by Geneva Lee
“For once, I’m with her,” Sutton says.
Poppy pauses, twisting her fingers together. “Maybe, I should stay…”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Jack says. “I picked up a lock change kit. We should deal with that first.”
“A lock change kit?” I repeat.
“For Poppy’s place,” he says, “so that jackass can’t get in.”
“But his things are there,” she says miserably.
“We can take care of that while Jack does the locks.” Luca nudges Sutton, who nods. “We’ll get rid of it.”
“Like put it on the curb?” she asks.
“Sure,” Luca says with a shrug.
“Not set it on fire, right?” Sterling butts in.
Luca does an admirable job of looking hurt. “I wouldn’t.”
“Say it,” Sterling demands.
“We won’t set it on fire.”
I’m not sure if Sutton or Luca looks more disappointed about this.
“We’ll leave you kids alone,” Jack says, flashing a wide grin.
“How mad are you, exactly?” Sterling says, his grin slipping, as they leave. He shakes his head a little, like his thoughts are fuzzy.
“I think I’ll forgive you.” Honestly, I’m just glad he’s here in mostly one piece.
“Good, good,” he says, pulling me close to him and brushing a kiss on my lips.
It feels good. I try to kiss him back, but his head snaps back as he lets out a yelp. “Sorry, did I do something?”
“My cheek, it’s a little tender,” he says, leaning forward gingerly and pressing his lips to the curve of my neck, making me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
“Hey, cut that out. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, feigning his best southern accent.
I start digging through the first aid kit, looking for bandages and disinfectant, but I can’t find anything remotely like that. “What are these?” I ask, holding up what looks like a badly bent pair of scissors.
“Clamps,” he says simply.
“What are they even for?” I ask. The closest looking thing I’ve seen are eyelash curlers.
“Stopping arterial bleeding,” he says, letting out a chuckle that causes him to wince.
“Seriously? Where’s all the normal shit?”
“There are some butterfly sutures in the pocket next to the strap,” Sterling says, pointing.
It takes me a few minutes, but eventually I find antibiotic ointment, cotton swabs, and sutures. Sterling instructs me patiently, but I can’t help getting the feeling he’s drowsy. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Me?” he asks. “I’m fine. It’s just an adrenaline crash.”
I clean the cut over his eye with an alcohol swab, expecting him to wince in pain. But he looks stoic as I rub burning hot alcohol into his wound, then dab ointment into it with a swab. “What’s an adrenaline crash?”
“After your adrenaline spikes—I mean really spikes—”
“Such as when fighting an FBI agent in a downtown Nashville cafe?” I try to sound stern, but, honestly, I’m too relieved to have this behind us to stay angry at him for getting in a fight. He’s been building toward it all day.
“Yeah, after that, your body goes back to its normal equilibrium. It’s like going from Superman to just Clark Kent.”
“So you’re only a mere mortal now,” I say.
“Clark Kent is always Superman. Sometimes he just hides it.”
“So you’re saying, you still have superhuman stamina?”
“Only one way to find out.” He pulls me close, not mistaking what I meant. His lips are on mine, and without thinking I bring my hand to his face—right on top of the gash on his cheek I haven’t cleaned yet. He flinches hard, almost jumping out of his skin.
“Sorry,” I plead. I don’t think it’s totally my fault, but he probably doesn’t see it that way.
“Never be sorry, Lucky,” he says as I take care of his cheek just like I did his brow. His hands fiddle with the straps of my dress. “How was your day?”
I fill him in on the highlights, glossing over the worst of it. He’s got enough to worry about.
“You okay?” he asks when I finish.
“Fine.” I tell myself it’s the truth, because while we might have dealt with some problems today, there’s still a lot left for us to conquer.
“Liar,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Done,” I say, leaning down to his perch on the stool and kissing the side of his brow that’s not cut up. I pull him to me, planting both my hands as far away from his face as I can, on his back—I don’t trust them anymore.
