My mind howled at me to bolt. But my baby brother was in that room, and I needed to know if he was okay. I pressed my palms to the bathroom door and shoved. It opened all at once, revealing the rest of Blair’s unconscious body. His eyes were closed, his mouth taped shut. And there, standing over him, was a man wearing all black, his face hidden by a balaclava over what looked to be a pair of pantyhose.

I screamed.

When the man moved, I noticed the black handgun he held steady and leveled at my chest.

“Shut up,” he hissed with an American accent. “Drop the knife.”

I clapped my lips together, my gaze bouncing back down to Blair sprawled on the floor. I checked for signs of blood. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be, otherwise the man wouldn’t have bothered to restrain him, right?

I didn’t let go of the knife.

“Drop it,” he barked. “Or I’ll shoot him.”

I let the knife go. It clattered to the tiled floor.

“What did you do to him?” I whispered.

The man ignored me. He aimed the gun at me with one hand while he knelt and fetched Blair’s lyric notepad off the floor with the other.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, his voice hoarse and breathy, as if he was trying to disguise it.

“Aiden?” I cut in before he could finish.

The intruder stalked forward. I stumbled away, tripping over my feet and falling on my ass with a painful thump. I scrambled up as he emerged from the bathroom, and I glanced toward the exit, wondering if I could escape if I ran for it. But then what would he do to Blair?

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled and tossed the lyric notepad at me, the gun never wavering. I instinctively caught the notepad. “You’re going to write a letter to your boyfriend, telling him you’ve decided to leave.”

“No!” My chest seized. I couldn’t do that. Assuming this guy had planned how to make it appear that I’d left of my own accord, reading a letter like that would destroy Liam. I couldn’t hurt him that way again.

The intruder whipped his free hand up and smacked me across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek. My head snapped around, and the muscles of my neck screeched in protest, not having fully recovered from the accident.

“Yes, you are.” The gun still didn’t waver. “I know how to shoot, and if you don’t do what I say within the next twenty seconds, I’m going to put a bullet in you—not to kill you, just to stop you moving—and then I’ll go back into the bathroom and put one into your brother’s skull.”