“Cambria?” She heard Archer’s yell as he rushed through the opened front door.
She tried to lift her head as he came to a hard, shocked stop. It wobbled on her shoulders, though, causing her sight to careen wildly once again, dragging a moan from her lips. Instantly he was kneeling in front of her, his hands and his gaze going over her quickly.
“Are you okay?” He touched her forehead. The brief touch sent a wave of pain tearing through her, causing her to flinch and jerk her head back a second before she began gagging from the revolving room.
She could taste blood in her mouth. The taste of it added to the sickening, retching sensation gripping her stomach. If everything would just slow down. If it would just stop spinning for more than a second or two, then she could find her balance.
Dizziness rushed over her again, forcing her to put her head down, to swallow desperately and fight the sickness threatening to overwhelm her.
“Did you get him?” she finally gasped weakly when she could lift her head to try to focus on Archer. He looked like he was wavering, slithering from side to side like a cobra attempting to mesmerize her.
Rather than mesmerizing her, it only made her feel sicker, more confused.
Frowning, she knew something was wrong but was having a hell of a time concentrating on what. She knew she was ill, that the blows to her head hadn’t been a good thing.
“How many, Cami?” he was yelling at her, holding up his hand. Or something. He was holding something up in front of her face.
She tried to focus, blinking, almost whimpering at the disorientation and the pain surging through her head once again.
Oh God, she hated not being able to concentrate, unable to think or to rationalize.
“How many?” Archer yelled at her again.
How many?
“Two Archers,” she whispered, dazed as she laid her head against her arm once again, wondering why she kept seeing two of him when she knew there was only one. Archer didn’t even have a brother, let alone a twin.
“Archer, I don’t feel well,” she whispered, suddenly terribly frightened of the disorientation she couldn’t seem to shake.
“Ambulance is on its way, Cami.” His hands clasped her face, forcing her to tilt her head back as the room swam around her and pure agony raced through her temples, her eyes, shooting to the back of her neck.
She tried to swat at his hand, to scream, but all that came out was a weak whimper. “Rafer.”
“It’s Archer, Cami. Fuck, where is that ambulance?”
Who was he talking to? Please, not Martin Eisner. Martin would tell her uncle, and her uncle and Aunt Ella would rush over.
Ella would fuss over her.
Her mother used to fuss over her.
Uncle Eddy would threaten to kill the bastard, and he would mean it.
She needed Rafer.
“Archer.” She couldn’t hold her head up, could barely breathe enough to force out a single word: “Rafer.”
She could see the darkness edging in on her vision.
“Did Rafer do this, Cami?” Shock, fury, it all filled his voice.
Why was he so angry? Rafer had slipped into her bedroom. She had tried to tell him they couldn’t do this. They couldn’t slip around, and he didn’t listen to her any more than her own body did.
She could hear someone else beyond her vision, yelling about Rafer.
She tried to shake her head.
“Get Rafer,” she whispered. “Have to tell—”
She had to tell Rafer. She had to warn him.
“Cami, answer me, damn you!” Archer was yelling at her. Archer had never yelled at her. “Cami, did Rafer do this?”
She needed Rafer. There were too many voices screaming in her head. Or was that around her head?
The darkness was coming closer, closer. And she had to warn Rafer.
“Warn Rafer—,” she could barely whisper. It was a breath of a sound, the last of her energy before she faced nothingness.
Oh God, was this how Jaymi had felt when she died? Could Cami feel that complete absence of being before she left the world? She sobbed, crying out for the hell her sister must have endured and terrified of facing it herself. Of being unable to avoid it and unable to force herself away from it.
That dark, icy nothingness closed over her, like a freezing, merciless veil of ice. There was nothing comforting, nothing gentle, about it. It was terribly frightening, dragging her into it as she fought helplessly to retain consciousness, to warn Rafer.
Someone needed to warn Rafer.
* * *
Dawn was rolling over the mountains when Rafer finally gave up the battle to sleep, rose, showered, and dressed for the day. He was putting on coffee when Logan and Crowe made their way from their rooms, their distinctly irritated looks directed straight at him.
“I didn’t wake you,” he informed them both as he set out enough cups for the three of them.
“We didn’t say you had,” Logan growled, definitely testy. He never had cared much for early mornings.
“Then what are you doing awake?” Rafe poured the coffee.
“Hell if I know, probably because you’re awake,” Crowe grunted as he hitched the loose cotton pants he wore a little closer to his hips and scratched at his bare, scarred chest.
God, Rafe wished Crowe would wear a shirt. The sight of those scars on his chest and back was too much for Rafe to bear to look at. But saying anything to Crowe, pointing it out, or reminding him of it wasn’t always a good idea. Though how he could forget about it Rafe had never understood.
Logan plopped down in the seat across from Rafe, the gray running shorts he wore riding almost as low as Crowe’s pants as he yawned and scratched at the side of his rough jaw. The closely cropped beard, a shade or two darker than his hair, was never completely shaved free of his face. Unlike Crowe, Logan preferred to hide his scars.
The mementos they had from their teenage years sucked.
Rafer didn’t carry physical scars; he instead carried the mental scars. None of them had escaped unscathed from the hatred and merciless need for revenge that had been exacted on each of them in one form or another.
“We have two investors coming in day after tomorrow,” Crowe reminded them both as he sipped at the coffee. “Do you think we could get a cook out here or something?” He looked around the kitchen with a look of hope.