Shock moved through me as a hooded face came into view. Hard dark eyes glittered down at me. Eyes I didn’t recognize in a face that was shrouded by a black ski mask. All I could see were the eyes and thin pale lips.

The nothingness of his face, the emptiness in his gaze, was terrifying.

I fought harder.

I felt the warm trickle of blood, followed by the burning sting of a cut on my arm.

He’d sliced me as I grappled with him.

“Stupid bitch,” his deep voice hissed. He let go of one of my arms to drive his fist down into my face.

Fire spread out across my cheek, stinging my nose and eyes and dazing me momentarily. I blinked the overabundance of water out of my eyes, trying to focus away from the pain to the man.

I saw the flash of silver again, this time lowering slowly to my throat.

“Missed last time. Stupid going for the gut. Too many variables.”

I couldn’t buck, or shrug him off, for fear the knife would slice right through my skin. “Who are you?” I tried to stall him so I could think.

Think, Lex, think, think, THINK!

“Wouldn’t a gun have been easier?” I wheezed out, surprised by my thoughts and questions. More than anything, more than who he was or why he was doing this, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that if he’d used a gun from the beginning he would probably have killed me already.

Lexie, stop! I shouted at myself, feeling insane. I needed to get out of this, not ponder my assailant’s reasons for weapon of choice!

The guy’s cold eyes suddenly flashed with emotion. “Guns are for pussies.”

He pressed down with the blade.

A loud crash behind him made his head whip around toward the front door. As his face tilted upward, a huge fist appeared, slamming down and jerking his head back with so much force blood from his nose sprayed across my face.

His weight was yanked off me, and the knife clattered to the floor from his weakened grasp.

In awe, I struggled to get up, my hand reaching for my throat to feel the small cut that he’d made … but my gaze was on the tornado that had just entered my childhood home.

Caine.

Rage unlike anything I’d witnessed before emanated from every pore in Caine’s body as he grabbed my attacker by the front of his hoodie and lifted him clean off his feet. He crashed him against the wall so hard pictures shook off from their hooks.

The attacker swung out at Caine, clipping him across the jaw. I reached for the knife and attempted to get to my feet.

I glanced over at Caine, ignoring the ache in my stomach, ready to help if he needed me. The hilt of the knife handle practically melted around my grip with the heat of my emotions.

Caine threw another punch, this time to the attacker’s gut, and he winded him. As the attacker’s head bent over, Caine brought his knee up and forced the guy’s nose to connect with it.

I heard a crack and the agonized muffle it caused.

From there I watched in suspended horror as Caine beat the man. He punched him until he couldn’t stand, and once he was on the floor he ripped the mask off, revealing the bloodied face of a stranger. Caine punched him again. And again.

And again.

“Caine,” I whispered, wanting him to stop. “Caine, stop!” I hurried over to him and without thought of his reaction I placed a hand on his shoulder.

My touch halted him, however, and he looked up at me.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the stark fear I saw mingling with his fury.

For me.

“He’s down,” I said softly.

Caine turned back to the man who was making gurgling, choking noises from the back of his throat. He coughed, his lips parting slightly, and a bubble of blood popped between them.

“Who are you?” Caine demanded.

He groaned and shook his head.

I held the knife out to Caine. He took it and reversed the tables on the son of a bitch. Caine pressed it against his throat and repeated, “Who the fuck are you?”

When he got no response Caine pressed harder and blood began to color the blade’s edge. “I don’t think you realize how much I want to kill you. And I will. It’s called self-defense and I’ve got plenty of money for fancy lawyers who’ll make the court see it my way.”

Still nothing.

Caine bent down, his nose almost touching the man’s. “You touched my woman,” he said, his voice guttural with his rage. “I’m itching to send you straight to hell, you piece of shit. I am not bluffing.”

“O—k—” The attacker coughed, lifting an arm that fell limp before it even got a few inches off the floor. “Matt … hew … Hall … Holland. Hired … me.”

My knees buckled and Caine turned, shock in his eyes at the revelation, just in time to watch me hit the floor.

“Lex!” He scrambled off the hit man and over to me as I braced over on all fours, trying to catch my breath. His hand slipped through my hair to curl around my nape. “Baby …”

My half brother? Someone I’d never even met had hired someone to kill me?

Nausea rose inside me.

I pushed Caine away in time as I vomited bile on my mother’s lacquered hardwood floors.

My hair was pulled back from my face and Caine’s heat enveloped me.

I jerked my head up at the realization his attention was not on our attacker.

We looked back at the bloodied criminal to see he had struggled up to a sitting position, but he was looking through his one eye that wasn’t completely swelling shut toward the kitchen doorway. In unison Caine and I swung our heads around to follow his gaze.