Page 63 of The Piece You Stole

It’s not the first time I’ve hinted he was lying when he told me. And it’s not the first time that Rylan has smiled widely in response to my doubt. “Yes,” he says, “because you are my mate.”

He turns away as if he’s done with the conversation.

I’m not.

“And is this how shifters treat their mates?” My voice is still in that same soft tone, but it silences the room. “Or are you just special?”

I feel a coil of tension link us together, thick and electric. I must not be the only one who feels it because no one speaks for nearly a minute.

Rylan explodes into laughter as if I’ve just told the biggest joke in the world. “And she doubts she’s my mate.”

“See,” Eva says after Rylan’s sudden laughter has died down, “even after what she did to Felix, she’s still being argumentative. I think she needs a firmer hand, Alpha.”

Rylan opens his mouth to speak, but I never discover what he’s about to say because his phone vibrates, and he tears his gaze from mine. Rising from the couch, he answers it as he stalks toward his office. “Bruce, this had better not be bad news about Cuba?”

The door clicks shut behind him, and I return to my bloody task, feeling slightly lightheaded by our confrontation. Or maybe it’s blood loss that’s the reason.

Sometimes I almost believe him when he tells me I’m his mate, and I wonder how things became so twisted between us. Did I break things because I couldn’t shift, or was his mind so twisted that I never realized it until he chained me to his bedroom wall?

The rest of the pack continues their conversation about how best to punish me, their gazes flickering over me, and raising the hair on the back of my neck.

In minutes, I’ve finished gathering up the pieces of glass. I get to my feet and cross over to the kitchen to throw them in the trash.

But not all of it because Eva’s mess has given me an opportunity I didn’t have before. A way out…and a weapon. I tuck one of the thinnest, sharpest pieces of glass down the front of my dress, hoping it stays there, and then I head for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Nathan’s question makes me halt.

I turn and show him my bleeding hands. “I need to wash my hands before I can clean the blood on the floor.”

He flicks his gaze to the kitchen. “Use the sink where I can see you.”

“Rylan doesn’t like me to use the kitchen to clean myself,” I tell him. It’s the truth. The kitchen is for food, or for eating. It is not for cleaning blood, and God knows there’s been a lot of blood over the years.

Nathan eyes me just long enough that I know he suspects I’m up to something. In the silence, Rylan’s voice rises in his office to a level just shy of a shout. “Just what do I pay you for, Bruce? This isn’t Monopoly money you’re dealing with here, but my money.Mine. Do. Your. Job.”

I wait a beat.

“Or, you know, you could just go ask him,” I suggest, feigning innocence as the glass shard I tucked between my breasts starts to slide down.

A long moment later, Nathan turns away, already raising his glass to his lips. “One minute. If you make me come after you…”

Nodding, I continue to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I go straight to the sink and turn the faucet on. I even leave my hands under the cool water for a few seconds, letting it ease a little of the sting from my cuts. But that isn’t why I came to the bathroom. There are only two rooms in Rylan’s apartment with windows that open outward: his office and the bathroom.

It’s to the window I go, not slowing as I jam my hand down my top and pull out the shard of glass. The marble floor is cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me in the present. Considering what I’m planning to do, it’s exactly what I need right now.

The window opens without a sound, so smoothly it’s as if the universe were making things a little easier for me. It’s not. I know that. A building like this is relatively new. Maybe not even ten years old, so it’s not been up long enough for the hinges to wear down with age.

A sudden wind whips my hair back into my face as if it were merely waiting for me to let it in. I stand, staring down at a sight that should make me sick, the glass shard tucked tight in my right hand. I’m so high up that it’s only when I squint do I get the sense of movement far, far below me.

My heart is racing now, galloping along as the wind plays with my hair.

I tilt my head to the side, straining to listen hard. When I fail to hear Nathan’s soft treads moving my way, I grip the window frame with my left hand and throw my right leg out of the window. I have to half-bend since the window is only half as tall as I am, but that’s okay, it’s big enough to do what I need it to.

Ignoring the flare of pain in the palms of both hands, I peer down at the thin, white ledge just outside. When my hair blinds me, I tell myself to wait a bit, that I’m in no hurry. Eventually, the wind dies down, and I stretch my right toe toward the ledge. If I can just reach it, then—

Hands grab my arms and drag me back inside.

I scream as if I were a banshee, wrestling and fighting with everything I have. “No!”

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