The word screams in my head as voltage rips through me, stealing thoughts. Stealing the world. Stealing reason.
I don't remember falling, but suddenly I'm on the ground, terrified and lost as my body writhes in the wake of the Taser assault.
I feel my lips move as I form his name. Dallas.
And above me I see a woman. Tall. Lean.
She's wearing a red dress and a mask, and is carrying something long and black, like a thin telescope. I'm confused at first, and then realize it's an extendable billy club.
"You," I croak.
"He's mine," she whispers.
Then she leans over, lets the club fly, and lands it square against my temple as the world fades to black and my heart screams for Dallas.
Lady in Red
Dallas paced the living room, or tried to. The place was so full of boxes it's a wonder he could even more.
He'd fucked up and it was his own damn fault. He'd known he was taking a risk not telling her about Colin, and now that choice was biting him in the ass.
Frustrated, he glanced toward the door, wondering now if he'd made the wrong choice again by not following her. He was trying to give her space, but already the gap between them was too wide. He needed her beside him. And, dammit, he was certain she needed him.
As if in evidence to the thought, his cellphone pinged, the tone signaling a text from Jane. He snatched it up, praying she wanted him to meet her somewhere.
But when he opened the text, it was as if he'd been punched in the gut.
His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground, the phone tumbling from his hands.
It didn't matter. The picture was burned in his mind.
Jane, her face bruised and battered.
And on the sidewalk next to her was an all-too-familiar carnival mask.
The Woman.
And now she had Jane.