It must have been a good two hours before anything tumultuous happened again. Rowlett and his crew had left me soon after they came, but only after confirming the news that I had dreaded.

They were using me as bait. To lure Ashton in.

That was why they had taken my flannel and smeared blood across it. That was why Josh had disappeared for a few hours. That was why he had returned with a swollen lip. And that was why my gut had been tied into knots for the past two hours.

If Ashton were smart, he would stay as far away from here as possible, but I somehow doubted he'd do that. He was no coward—something I almost wished he was right now. If he were a coward, he would stay away. He would stay safe. He would not get involved in whatever Rowlett's gang had in mind. I guessed it had something to do with that "one last job" Rowlett had mentioned at the archeology museum. And it probably involved drugs.

I had inferred enough these past few weeks to gather that Ashton had been at his worst last year, and now he was reforming. If that were indeed the case, then Rowlett's plans proved to be a major stumbling block in Ashton's path. And if those plans came into being, I was going to be instrumental in the destruction of Ashton Savvonski.

My teeth must have been clenched, for when I moved them suddenly, a jolt of pain pierced my jaw. Cringing, I tried to bring a hand to my face, but the metal binding my arms would not permit me to do so.

"Stupid nerves," I sighed into the darkness, hardly remembering the last time my voice had sounded this shaky. I must have been more anxious than I thought—which was unfortunate, considering the worst was surely yet to come.

I prayed that Ashton would have the sense to not come. I pleaded with the foul air that I would get through this without him. I hoped that he would not listen to these psychopaths.

For all of five minutes, my otherwise cold body worked itself into an anxious sweat. Part of me swore that I had a chance. The other part knew better. And yet, it was only when I heard the voices and the commotion outside of my room that I realized just how doomed I was—how doomed we were.

Somehow I blacked out again. This time, I could not seem to remember who had knocked me out or when, but it hurt just the same. When I came to, my blinking eyes scanned more unfamiliar surroundings.

I was no longer in the room with the popping orange light, and this new room smelled less of rotten eggs. This room was smaller, with crude wall markings and dim crimson lights. Most important to me was the absence of the metal chair.

I was lying next to something, but it was not an ice-cold chair. As my mind returned to the events preceding my last blackout, I realized just what it was. Or who it was.

Hardly daring to make a sound, but not wishing to remain quiet, I turned to the boy sprawled out on the floor next to me and whispered, "Ash?"

It only took a second to gather that he was out cold. My breath stopped momentarily, but for some reason, I felt a small thread of hope. I had prayed and pleaded that he would not come, but now that he was here, I could hardly help but feel relieved.

That didn't stop me from wincing when I saw his bruised and bloody face. Pulling myself into a sitting position and trying my best to ignore the pain in my own skull, I drew closer to Ash and brought my hands to his face.

His skin burned under my hands, which was odd, considering this room was not much warmer than the last one. I scooted closer and gently lifted his head onto my lap. "Wake up, you idiot."

Of course, he didn't respond. "Why did you come here?" I whispered, tracing a finger along his burning forehead. "Why did you listen to Josh? Why didn't you just—"

I trailed off, my breath catching in the back of my throat. I couldn't do this. My hands practically shaking, I brushed back the hair from his eyes and begged, "Please wake up, Ash. Please." Again, my pleading was met with silence, but I forced back the tears. Ashton was in much worse shape than I was, so I had little excuse to cry right now.

Swallowing my fear, I glanced around the room in search of a cloth or something akin to it. I felt fairly useless, but I could at least tend to the blood on Ashton's face. He appeared to still have some open wounds, which led me to believe we hadn't been moved to this room all that long ago. That served as some comfort, but it didn't quell my panic as I returned my gaze to Ashton's injuries.

There had, of course, not been a cloth in sight, so I was forced to use my own tank top instead. Shakily lifting the hem of my tank top to a small pool of blood on Ash's chin, I let my gaze flit over his face. I had to force myself to numbness this time as I tried to assess what had happened to him.

The bruise under his right eye indicated he'd been punched, but the laceration across his jaw almost looked like that of a blade. It took all my efforts just to remain numb as I pressed my tank top into that deep cut. All I was doing was suppressing the bleeding, but for some reason, it felt as if I were holding back a crimson river.

I wasn't the only one struggling, for a few seconds into my temporary fix, Ashton's dark eyebrows knit together and his lips twisted in a grimace. I nearly dropped his head when I realized that he had awoken.

"Ash?" I said anxiously, using my free hand to tilt his head my way.

He winced at the sound of my voice, but then his eyes flickered open. After a few seconds of blinking, he seemed to find my face. At first, he stared at me tensely, but he relaxed when I offered him the traces of a weak smile.