He winces in pain anyway, and I jump back. “What now?”
“Sorry. Kidney.”
“Well, what can you do?” I say, my hand flashing to my mouth as soon as the words are out.
“What can I do?” he says, repeating the phrase again with maximum incredulity, a hungry look coming over him. He stands and lifts me over his shoulder in one fluid movement, and just like that he’s carrying me to the bedroom.
He almost tosses me on the bed when we arrive, and has to flex his back to loosen it up before crawling on top of me. I feel his cock beneath his suit pants, rubbing against the thin fabric of my skirt, and instantly, I’m ready.
He leans down and kisses my collarbone, his hand cupping my ass and drawing my hips against his. “I didn’t know fighting was a turn on for you.”
“Neither did I,” I admit.
He shoves my skirt up and my legs open in invitation.
“We need a condom. I missed my pill,” I warn him.
“In the drawer of the nightstand,” he says.
I roll over slightly, my hand searching the interior of the draw, but it’s bare. “Nothing there.”
“In a box under the bathroom sink,” he mumbles, letting me slip from underneath him, and propping himself on his side as I disappear to the bathroom.
“Which sink?” I call in to him.
“Left, I think,” he says distantly.
It’s not the left sink, or the right. There’s another cabinet mounted about the toilet, though, and—thank God—the box of condoms is in there.
“Found one!” I declare triumphantly, returning to the bedroom. Sterling’s still propped on his side, his back turned to me. I climb on top of him, kissing behind his ear and taking care to avoid his sensitive spots—or, at least the ones I know about.
He lets out a strange grunt, almost like he’s clearing his throat.
“Sterling?”
Avoiding the large, swollen, purple welt on his side, I shake him firmly.
He responds by letting out a long, deeply satisfied snore. I finish tugging off his pants, which takes some effort since he’s out like a rock. Tossing them on the ground, I pull off my dress.
“Damn. You owe me one, Ford,” I whisper, slipping into the space beside him and listening gratefully to the sound of him breathing.
I roll over, sleepily running a hand across Sterling’s chest. Moonlight streams through the large windows, casting him in shadows. Overhead, blue light shines as my ringtone slowly seeps into my consciousness. Who is calling me in the middle of the night? Sterling stirs, and I shift to grab my phone off the nightstand before it wakes him. As I go to silence it, the screen flashes Malcolm. My eyes skip to the time, and I hesitate a moment before answering. I can’t think of many reasons for my brother to call me at this hour, but I’ve learned the hard way what happens when you don’t take important calls.
“It’s one in the morning,” I tell him in a whisper. Sterling shifts behind me, rolling to his side.
“Where is she?” Malcolm demands.
“What? Who?” I’m still half-asleep, but the moment the questions leave my mouth, I know why he’s calling with deep, nauseating certainty. I’m already swinging my legs over the side of the bed when he responds.
“Ellie. You took her!” He’s shouting now
, and I’m on my feet.
“I don’t have her.” But he’s too busy ranting to hear me. “Malcolm! How long has she been missing?”
“You tell me,” he yells. “I came home late from the office and ducked my head in after Ginny told me what you did this afternoon. She’s not in her bed. There’s nothing on the cameras. You know where—”
I’m wide awake now. Despite that, I don’t hear Sterling until he lifts the phone from my hand. “Malcolm,” he barks, “shut the fuck up and tell me when the last time anyone saw her was.”
For a second, I’m frozen, unsure what to do. He glances at me, his face reflecting in the phone’s light. There’s a sort of cool composure to his features, his jaw set and determined, his attention on the call, but there’s panic in his eyes that mirrors my own. I scramble for my dress, throwing it on as quickly as I can.
“We’re on our way,” Sterling says, hanging up on my brother.
“Sterling…”
He holds up a finger as he tosses my phone onto the bed and strides over to his pants. He takes his own phone out of their pocket and dials someone. Shoving it between his shoulder and his ear, he pulls his pants on roughly. “Nikolai, I thought we had an arrangement.”
