Mac blinked at her and said, as though baffled, “Aren’t I? I was under the impression that we were working together here. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

The idea of touching Mac’s back caused Dorothy to shudder involuntarily.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like my new plan,” Mac told her. “I’ve seen enough of the future. If that’s what this world is going to look like in just a few short years, then I want no part of it. I’d rather go back in time and live like a king.”

He lifted his fist, studying a yellowed fingernail. “All you have to do is take me back in time. I want to vet a few time periods before deciding on one. And then you can leave me there, and we’re all happy.” He looked back up at her, grinning. “What do you say?

Dorothy hesitated. His desire to go back in time seemed true enough, but she doubted very much that he would just let them leave him there. Mac liked power too much to let their time machine fall through his fingers. This was a trick.

She was about to tell him what she thought of his little plan when another choked cry from inside the hotel room stopped her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“Who do you have in there?” she asked instead.

Mac grinned, and Dorothy felt duped. Clearly, he’d wanted her to ask.

“See for yourself,” he said, throwing the door wide.

Dorothy didn’t want to look, but her eyes seemed to move on their own, zeroing in on the figure lying utterly still on the floor.

Ash had been beaten, that much was clear, but it wasn’t the beating itself that caused horror to rise in her throat. It was how he’d been beaten, how he’d been kicked and carved and sliced. His skin was white except for where it was red and clotted with blood. God, there was so much blood. Where had it all come from? It pooled around him and stained his clothes and hands and feet. A roaring sound filled Dorothy’s ears.

Whatever had been done to him had been done gleefully.

Dorothy’s first thought was that he was dead. This monster had killed him. But then she noticed that he was shaking, whether from the shock or the blood loss she couldn’t tell.

Not dead yet. But close.

Mac was studying her now, his eyes narrowing like lenses. Dorothy had to work hard to keep the emotion from her face. He knew. Somehow, impossibly, he knew about her history with Ash. He knew what he meant to her. How?

It didn’t matter. Mac was going to kill Ash if she didn’t stop him. Her stomach roiled and her fingers curled around her hidden daggers. She wanted to pull them free and slice the smile off Mac’s face. She wanted to add his own blood to the blood that already painted his clothes. The want was so strong inside of her that it felt like heat.