry and agony. She doesn’t answer or respond in any way other than to tighten her grip on the door.

“Mind if I have a minute?”

She purses her full lips slightly as the cracked door opens just an inch more, enough for her to cautiously reply, “Depends on what you’re here for.”

My pulse quickens. I’m here to give her a single warning. Just one chance to stay the hell away from The Red Room and to get over whatever ill wishes she has for my brothers and me.

It’s a shame, really; she’s fucking gorgeous. There’s an innocence, yet a fight in her that’s just as evident and even more alluring. Had I met her on other terms, I would do just about anything to get her under me and screaming my name.

But after this past week with Carter and all that bullshit, I made my decision. No distractions.

The swirling colors in her eyes darken as her gaze dances over mine. As if she can read my thoughts, and knows the wicked things I’d do to her that no one else ever could. But that’s not why I’m here, and my perversions will have to wait for someone else.

I lean my shoulder against her front door and slip my shoe through the gap in the doorway, making sure she can’t slam it shut. Instead of the slight fear I thought would flash in her eyes as my expression hardens, her eyes narrow with hate and I see the gorgeous hue of pink in her pale skin brighten to red, but not with a blush, with animosity.

“You need to stay out of the Cross business, Beth.” I lean in closer, my voice low and even. My hard gaze meets her narrowed one, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead she clenches her teeth so hard I think they’ll crack.

With the palm of my hand carefully placed on the doorjamb and the other splayed against her door, I lean in to tell her that there are no answers for her in The Red Room. I want to tell her that my brother isn’t the man she’s after, but before I can say a word she hisses at me, “I know all about Marcus and the drugs and why you assholes had her killed.”

The change in her tone, her expression is instant.

My pulse hammers in my ears but even over it, I hear the strained pain etched in her voice. Her breathing shudders as she adds, “You’ll all pay for what you did to my sister.” Her voice cracks as her eyes gloss over and tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her as the rage gathers inside of me. Marcus. Just the name makes every muscle inside of my body tighten and coil.

The drugs.

Marcus.

Before I can even tie what she’s said together, I hear the click of a gun and she lets the door swing open, throwing me off-balance.

Shock makes my stomach churn as the barrel of a gun flashes in front of my eyes. She leans back, moving to hold the heavy metal piece with both hands.

Fuck! Lunging forward, still unsteady as dread threatens to take over, I grip the barrel and raise it above her head, shoving her small body back until it hits the wall in her foyer and she continues to struggle, pushing away from me and getting out of my grasp.

Bang!

The gun goes off and the flash of heat makes the skin of my hand holding the barrel burn and singe with a raw pain. Her lower back crashes into a narrow table, a row of books toppling over and a pile of mail falling onto the floor as I stumble into her and finally pin her to the wall.

My chest rises and falls chaotically. My body temperature heats with the adrenaline racing through me.

Her small shriek of terror is muted when I bring my right hand to her delicate throat. My left still grips the gun. I can’t swallow yet, I can’t do anything but press her harder against the wall, smothering the fight in her as best as I can.

She struggles beneath me, but with a foot on her height and muscle she couldn’t match no matter how hard she tried, it’s pointless. Her heart pounds hard, and I feel it matching mine.

“Knock it the fuck off,” I grit between my teeth.

She yelps as I lift the gun higher, ripping it from her grasp. Both of her hands fly to the one I have tightening on her throat. On instinct, like I knew she would. Did she really think she could get one over on me?

“You tried to shoot me.” I practically snarl the words, although they’re nearly inaudible.

Struggling to catch my breath, I don’t let anything show except the absolute control I have over her. The door is wide open and I’m certain someone could have heard, although it’s a Monday and during work hours. It’s why I chose this time to pay her a visit.

A faint breeze carries in from behind and I take a step back, pulling her with me just enough so I can kick the door shut and then press her back to the wall. Her pulse slows beneath my grip and her eyes beg me for mercy as her sharp nails dig into my fingers.

The way she looks at me, her hazel eyes swirling with a mix of pain, fear and anger still, makes my chest ache for her, because I see something else. Something that fucking hurts.

She doesn’t want mercy. She wants it to end. I can see it so clearly. I’ve seen it before, and the unwanted memory is jarring in this moment.

A second passes before I loosen my grip just enough so she can breathe freely.

Through her frantic intake, I lean forward, crushing my body against hers until she’s still. Until her eyes are wide and staring straight into mine. The sight of her, the fear, the desperation... I know I’m not letting her go. Not yet.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Marcus.” I lower my lips to the shell of her ear, letting my rough stubble rub along her cheek. “And everything you know about the drugs.”

My mind is whirling with every reason I should walk away. Every reason I should simply kill her and leave this mess behind. She tried to kill me; that’s reason enough.

But I don’t want to. I need more.

With a steadying breath, my lungs fill with the sweet smell of her soft hair that brushes against my nose.

I comb my fingers through her hair and let my thumb run along her slender neck before I lean into her, letting her feel how hard I am just to be alive. Just to have her at my mercy.

“And because of that little stunt you just pulled, I’m not letting you go.”