“What’s going on?” I ask as I finish tugging on my shoes. I’ve run out of simple tasks to distract me, so I begin pacing the room waiting for him.
But Sterling is right behind me, listening intently, as he digs his keys out of his pocket and tilts his head in the direction of the door. “I’m asking where my daughter is,” he says in response to the man on the other end. “You’re the one who threatened her! I thought we were good.”
“Oh my god.” I think I’m going to throw up. I’d known about most of the Bratva’s threats, but he hadn’t told me that they’d found out about Ellie.
“You swear on your fucking life?” Sterling roars. “If you touched her...Fine.” He pauses to put on his shoes, and I wait.
“What is going on?” I repeat my earlier question.
“I don’t know. Nikolai gave me his word.” He heads toward the door, and I’m beside him, unsure how my legs are even moving. Zeus is sitting next to it like he plans to come along, and Sterling shoos him away.
“And that’s it? You believe him?” I ask.
Sterling turns to me as he holds open the penthouse door, his blue eyes dark and unsettled like the sky on the verge of a storm. “I do. Believe me, he wouldn’t give it lightly.”
“But who would take Ellie?”
We share a look that says it all. If we weren’t here together, we might suspect each other. There’s no accusation on either of our parts. It would be a stupid move, but one we were each likely to understand. It really only leaves us in the dark.
“Are there others like the Bratva?” I ask, somewhat hesitantly, as we get in the elevator.
“I guess,” he admits, his head hanging. “None that are actively pissed at me, as far as I know.”
How could I have thought it would be this easy? Sterling’s been clear with me about his past. I know he’s involved with dangerous men. Why did I think crossing one enemy off the list made us safe?
He calls Luca on our way to the car, giving them instructions and listing off names to track down as he screeches out of the parking garage. Nashville is sleeping, its neon signs calling to empty streets. We barely pass any other cars, but Sterling whips around all of them, reaching the highway with record speed. He doesn’t slow as he merges off the ramp, he just goes faster, still rattling off names to his friend.
“Who are those people?” I ask when he finally hangs up.
His hands grip the steering wheel, his gaze staying on the road ahead, but I catch the slight slide of his throat. “Potential enemies.”
“There are that many?” I ask flatly.
“I tend to leave an impression,” he says. “Some of them are friends.”
I shake free the cobwebs in my head. “They can’t be both.”
“I promise they can. Rivals are as often friends as enemies,” he says darkly, and I know he’s thinking about Cyrus.
Who else can’t we trust?
I don’t ask any more questions as we speed toward Windfall. Instead, I find myself praying to whoever might be listening as I count the green mile markers dotting the highway, each getting me closer to her. I have to believe that. I don’t think I’m capable of considering any other scenario. Dread consumes me when I spot the exit for Valmont, threatening to turn me inside out.
It’s the fastest drive of my life.
It’s the longest one, too.
Maybe Sterling is right about friends and enemies. Maybe sometimes the truth exists in paradox.
23
Adair
Every light at Windfall greets us as we pull to the open gate.
“Where the fuck is the security guard?” I ask.
Sterling studies the gatehouse for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he floors the gas and shoots forward down the drive. “All of this feels wrong.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just keep your eyes open,” he says as we pull into the front circle, “especially on your brother and sister.”
He bounds up the stairs two at a time, reaching the front door before I’ve reached the stone steps. Windfall looms over me like a spectral ghost peeking its head from my childhood closet. When I reach the entry, I walk into a full-blown confrontation. Sterling has Malcolm by the shirt collar, lifted off the ground.
“Do not fuck with me!” he shouts.
“Why would I do something with her? She’s ours,” Malcolm splutters, his face reddening from Sterling’s grip. Felix hovers nearby, seemingly with no intention of intervening.
“Stop,” I demand. Instantly, Sterling lowers Malcolm to his feet, dropping his hold without warning and leaving my brother to stumble forward. Ginny darts toward me, her eyes skittering wildly in her head, as she tugs her silk dressing gown together.
