But his eyes … fuck.
Paris instantly inches back, her wide gaze locked on Grayson’s. But as she backs up, she puts herself closer to me, which only serves to piss Grayson off more. Though right now, the way his eyes are glazed over and the way he trips over his own damn feet, I’d prefer her closer to me with that knife. If he gets hurt trying to save me ...
He stumbles and catches himself against the dresser that Paris had only just stepped away from, and the fear that rattles me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I’m not going to lie, when it was just me and her, I was scared, but now that Grayson’s involved in this vulnerable state—I’m terrified.
“GRAYSON,” I call, realizing that he’s either severely concussed or fighting the effects of some hard drugs and in desperate need of motivation to keep himself going, to keep fighting the effects of whatever the hell she did to him.
His eyes flick to mine and the second they move off course, he tumbles again, having to catch himself against the bed.
Paris keeps backing up, but she adjusts the knife in her hand. “You can’t save her,” she spits, making Grayson’s eyes fly back to hers as she raises her chin, trying to act as though she’s in control. “Look at yourself. You can’t even walk in a straight line.”
“Straight lines are overrated.”
And just like that, he jumps at her.
Grayson all but flies across the room, rapidly closing the gap between them. Paris squeals. She may have a knife but that’s nothing compared to the strength and weight that Grayson packs. She tries to scramble as his arms close around her and as they lose their balance, they begin to fall toward me.
Paris pushes hard and Grayson goes crashing down over my legs, crushing the wooden chair and my legs beneath his weight as he desperately tries to cling onto her. The chair breaks into little pieces, freeing my arms, but with Grayson’s chest weighing down my legs, I’m still trapped.
Paris lands right beside me, slamming down on her ass and she instantly starts using her feet to push him away. The knife is nowhere to be seen, and as I try to reach for her, she gets herself out from under him and scrambles back until she’s against the wall.
Paris flies to her feet and I watch as panic surges through her wild stare, trying to figure out if she should take Grayson out and kill me, or if she should bail and try again another day. Resolve flickers through her eyes and she curses before grabbing the windowsill and launching herself out onto the second story roof.
“NOOOO,” I cry out, trying to wriggle free from under Grayson, knowing it could be ages before we get another chance at her again.
Grayson groans just as I get my feet out from under him, cutting my leg against the splintered wood of the chair. I scramble to my feet and fly to the window, looking out just in time to watch Paris jumping down from the second story of my home and dropping into the manicured lawn below.
Every bone in my body tells me to throw myself out the window and chase after her, but with the boys unaccounted for and possibly hurt, I won’t be going anywhere. Not until I know they’re okay.
“You’re a piece of shit, Paris Moustaff,” I yell after her, gripping the windowsill as anger bubbles within me. “Don’t be fooled, I will find you, and when I do, you’re going to wish that you were already dead.”
Paris looks back at me with a wicked smirk, knowing that with the boys unaccounted for, I won’t be going after her. “We’ll see about that,” she calls back, and just like that, she disappears into the bushes, leaving me in a furious rage.
“FUCK,” I yell, swiping my hand out over the top of my desk and watching as everything goes flying off and crashing to the ground.
“We’ll get her,” Grayson promises, his face all scrunched up in pain as he tries to get to his knees.
I rush in beside him and try to help him up onto my bed where he instantly crashes back down, his eyes drooping closed as the effects of whatever she did to him still overwhelm his senses. “Where are the guys?” I ask, shaking his shoulder, needing him to stay awake. “Are they okay?”
“Will be,” he grunts. “They’re just passed out. She gassed us.”
“What? How?”
Grayson shrugs his shoulder, too out of it to think about the little ins and outs of Paris’ twisted plan.
I start moving. “I need to check on them.”
Grayson grips my wrist, pulling me back until my ass is crashing down on the bed beside his head. “No,” he demands, the authoritative growl in his tone keeping me seated. “It’s not safe. I opened a window, but we have to wait until the gas clears, otherwise we’re both fucked too.”