Free Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel by Shannon K. Butcher Page B

them. The man had had a gun, and the way he fought screamed that he was a professional. A second man had aimed a weapon at Clay, and then . . . nothing.
    “What happened?” he croaked out, his words grating the skin of his dry throat.
    “Take a drink,” she ordered in a no-nonsense tone that had Clay obeying without even thinking about it.
    Cold water eased the dry burn and jolted him a bit more into wakefulness—enough for him to realize that she’d dodged his question.
    Water dribbled down his chin. He reached to catch it, but the bite of handcuffs stopped him. “Uncuff me.”
    “I will in a minute. I just want to be sure.” It was the fear in her voice that finally shoved away the remaining cobwebs of sleep.
    Clay lifted his head and forced his eyelids open all the way. The lights of the room stabbed him, dragging a hiss of pain from his chest. He blinked as tears flooded his eyes, washing some of the grit of sleep away.
    Leigh was crouched in front of him, a stethoscope draped over her neck. She had a glass of water in one hand and a syringe in the other. Both hands were shaking, and she was so pale the little constellations of freckles on her cheeks were easy to see. So were the bruises along her jawline.
    Something had happened to her—something that had terrified and hurt her. Only the certain knowledge that she was standing here, safe and alive, gave him room to breathe.
    “You want to be sure of what?” he asked.
    She hesitated for so long, he wasn’t sure she was going to answer him. “You weren’t yourself.”
    The terrible truth crashed down on Clay like a bucket of ice water as he pieced everything together. He was bound. She was afraid. She was bruised. He had a missing section of time.
    “I hurt you, didn’t I?”
    She looked away, the truth plain in the way she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m fine.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question.”
    Leigh backed away, setting the water on a nearby end table. “Payton will be here soon. Everything is going to be fine.”
    A moan drifted in from the kitchen. Clay’s body went on red alert, tensing for action. The cuffs jangled and held firm. “Who is that?”
    “One of the men who broke in. I restrained him.”
    That wasn’t good enough. If he got free, she was an easy target. She didn’t even have her revolver on her—it sat several feet away, as if she’d have all the time in the world to reach it if she had the need.
    “There were two intruders.”
    She gave him a shaky nod, swallowing hard enough that he could see the movement in her throat, below the darkening bruises along her jawline. “One of them is dead.”
    A flash of a memory hit him—his hands on a stranger’s head, twisting. The muted snap of bones breaking beneath skin. The satisfaction of an enemy conquered.
    Clay had done that. He’d killed the man. And if the other intruder got free, he’d do the same thing to Leigh. She wasn’t trained to handle an opponent like him.
    “Unlock the cuffs, Leigh.”
    She backed away, bumping into the couch. “I will as soon as Payton gets here.”
    If he hadn’t already been able to see the truth of what he’d done in her eyes, he would have known it now. “I won’t hurt you again. Whatever it takes, I’ll hold it together long enough for you to get to your car and leave. I’m myself again. I swear it.”
    How long he’d be that way was another story, but for now, he was in complete control.
    “I can’t leave,” she said. “If the man in the kitchen manages to get free, he could hurt you.”
    “Is there a chance he can get free, Leigh? Because if there is, you really need to let me go. He will kill you.”
    She shook her head. Her pretty red hair was a tangled mess, as if she’d tossed and turned in bed for hours. Dark circles haunted her brown eyes. She kept wiping her palms on her pants, alternating which hand held the syringe.
    Clay craned his neck to follow her nervous gaze to the kitchen. A man clad in black and