“What did you do with her?” she asks, jabbing a finger in my chest.
“For the last fucking time,” Sterling roars, but I hold up a hand.
“We are here to help you find her. Sterling can do that if you answer his questions.”
“How?” Ginny turns a scathing look on him.
“I don’t have time to explain it to you, but let’s say I’m trained,” he bites out. He looks past her, his eyes meeting mine. “In fact, I don’t know why we’re wasting time arguing with them at all.” He stalks off towards the stairs. “Which way is her room?”
“East wing,” I call, maneuvering around Ginny to follow him up the main staircase.
“Where are you going?” Malcolm says. “You think we haven’t looked there? The police are on their way.”
“Believe me, you haven’t looked like I will,” Sterling mutters, clearly not concerned over whether or not my brother hears him.
Behind us, Ginny is whispering frantically to her husband, but he’s busy glaring up at us. I look away, choosing to mimic Sterling. My foot catches on the thick carpeting and I lurch forward, Sterling catches me and helps me upright. “I know it’s hard, Lucky, but you have to give your brain enough blood to think. Focus everything on your surroundings,” he coaxes me. “Stop paying attention to that pit in your stomach or how hard your heart is beating. That’s not important. We need to think. We need to see. Do you understand?”
I bob my head, doing my best to take his advice. I lead him to her bedroom, and it takes every ounce of me not to crumple to the floor when I see her shoes by the bed.
“Is there anything off?” he asks as he paces around the room, stopping to check the windows.
I scan the room, looking for the obvious: mud on the carpet or a ransom note or signs of a struggle, I guess. “Everything looks normal.”
“We’re not looking for abnormality, really. Just anything that doesn’t quite add up.”
I look again, trying to ignore the way each item in the room twangs the strings of my
heart. Her dolls. Her jacket hanging on a hook in her closet. Drawings and crayons on the table under the picture window. Her covers turned down. An imprint on her pillow from her head. It’s all there, but it’s so quiet and abandoned that the only thing I know is missing is her. Then something catches my eye.
“Her Buddy Bear is gone,” I say, pointing to the bed.
“Her what?” Sterling asks.
“It’s a stuffed bear that I gave her as a baby. She sleeps with it. Every night. She can’t sleep without it.” I clap a hand over my mouth. The bear’s gone. She’s gone.
My baby is gone.
Again.
My knees buckle, and before I can stop it, I vomit on the floor.
Sterling is by my side, a hand on my back. “The police are on their way,” he says, “and they will help us find her. The bear missing is actually a good thing.”
I turn watering eyes on him. How can any of this be a good thing? How can he stand there and calmly expect the police to find her?
“If the bear’s gone, she grabbed it,” he says, answering my unspoken question. “If someone snatched her, she probably wouldn’t have been awake or had time. Either whoever has her knows she’d want the bear or Ellie took it with her. Maybe she’s hiding? This is a big house.”
I force myself to consider this. Malcolm and Ginny may have looked, but judging from the state of the house, they hadn’t been tearing things apart. Her room is still neat and organized. There were no signs of struggle downstairs. The only evidence that she’s missing is an empty bed and panicked parents.
“We’re going to keep looking,” Sterling says firmly, like we’re just tackling a to-do list.
“And if we find her? They’ll take her again,” I shout, finally losing it. “They’ll point the finger, and they’ll drag up dirt. They’ll say we had something to do with it.”
“Exactly,” Sterling says in a lowered voice as if he suspects the walls are listening. “It’s all a bit convenient, especially after what happened to you this afternoon.”
“I just want to find her,” I say desperately. “I don’t even care if I never get to see her again. If she’s safe…”
Sterling kisses my forehead, before tilting my chin so our eyes meet. “I swear on my life that nothing will happen to her. I won’t allow it.” He steps away. “Where would you go if you were hiding?”