She’d overheard her parents talking about how much Mark had been drinking lately, and how worried they were for him. Staring up at him in shock, Gypsy felt the hurt that came from any sharp word that her precious brother gave her. Not that there had been many, which was why this one stopped her in her tracks.
“But you said—”
“I said no, Gypsy, get back to your room now! And stay there for a change instead of aggravating the f**k out of me.” Then he threw the whiskey glass he’d been drinking from at the wall to her side.
She felt herself pale.
Tears filled her eyes and for a moment, there was something in his gaze that might have been fear. And agonizing regret. As quickly as it had been there, though, it was gone.
“Go to your room, Gypsy,” he rasped, his expression hardening in an instant. “We’ll discuss these parties later.”
Her lips trembled as she ran back to her room, slamming the door behind her before moving straight to her bedroom window.
Her temper was the bane of her existence. She’d gotten into more trouble over the years because of her inability to control her anger than because of anything else. She was even worse when her feelings had been hurt.
Mark had hurt her.
Pushing some money into the pocket of her jeans, she moved to the window, slid it open soundlessly, then shimmied over the sill. Khileen would be there in a few minutes. The other girl had called minutes before when she’d turned into town. With Gypsy’s parents gone and her normally loving brother home, Gypsy had intended to beg prettily that he come with them to the party that they wanted to attend in the desert that night.
It was an agreement she and Mark had made after the first party he’d caught her sneaking out to. He would go with her whenever he could, watch over her and Khileen, make sure they didn’t get hurt or didn’t do anything stupid, and she agreed to never attend one without him.
That agreement had worked for a year now, until tonight.
Moving quickly, Gypsy made her way from the house across the street, then around the candy shop her parents had named the Gingerbread House.
The large two-story house and attached apartments had once been her parents’ home, a gift from her mother’s family when they married.
She was waiting in front of the store when Khileen made the turn onto the street in the little convertible her stepfather owned, music blaring.
Gypsy watched herself from within the dream. She could feel the tears she’d been holding back that night and the fear she’d felt that her brother had acted so oddly.
She watched as she jumped into the little car with her friend, apprehensive that they were going to the party without Mark to watch over them. He always watched over them and made certain the older boys and young men who attended the parties didn’t bother them.
The music was blaring, and they were laughing, though Gypsy had still felt that edge of fear riding her. They weren’t aware of the motorcycles that shot from behind the rising stones until their lights were suddenly shining brightly in the rearview mirror, blinding Khileen.
Everything happened so fast then.
Two of the riders jumped from the cycles to the car as Khileen screamed and began jerking the wheel. One of them was slung to the road, but the other managed to jerk the wheel, causing the vehicle to nearly flip as it came to a shuddering stop at the side of the road.
Rough, cruel hands were gripping Gypsy’s hair as the remaining rider began pulling her from the open top. Behind them, an older-model Dragoon came to a hard stop as Khileen cursed rougher than her stepfather’s cowboys and the gears of the car made a harsh, screeching noise.
As Gypsy screamed and fought, she could still feel herself being forced from the car, her feet slipping over the top of the door as the little car shot back onto the road. It swerved dangerously, then in a burst of speed disappeared from sight.
Khileen had gotten away.
Thank God, her friend had managed to escape.
But Gypsy hadn’t.
Screaming, terrified, she was thrown to the ground as a pair of heavy boots were planted in front of her. Hard hands gripped her hair, jerking her to her feet as agony lanced her head.
“Gypsy Rum McQuade.” A harsh voice laughed down at her as a smile filled the cruel, scarred face. “Shall we see if you’re as sweet and innocent as you look, baby?”
She stared up at him, seeing the curved canines, the cruelty in eyes that gleamed red in the light of the full moon and the vehicle running several feet from them.
“Let me go,” she cried, struggling to break the grip he had on her.
And he laughed. “After looking for you for so long? I don’t think so. I’ve waited far too long to invite you to my little party tonight.”