That relaxation only lasted a moment, for when I accidentally shifted my tank top against his jaw, he let out a low groan. "Sorry!" I squeaked, but my hand made the same mistake a second later.

Ashton reached up and caught my hand before it could do any more damage. Then, in a weak voice, he mumbled, "Stop it, Maine."

I wanted to protest, but instead, I allowed him to remove my hand from his face. Then, before he could let go of me, I laced my fingers between his and tightened my grip. He seemed surprised by the action but didn't let go.

My gaze dropped to our clasped hands, and I asked him quietly, "Are you okay?"

"Depends," he murmured, forcing my gaze back to his.

"On what?"

A lazy smile spread across his lips, but I could tell even that hurt. The pain didn't stop him from saying cheekily, "On if you're okay."

I looked away in embarrassment, muttering, "I'm fine."

"Then I'm fine too."

Flushing, I tried not to be too obvious. "You don't look fine."

"But I am," he whispered in response, slowly lifting his head from my lap.

"Ash, no—" I tried to bring his head back down, but I was too late. He had already risen to a sitting position, so I forced my concerns elsewhere. "I don't think you should be—"

"I really am fine, Maine."

"No, you're not fine. You're bleeding, and you've got a fever. For goodness sake, don't get yourself hurt more than you already have!"

"Maine," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. I met his gaze reproachfully, not wanting to hear whatever he had to say. "I came here to make sure you're okay. As long as you're okay, I'm okay."

I only reddened further. Looking anywhere but at him, I changed the subject in a rush, "You should lie back down. You don't look so good. Does your head hurt? Did they hit you anywhere else?"

The laugh that left Ashton's lips caught me off guard. My gaze snapping to his face again, I frowned. How could he be laughing at a time like this?

But before I could yell at him for laughing, he tugged on my hand and pulled me to him. My first instinct was to pull away so I wouldn't hurt him, but instead I found myself in his arms, my ear pressed right to his chest. Through the fabric and bone separating us, I could hear the steady beat of his heart pounding away.

"Stop overthinking it," he murmured, his lips brushing my hair.

Stop overthinking what? I wanted to scream. What is even going on? "I can't help it."

He laughed again, a refreshing sound in this gloomy prison. "You always were predictable."

I pulled back, fighting the temptation to smack him. "There you go again, acting like you know me."

"Don't I?"

"No," I lied. "Jerk."

He grinned teasingly. "I'm just messing with you—I never thought you were predictable."

"Yeah, right."

"No, it's true," he insisted. "I only said that to see what you'd do."

"Right. To see if I'd be predictable," I answered, something about the memory bothering me. He looked on the verge of protesting, but I changed the subject before he had the chance. "Ash," I began in a serious tone. He looked at me expectantly, one hand just barely resting on my knee. "It's about what you said earlier—about hating me since seventh grade. What did you mean?"

Ash stared at me for a moment, as if trying to find the words. Finally he admitted, "I was in seventh grade when my mom left us. I decided that year that I would never let a girl get close to me again—unless I was getting something out of it."

That stopped me short. I'd been expecting an entirely different story. "Did you really hate me though?"

"Oh, I thought I did," he declared with a wry smile. "At first. You know, all that time I spent telling myself I hated you actually convinced me for a while. Of course, then you had to come and mess my attempts up."

I smiled at that, before another question came to mind. "So you hated all girls then?"

He hesitated, looking somewhat caught. "No."

"What? Why me? What did I ever do?"

He laughed, before saying shamelessly, "You were cute."

Now I just felt lost. "What?"

"When I say I hated you in seventh grade, I really mean that I liked you in seventh grade."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious? How did you—nobody even knew who I was in seventh grade!"

"I guess I'm nobody then."

Narrowing my eyes, I tried to gauge his expression in the dim red lighting. "Did you know me from before?"

He seemed to be holding back a smirk. "We both went to Lower Hills Elementary in fifth grade. You were the girl with the braids who won the spelling bee."

"Oh." That was seven years ago. I barely remembered those days. "That's how you knew my name was Charmaine?"

"It was memorable," Ash explained with a shrug. "Mr. Anthony said it meant 'song.'"

I did remember Mr. Anthony—I just didn't remember that Ashton had been in my class. Apparently his memory was a lot better than mine.

As if reading my thoughts, Ash cracked a grin. "Cut yourself some slack. I was nobody then."

"Nobody?" I repeated. "You weren't nobody—you were cool. You made that Mark Twain presentation—I was so jealous."

He looked surprised. "So you do remember?"

"Yes, well, I remember that much."

He paused for a moment, trying to link the pieces together. "Huh. I wasn't sure you knew me before you started to despise me."

