The words had just slipped out as the blaring alarms echoing through the halls suddenly stopped.
The silence her words were injected into seemed to shatter with the same discordance as the sirens.
“Whore!”
She couldn’t hold back the agonizing expulsion of breath, the whimper, the pain too intense to allow enough breath to scream.
She heard a low, dangerous growl, the sound of footsteps, a curse echoing around her as the pain threatened to steal her consciousness.
“Stand down, Navarro!” Jonas’s snarl was thick, dangerous, as the feel of the heavy pressure in her ribs had tears spurting from her eyes.
Brandenmore had his arm pressing tight into the tender area, putting a horrible pressure in an area where no pressure could be tolerated.
“Jonas Wyatt.” The demented voice made the greeting sound more a curse. “You did this, didn’t you, freak? You got her here. You found out I had plans for her.”
Plans for her?
“Oh yeah,” she gasped, all but writhing in agony. “Fuckup Coyote was your baby?” The bastard Coyote that had all but broken her ribs had to have been taking someone’s orders.
“He’ll die now,” he hissed at her ear. “You got him killed.”
Oh yeah, she was going to feel guilty about that one. Next year maybe.
“She’s not going to help you, Phillip,” Jonas warned him, and Mica wanted to just laugh.
It was the pain, it was making her crazy, and Cassie wasn’t here to bitch at because of it.
“Cassie Sinclair’s self-proclaimed best friend?” Phillip’s snarl sounded like a Breed’s. “Your little princess’s favorite person, Wyatt? You’d trade your own sire for her.”
“No doubt,” Jonas drawled with a facade of amusement. “She likes me more.”
And wasn’t that the damned truth.
“Does she now?” Sardonic, manipulating, Phillip Brandenmore sounded like a monster ready to bite her head off. A chill raced up her spine as the ragged nails caressed her jugular. “Would she like you so well if she knew you’d deliberately allowed her to go home? That you’d been warned she would be targeted?”
“Too late,” Mica wheezed. “Already knew.”
God, she had to get his arm off her ribs before she blacked out for good. She could barely breathe. This was even worse than having Navarro lying over her in the back of the SUV.
Brandenmore laughed at the pain in her voice. “Did you know I was here, little girl?”
“Nightmares,” she gasped.
Brandenmore paused. “What did you say?”
Was there a lessening of the dementia in his tone? In the pressure against her ribs. Oh God, what had she said to make him think? She would surely say it again.
“You’re hurting her, Phillip, is that what you want?” Jonas asked then, his voice dropping, softening.
Those ragged nails caressed over her neck again, scraping, feeling as though they were peeling the protective layer of skin from her flesh.
“Do you have nightmares?” He was tense behind her, and so strong. His fingers were clenching in her hair, unclenching, pulling at the tender strands as her knees threatened to buckle.
His nails scraped her flesh again as she blinked against the tears.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t inhale deeply. Her ribs felt as though a dagger were wedged between them.
“Answer me!” he roared.