The distance between them was exactly twenty-two feet of ruined Italian marble, and every inch of it smelled like s*******r.
Jane didn't hesitate.
She didn't look at the shattered reinforced steel of the door. She didn't look at the red emergency strobes cutting frantic arcs across the dark penthouse. She only looked at the molten amber burning in Michael’s eyes.
"Jane, don't." Ryan’s voice was a wet, pathetic scrape against the floorboards. He grabbed at her ankle as she walked past him. His fingers left a smear of sweat and dirt on her sheer stockings. "Jane, he’s not human right now. Look at him."
Jane stopped. She looked down at the boy who had humiliated her in front of a thousand people. The boy who had claimed her sister. The boy who had just held a gun to her chest.
She didn't
