Reyes growled, and I could feel his visceral need to slice through the man, to overtake him. He pushed it back. Swallowed it down. But it wasn’t easy, and his control wouldn’t last long. Which meant I didn’t have long.

I forced myself to relax, to control my reactions, and sought the intruder’s intentions. Did he want me dead? If so, I was about to unleash an enraged son of Satan on his ass. But I recognized the reason for his presence instantly. He was carrying out orders. I could feel obligation, along with a disturbing sense of enjoyment, rush through him. He was a messenger, a fact that raised the question, whom was the message from?

The man laid a piece of paper on my chest, then used that hand to clutch my throat. “You have forty-eight hours to find out where they’re keeping her or your friend dies.” He shoved into me, crushing my larynx and jamming the barrel into my temple as a warning. “And no cops.” He shoved again, pushing off me; then he was gone.

Only as he was leaving did I realize there were two of them. They bolted through my bedroom door, having no idea how close they’d come to having their spines severed.

I coughed and drew in a deep breath as Reyes’s robe disappeared. He rushed to me. “Who the f**k was that?”

I held my neck, tested my throat with a quick swallow. “I have no idea. But I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Wait, my friend?”

Dread sent a rush of adrenaline shooting up my spine. I jumped up and ran to Cookie’s apartment. She’d locked it, thank God. I pounded on the door, then went back for my key, but she opened the door before I could find it.

“Charley!” she said, hurrying forward. “What happened?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Cookie glanced around, wondering why she wouldn’t be.

“Amber,” I said a second before scrambling to Cookie’s apartment to check her room.

Cookie was right behind me, as was a flesh and blood Reyes Farrow. He’d thrown on a pair of jeans and come out of his apartment. I opened Amber’s bedroom door and turned on the light. She was sound asleep, her long dark hair tumbling over her pillow like a princess from a fairy tale.

Cookie whispered behind me. “Charley, what? What’s going on?”

I turned off the light and closed the door. “I’m so sorry, Cook. Two men just broke into my apartment.”

“Why the fu—?” Reyes began, his voice loud enough to wake Amber.

“Reyes,” I said in a breathy hiss, “not here.” He was angry with me once again. Men and their mood swings. Women had nothing on them.

I led them both back to my apartment, and the minute I closed the door, he tore into me. “What the f**k was that?”

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the button on his jeans had yet to be fastened, so it took me a minute to respond. “What? They threatened a friend. They said if I didn’t find some chick in forty-eight hours, my friend was dead.”

“And?” he asked, getting closer to me. His anger undulated around me, hot and pulsing.

“And if they are holding a friend of mine, I couldn’t have you severing their spines, now, could I?”

He whirled away from me with an angry growl.

Cookie was holding a hand to her chest, not sure what to make of everything. “Two men broke in?” she asked, glancing around.

“Yes. Oh! The paper.” I hurried back to my room and brought out the paper he’d practically stabbed into my chest. It was a picture of a woman with a name underneath. That was it. “Okay, I have forty-eight hours to find this woman or my friend dies.” I shrugged. “Like I only have one. Which friend?”

“I don’t know,” she said, lowering herself onto a chair. “Maybe we should call everyone we can think of. Make sure all of your acquaintances are okay. I mean, did it sound like they were actually holding a friend of yours?”

“Kind of,” I said, thinking back. “I’m not sure. It happened so fast.”

Reyes was busy pacing like a caged animal, and I couldn’t help but note the fact that he was becoming more attuned to my emotions. He’d appeared the moment alarm rose within me. It was uncanny.

“I’m sorry, hon,” I said, walking to him. “I just couldn’t take the chance. I needed to know why they were there before I sentenced them to life in a wheelchair.”

I stopped talking when I noticed the look on his face. He was still angry, but his expression had softened.

I reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “What?”

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, ragged. “You called me hon.”

A soft laugh escaped me. “It’s a term of endearment.”

He blinked as though he didn’t know what to think.

“Hasn’t anyone ever called you hon before? Honey? Sweetheart?”

“No.”

I wondered what his human parents had called him when he was a baby. “I bet you have, you just don’t remember.”

“You should have let me rip them to shreds.”

“That may be and I may regret that later—in fact, if my track record holds true, I’m fairly certain I will—but for now, I’m fine.”

He ran a finger down my forearm, not wanting to show too much in front of Cook, most likely.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Cookie asked.

“They said no cops. I’ll call Uncle Bob and fill him in tomorrow morning.”