“I killed him, and I saved you.”

“Mark—”

His head lifted. Rage twisted his face. “So why the fuck are you still with that sonofabitch Eric? You should be with me.”

***

“Layla, I can’t make out everything you’re saying. Our connection is shit.” Eric peered through the glass. Where had Piper gone? “You’re fading in and out on me.”

“The sister had eleven stab wounds!”

Okay, he’d finally heard her, loud and clear. But he wasn’t following—

“Mark Rogue’s sister!” She was practically screaming. “Eleven—” She cut out again and came back with, “Stab wounds!”

Fucking hell.

“Where is Piper?” Layla blasted. “I went to Mark’s home, but he wasn’t there.”

Now he could hear her perfectly. “He’s at his shop, and so is Piper.” He ran for the front of the building. Yanked open the door. The fucking bell jingled. “Piper!”

The thunder of a gunshot nearly stopped his heart.

***

She’d taken him down. When Mark had lunged at her, Piper had fought back. She’d punched the bastard in the face and kicked him in the left knee with all of her strength. He’d gone down, shouting at her, and he’d nearly slammed into the tattoo station.

At that point, she’d whirled for the door—

Bam!

A gunshot fired, and the bullet slammed into her shoulder. Piper staggered and nearly fell, but—

“I will shoot you again if you don’t freeze!”

Piper froze because she knew her back was a perfect target.

The black curtains that led to the front of the shop were about five feet away, and as she watched, they flew open. Eric appeared, his face wild and his eyes burning with fury.

Piper could feel the blood sliding down her arm.

Eric’s gaze went to the blood, and his eyes widened. His body stiffened as he—

“If you move, Eric, I will fire a bullet into her spine. I hit what I aim for.” Mark’s voice was a furious snarl. “That’s why she just has a wound in her shoulder so far. But if you play hero or if she tries to get away again, I’ll make sure she never runs again. Never runs. Never walks. Barely even moves at all.”

“You fucking sonofabitch!” Eric shouted. She saw his hand moving toward his coat and she couldn’t remember…did he have a weapon on him? Didn’t he usually have a weapon of some sort? But she didn’t remember seeing a gun holster on him that day.

Did he have a knife? Something else?

Her shoulder was pulsing as the blood kept dripping down her arm.