Tootles' eyes meet mine as his hand raises. I scream for him to stop. I yell for him not to come any closer. I try my best to kick, scream and break free, but I feel his hand brush against the inside of my thigh. I flinch as his fingertips trail up to my heat, I close my eyes as they reach the outline of my panties, and then…

“Make one more move and I’ll slit your fucking throat, Tootles.”

Peter.

I release a breath and open my eyes. The lost boys still have me held down against the bed, but Peter is standing behind Tootles, a hook raised at his throat, and for the first time since we met, the look in his eyes terrorizes me. He hasn’t glanced my way yet, but I see the evil lurking in his features. A small piece of the hell I thought I escaped back home is brimming at his surface.

When he finally looks me in the eyes, his gaze glides up and down my frame slowly taking in what they’ve done to me. The devil flashes through his blue irises turning them completely black in a heartbeat. He pulls the hook harshly across Tootles throat and my entire body freezes in fear. Blood spurts out, splashing drops across my nightgown, splattering onto Cubby and Slightly who still hold my ankles.

They jump back immediately as my body trembles, convulses, and I can’t believe my eyes. The twins do the same as Tootles falls to the floor, his eyes slowly fading as death consumes him.

I try to catch my breath. I try to steady my racing heart. I try to remember Peter as I have always known him, not the villain that I see standing before me now. Peter takes one step forward as the others desperately take a step back. He slowly pulls my nightgown down; his hands gently push my legs back together as he pulls me from my bed and tucks me into his side.

Still not sure how to process what just happened, I slowly look up to meet his stare as Tootles’ blood pools around our feet and I try to forget what I just saw. Try to think happy thoughts. Try to tell myself that it wasn't just Peter that ruthlessly sliced through one of his friend’s throats, with no regard for his life or the friendship they shared together, regardless of what he was doing to me.

He cups my chin gently in his hand and sternly looks in my eyes. “Are you ok?”

I nod yes, afraid to tell him otherwise, as tears prick the back of my eyes.

“No,” he rasps out in anger. “No, you are not ok. Who started it?” he demands.