I furrowed my brow, troubled. "When did I despise you?"

He smiled, leaning back so that his head hit the wall. "Since eight grade—when I started acting out. You were always too good for all that."

I bristled involuntarily. "That's not true! I only despised you when you brought it out on me. I swear I never thought worse of you before then."

That seemed to catch him short. "But you'd look at me sometimes, like you thought—"

"No," I cut him off. "I looked at you, sure. Because I was curious. Not because I thought I was better than you."

He only offered me a half-smile. I could tell he didn't believe me. "What about your parents then?"

I blinked in confusion. "Sorry, what?"

"You didn't tell them a single word about me until they caught us together. They had no idea who I was. How exactly was that supposed to make me feel, Maine?"

"Ash—I—"

"Was I so awful that your parents couldn't even know I existed?"
I let out a breath in frustration. "No, Ash. You've got to understand—my parents are super overprotective. I wouldn't have told them about any boy at that point. And you're forgetting something—this was all after you gave me reason to hate you."

"Oh, so you did hate me?"

"Ugh!" I threw my head back, only to be reminded that it still hurt from being wacked a few too many times. Cringing, I brought a hand up to massage the worst of the welts. "I never hated you. But since we're at confession, I'll explain the rest."

For once, he waited, saying nothing.

I stared at my hands now, unable to meet his eyes. "After that stunt you pulled in detention, I decided I was going to make you pay for it. So Britt and I came up with this revenge plot. I was going to work for your parents so I could find out your secrets and then I'd reveal them to the whole school." I heard him suck his breath in, but I was much too afraid to look up. "So I have no place to call myself superior to you."

I braced myself for the worst, but his reply came out a lot calmer than expected. "Then why didn't you do it?"

My gaze snapped up to his, surprised. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, his fingers twitching on my knee. "You did find out my biggest secret. And that was right before I went all crazy and tried to push you away. Why didn't you tell the whole school about my mom then?"

Now it was my turn to be speechless. "I—I guess I never thought about it."

Ash blinked. Then he almost seemed amused. "No offense, Maine, but you've got some work to do in the revenge department."

I choked out a laugh. "Thank God. I thought I was losing it."

He chuckled. "I guess neither of us was very good at what we set out to do."

I smiled, appreciating this moment of consolation in an otherwise horrible situation. "Yeah, can't say I imagined I'd get kidnapped for trying to get back at you."

Ash jerked his head away from the wall, as if remembering where we were. Looking about, he swore under his breath. "I'll never forgive myself for this."

Frowning, I reached out and caught his hand before he could pull it from my knee. When his gaze snapped back to mine, I offered him a sheepish smile. "Hey, it's not your fault. You didn't make any of them do this. Besides, you came after me, right?"

Anxious, he brought a hand up to rub his eyes. "That doesn't make it okay. I should have seen this coming—I should have stopped it from happening in the first place."

"Ash." I leaned forward so that I could look him closely in the eye. "You couldn't have done anything. Josh was on the warpath—he was going to have his way no matter what."

"But I should have—"

"Just shut up, okay?" I cut him off. Trying not to think of the last time he'd told me to shut up, I looked back down at his hand that I was clutching. "I forgive you. For whatever it is you think you did wrong. Now can we just move on? Apparently we've been stuck in the same rut since seventh grade."

His nervous energy only increased. "Maine, there's something I need to tell you. If this all goes horribly wrong—"

"Ash," I said again, meeting his eyes. "We're going to be fine." I wasn't sure I believed it, but I had to say it.

"No, please. Just hear me out." He said it so earnestly, I forced myself to listen. "If this goes horribly wrong, and I never see you again, I just need you to know that—that—" Now the words didn't want to come. I rarely saw Ashton Savvonski so frazzled—it was a strange sight.

"What?" I encouraged him softly.

"You need to know that last time, when I kissed you—"

When he saw my flinch, the words died on his lips. But I hadn't flinched on purpose—I just hadn't realized this was where he was going. Before he could draw back into himself, I said in a rush, "Sorry, you just surprised me is all. I'm not used to talking about this sort of thing."

He sat frozen, but only for a few seconds. Then relief seemed to spread over his face and he let out a breath. "I didn't do it to get you fired. You have to know that."

I blinked in surprise. "I never thought you did."

"Oh. So—you know why then—why I did it?"

I turned beet red. Cleared my throat. "Maybe?" I could hardly stop myself from squirming. Before he could laugh, I looked away and started to release his hand. "I mean, usually there's only a few reasons why someone would do that. Either they're playing a joke or—you know."

He laughed, finally having mercy on me. "Or they like you." Well, his jitters were gone at least.

