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    Jenna inhaled deeply and let out a long breath. “Okay. They busted into our apartment, grabbed me, backhanded me when I tried to fight back, which is how I got this,” she said, pointing to her right eye. The way it throbbed, it had to be black-and-blue. As the words poured out, Jenna’s heart tripped into a panicky sprint. Just recounting what had happened—even in this cursory way—put her mind and body right back in the moment. She rushed to get it all out. “And then they tied me up in the van and held a gun on me. When we got to Confessions, they took me downstairs, and when I saw the black room, I had a seizure, and I don’t remember much of anything until I woke up in darkness so total I couldn’t see anything.”
    Sara’s breathing hitched, and her eyes pooled with unshed tears.
    And that reaction confirmed Jenna’s suspicion that it was the same room Sara had been held in four years before. Sara hadn’t given her too many details about what had happened to her during the week of her captivity, but she had mentioned a black room that deadened your senses and left you disoriented. After a seizure, especially a big one, Jenna needed no help whatsoever with disorientation, thank you very much. Damn epilepsy had that little nugget of awesomeness covered.
    “Anyway, then a while later an older man brought me food. I didn’t eat it because I didn’t trust it. And then a while after that these two goons came and got me and I almost escaped, which is how I got this,” she said, pointing to the corner of her mouth. Her right cheek was none too happy either, but it didn’t feel swollen to the touch. And, really, who knew where the hit to the eye left off and became the hit to the mouth. She released a shaky breath and mentally jumped over a whole lotta stuff, hoping against hope that Sara would be satisfied with what she had shared. “And then I vaguely remember seeing Easy’s face before I woke up here. So, yeah, that’s about it.”
    There. Done.
    Jenna’s stomach did a loop-the-loop as her gaze cut from Sara’s concern and confusion to Shane’s scowl to Easy’s rigid fury. The guy looked wound so tight that a flick of her finger might snap him in two.
    “God, Jenna, I’m so sorry,” Sara said, her voice cracking. “This is all my fault.”
    “No, it’s not, Sara. It’s never been your fault.” Jenna would regret ’til her dying breath whatever role she’d played in ever making her sister believe otherwise.
    Shane stepped up behind Sara and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I agree. The real miracle is that Bruno didn’t go off the deep end sooner.”
    “Okay,” Sara said after a minute. “Okay.” She blew out a breath. “I guess, though, what I don’t understand is why you’re still so sick if your only seizure happened more than twenty-four hours before we got you back.”
    “I don’t know. Just a bad one, I guess,” Jenna said, dropping her gaze to her lap and picking at the edge of the sheet. God, she hated lying.
    “Well, as long as you’re feeling better, that’s all that matters,” Sara said. “Here.” She handed her the bottle of water. “I’d take it slow, though.”
    Jenna gave a small chuckle. “Yeah. No kidding.” She uncapped the water and tilted the bottle to her lips. And, oh God, the cool moisture was luxurious against the aridity of her mouth and throat. She snuck another sip—and her gaze snagged on Easy. Who was looking at her with narrow eyes and a tilted head. Like he was analyzing her. Or doubting her. She blinked away. Probably just her own guilty conscience talking.
    “Here, take this.” Sara offered a pill in the cradle of her palm.
    And Jenna’s stomach began a slow, sinking descent. Her medicine. Which she really shouldn’t take until she allowed plenty of time for whatever they’d given her to get out of her system. So many regular drugs—hell, even some foods—caused bad interactions with her antiepileptic meds, so she had no