She hadn’t seen his other hand draw back, but the blow he delivered to the side of her face numbed her mind, her senses, with the torturous pain that suddenly exploded through it.
Darkness filled her vision as the lights suddenly went out, and Gypsy was left in a mindless black pit of agony of near unconsciousness.
They hadn’t been merciful.
It had taken her hours to force herself back to awareness. When she returned to consciousness, she realized she had been taken deep into the desert. She was only dimly aware of being dragged from the vehicle, then tied to the bumper. Drifting in a world of dark pain.
Blinking, her gaze blurred at first, it had taken her precious seconds to focus her eyes on the man kneeling in the dirt about twenty feet away from her. He looked older somehow, and hurt. The bruises and blood on his face were horrifying to see.
“Mark?” Her voice had been weak, shaky. “Mark, I want to go home.”
She was so sorry she had left the house. She shouldn’t have. He’d have listened to her if she had just waited to talk to him again.
“I know, Gypsy.” He stared back at her, his eyes so sad, so filled with pain.
“You f**ked up, McQuade. Trusted the wrong person.” The harsh voice of the Coyote who had knocked her out caused her to flinch in terror as her brother’s gaze suddenly became so bleak, so pain ridden that Gypsy knew she would never forget the sight of it.
“Let her go, Grody,” her brother demanded, though his voice wasn’t strong like it usually was. It sounded very defeated.
Grody just laughed, a sound so evil that Gypsy couldn’t help crying. And she hated those tears. Because when Mark saw them he grimaced, and she was certain he was disappointed in her. He always told her she was allowed to cry, that it was his job to be brave. That girls needed to cry. She could still think and plan, even with tears, he’d promised her. But her head hurt so bad, and she was so scared she couldn’t think.
“I couldn’t believe it was you, McQuade.” Grody laughed again as he moved from behind her and walked slowly to where her brother was kneeling. “I was shocked as hell when our contact identified you. You just didn’t seem like the geek type, ya know?”
Her brother wasn’t really a geek, he just knew how to make a computer do whatever he wanted it to do. His broad, strong hands could fly over the keyboard and within seconds he would be crooning to it, caressing it with his voice in a way that made Gypsy laugh at him.
“Who identified me?” Mark asked then, and even Gypsy could read the defeat in his voice, in his expression.
Oh God, if Mark was giving up, then this was really bad. Mark couldn’t give up.
She couldn’t hear what Grody said when he leaned close and whispered the name in her brother’s ear. But she watched his lips. She had paid very close attention to his lips, wanting to know who to kill later. The word was forming, as though in slow motion, and she knew, just as she always knew, what Grody was whispering to her brother. She knew, but somehow, for some reason, it was as though her gaze blanked, darkened, stealing the image. Except this time, it was shorter, the darkness more shadowed than absolute, almost giving her the secret she’d fought to remember for nine years. Then, Grody was straightening and chuckling at the tormented shock in Mark’s expression, and the betrayal.
She knew who it was, why couldn’t she see the name? She knew that the man who had betrayed her brother was his friend. She could tell from Mark’s expression it was someone very close to him.
Mark nodded slowly, his gaze meeting Gypsy’s as he stared back at her intently, a message in his green eyes that she fought to decipher.
“Any last words, kids?” Grody asked then, his amusement evil, his voice sending cold chills raking at her back.
“Mark?” Her voice trembled, terror shaking through her as she fought not to scream again, not to lose control, though she couldn’t stop her tears.
“Don’t cry, Gypsy,” he told her as the Coyote, Grody, had laughed at him. “Don’t cry, and be brave, Peanut. Do you hear me?”
Grody moved behind Mark then, gripping his long hair and suddenly jerking her brother’s head back until his neck was stretched painfully. And a second later a knife pressed against the side of his neck, so sharp that the edge immediately had blood welling against it.
“No! Oh God, please. Please. No!” Gypsy screamed, begging, crying as she struggled against the ropes holding her to the front bumper of the vehicle. “Oh God, please. Please don’t hurt him.”
“Listen to her beg, Mark,” Grody laughed as her brother’s gaze met hers.
Be brave, Peanut . . . he mouthed. I love you.
He never told her to be brave. He always comforted her and told her she was allowed to cry. That little sisters didn’t have to be brave, that was what brothers were for. And now, she had to be brave.
“Please. Please,” she cried out, screaming, begging as she fought the ropes until her wrists burned and she could feel the dampness of her blood. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“Will she beg so pretty when I’m f**king her, McQuade?”
Her brother didn’t have a chance to answer him. Immediately, Grody moved the knife, digging it in deep and slicing it over her precious brother’s throat.
She was screaming. Screaming and fighting the hard hands that were on her, shaking her as someone yelled her name . . .