I tried not to smile, but failed miserably. "Yeah."

"Does it make sense now?" I tried to keep my eyes glued on my hands, but he leaned forward, forcing me to look up. "That I like you?"

I groaned, bringing my hands up to cover my eyes. "Stop it. You're making me blush."
"Wouldn't be the first time."

Yanking my hands down, I glared at him. "Jerk."

He just smiled, looking happier than I'd seen him in months. I could hardly help but let my own smile through. Just for now, we could pretend we weren't here in this place. We could pretend we were safe. We could—

The reality of the situation crashed upon us suddenly as the door across the room was flung open. Jolting, I whipped my head to see what horror awaited us.

Dane Rowlett was the first to step in, and he was the first to witness our lighthearted moment. Sneering, he charged forward. In four long strides he had reached us, and in four short seconds, he had grabbed me by the hair and pulled me from the one thing that seemed light in this place.

It was so sudden that I barely had time to react, but Fern's claws were all over my face the moment Rowlett flung me aside. Through the sound of my own scream, I could just make out Ashton's groan as Rowlett's fist pummeled him. Horror seized my veins, but the moment was brief, and I was soon colliding into Ashton's side.

My fingers closed around his shirt, and I looked up at him in a panic, but his glare was trained on Rowlett. After a second, I turned my own gaze on the beast of a man. His almost rabid look had now been traded for a calmer sneer, but I was not persuaded. He was just as much an animal now as he had been a second ago.

In favor of his creepily calm side, he took a step back from us and allowed something similar to a smile to grace his lips. In response, the girl who had just scratched my face up took her place beside Rowlett and wrapped her little paws around his arm.

My stomach turned, but I tried not let it show as Rowlett opened his mouth to speak. In a voice blanketed by silk, he greeted us, "So nice for us all to meet again like this, isn't it?"

Yeah, lovely, I spit at him in my head, but outwardly all I could do was glare. He took no notice of this as he went on. "It's too bad we're meeting on such...unfortunate circumstances. I would have liked to arrange some sort of gathering in Meadowfield earlier, but what can I say? You two made quite the fuss at the last one."

He looked back and forth between me and Ashton expectantly, but when we responded with silence, he snapped his fingers and settled his gaze on Ashton. "Nothing? Not a sarcastic remark? Not a righteous statement?"

I could tell Ash wanted nothing more than to wring the man's neck, but he somehow remained still. Rowlett set his teeth and continued. "I'll take that as your submission then, Savvonski—not that I need your submission; I've already got you and your little girlfriend as my prisoners. But today is the start. Today is the day you become my slave."

Again, Ash said nothing. The only hit of a reaction I got was in the tensing of his arm muscles. Rowlett, unaware of this, appeared rather spited by Ashton's lack of response. He bristled at both of us, before turning to me and saying, "And how about the monkey? She could be of some service as well."

If anyone else had called me a monkey for what I'd done, I would have laughed. But when it was Rowlett, it just wasn't funny anymore. I didn't even want to know what 'service' he was talking about. So I kept my mouth shut, following Ashton's example.

This angered the gangster more than I expected, for he was suddenly right up in my face. His foul breath leaked into my pores as he growled, "When I speak, you answer!"

I shook, unsure how to stand up to such a monster. This sign of weakness may have actually been what saved me though, for Rowlett almost immediately backed off, laughing carelessly. His palm slammed down on Ash's shoulder, and he said loudly, "You don't train 'em too well, do you, Savvonski?"

Ash responded by reaching up and ripping Rowlett's hand from his shoulder. I noticed with satisfaction that Rowlett winced for half a second before regaining his composure—or what was left of it. That trace of composure did not stop him from delivering a punch directly to Ash's gut.

I grimaced, but no one was watching me anymore—not when Rowlett was yelling something in Ashton's face. "I'm in charge here!" he shouted, slapping Ash with a whiff of his breath. "You—" He turned to me, "and you! You're both in my territory now, so you do as I say!"

I was so busy staring at Rowlett in horror that I didn't notice Ashton's change of stance. It was only when Ash spoke up for the first time that I realized we may actually have a chance.

In a calmer voice than I'd ever be able to muster in the face of such darkness, Ashton said coolly, "I came here alone, just as you said. But I wouldn't be so confident if I were you."

"What?" Rowlett said it almost as if he hadn't heard Ash. He was looking at him with a blank expression, as if he had somehow won. As far as I knew, he had won, but Ash seemed to know something I didn't.

This became even more apparent when I glanced up at him to find that there was a solid smirk across his face. "You're a fool, Dane."

Rowlett smiled, not getting it. "Why?"

Asiren answered.