Her eyelids fluttered and shut, and her head fell limp to the side. He grabbed her face between his hands—the skin felt waxy and cold. Panicked, he checked her pulse—it was slow but steady.

"She's been drugged," Sophia whispered.

​​

Sean turned and looked at her. He'd seen that there was a second woman in the bed, but he hadn't realized it was Sophia.

"With what?" he asked.

Sophia shook her head miserably, "I don't know. Something in a needle. She fought it for as long as she could, but he wanted her unconscious."

"And you?" he asked Sophia.

"He drugged me too," she answered. "But not as much. He needed me to be conscious—I was the bait."

His stomach twisted, and fiery rage pulsed through his veins. What kind of sick man had taken them?

"He was going to rape us," Sophia said, her voice trembling on each word. "He drugged her to make it easier, but then—"

"But then what?" Sean asked.

"But then he changed his mind," Sophia sobbed. "He said he wanted her to be awake for it all. He wanted her to fight him. He decided to—to—to—do it to me first."

He stared at Sophia's tear-streaked face and tangled blonde hair and then back at Catherine. Even though she was unconscious, her lips shook, and her bloody fingers twitched on the bed. He lifted his head and looked around the room again. In the corner, red light glowed.

He jumped off the bed and stalked across the room. A video camera was positioned carefully on top of a tripod, and the red recording light flashed with a steady beat. Another wave of rage crashed over him. Knocking the camera from the tripod, he turned back to the man huddled on the floor.

"Who are you?" the man asked. "What do you want?"

Too furious to speak, Sean rushed across the room and slammed another kick into the man's back. The man curled defensively in a ball, but he continued to rain kicks down on the men's back, shoulders, and head.

"Stop," the man whimpered. "Stop, please."

"Is that what she said?" Sean asked, forcing the words out one by one. "Did she beg you to stop too?"

"I didn't touch her," the man groaned. "I swear."

"Get up," Sean hissed.

Slowly, the man climbed to his feet, wincing with every movement. He clutched his ribs with one hand and held the other in front of him in a gesture of surrender. His face was already purpling with bruises, and his tight-fitting suit was ripped and torn in several places.

"I didn't touch her," the man repeated.

"That's not what it looked like," Sean said.

"I swear," the man groaned.

The man shifted on his feet, and Sean's heart froze in his chest. The man's pants were unzipped, and the tip of his penis dangled out from the zipper. He kicked sharply at the man's groin, and he collapsed to the floor again.

"If you didn't touch her, what's your disgusting dick doing out?" he shouted. "What the hell did you do to my wife?"

"Nothing, I swear," the man said. "I was going to but then—"

"I'll kill you," Sean said.

He stamped down on the man's splayed hands, smiling as he heard the bones pop and crunch under his feet. He stomped again and again until the hand was a mangled, pulpy mess on the floor. The man seemed to have lost consciousness. His mouth hung open, and his eyes looked as if they'd rolled back in his head.

Somewhere in the distance, a woman was screaming. The sound made his blood run cold. Catherine? He turned to the bed, but Catherine was still flat on her back. The screams seemed to be coming from Sophia.

The door crashed open, and Drew entered the room. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked.

Sean ignored the question. He scooped Catherine up into his arms, carefully cradling her head against his chest so she wouldn't hurt her neck.

"I'm taking her," he said. "Deal with the rest."

As he carried Catherine from the room, he glanced over his shoulder. A sharp pang of regret ached in his chest. I don't want to leave him alive, he thought.

The drive home passed in a blur. Sean pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor and didn't ease off until he saw the gates of his mansion. All the way, Catherine slumped unconscious in the passenger seat. Her face was pale, and her eyes remained shut. Every once in a while, she murmured something under her breath. Each time her voice sounded, his heart thudded with terrifying hope.

Be rational, he thought. If she's drugged, she'll be fine. She just needs to sleep it off.

But another part of his mind was filled with dark, wordless worries. Images of her pale corpse flashed in his imagination. He thought of her cold, waxy skin and a horrible fear overtook him. What if she isn't just drugged? What if the dosage was too high? What if? The possible answers were too horrible to imagine. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and wished the car would move faster.

A team of doctors and nurses waited in front of the mansion. As soon as the car appeared, they charged forward, moving in the perfect organization. The car doors opened, and two large male nurses gently lifted Catherine from the car. They lowered her to a wheeled stretcher, and her head flopped limply to the side. Within seconds, they raced the stretcher into the house and into the living room. Sean chased after them, following as close on their heels as he could.

In less than an hour, the living room had been converted into a makeshift examination room. Bright white lights flooded the room, and all sorts of machines were lined up at the ready. The doctors shifted Catherine and began a thorough examination.

"She has a bite wound on her forearm," a doctor announced.

Sean's heart twisted painfully in his chest.

"He bit her?" he asked.

"It appears to be self-inflicted," the doctor replied.

He approached the bed, standing near her head. He gritted his teeth and watched as her eyes darted back and forth beneath the thin skin of her eyelids. Was she waking up? He wondered. A small whimper came from the back of her throat as the doctors sliced away her bloodied clothing with shiny silver scissors.

"She's cold," he said.