Unraveled (The Untangled Series Book 1)

by Ivy Layne

  "Yes, that way," Griffen interrupted. "If you want to get her back before he has a chance to—."

  Shooting a cautious glance at me, Griffen skipped ahead. "We need to get her back. Now. We don't have time to figure out another way. If it was anyone else, maybe. But not him. He could change his mind about holding her." Another cautious glance at me.

  I drilled Cooper with my eyes, willing him to understand. Cooper said, "He's not going to kill her."

  "I know that," I ground out. "There are things worse than death. It would take nothing for him to move her. To sell her—" The words stuck in my throat.

  I could not say it out loud. I couldn't stand to think it, but I needed Cooper to get that this was not a fucking game.

  Lucas stepped in. "Cooper, we have to make him understand that she's too hot to keep and too hot to move. He has to know that every second he has her, he's a target. He wants leverage? Let him have Evers. Evers is leverage. You and Knox will do anything to keep your brother safe, and Evers can handle himself."

  Cooper shook his head again "No fucking way am I turning my brother over to Tsepov."

  "I'm not asking," I said, "I'm telling you. Call Tsepov. Do it now. Tell him we want to make a trade. Tell him if a single hair on her head is harmed, Aiden will be on the phone with the Deputy Director of the FBI."

  "Fuck that. I'll be on the phone with the goddamned president," Aiden spat out.

  It wasn't a bluff. Aiden had the personal number of the president, a Supreme Court justice, fuck, probably half the members of Congress, not to mention the Deputy Director of the FBI and a handful of key players at the NSA and the CIA.

  When your multi-billion dollar business spans the globe, you develop some pretty extensive connections. Aiden would use every one to protect his family, even an estranged cousin.

  "This isn't the way," Cooper said. He wasn't thinking. In his mind, Summer was collateral damage.

  "You don't get it," Lucas said. "Call Tsepov. Make the trade."

  "You want me to just hand him over?" Cooper demanded, throwing out his hand in my direction, frustration etched in every line on his face.

  "Evers would die for her," Lucas said in a low rumble. "He'd do it gladly if it would mean she was safe. They're right. Once Tsepov realizes what he's done, he'll hand her over for Evers. He's not going to want that kind of attention. Aiden will rain hell down on him if he doesn't give Summer back."

  "Damn right I will," Aiden agreed, staring Cooper down. Cooper reared back.

  "What the fuck, Aiden? You've known Evers since you were born. You just met this girl—"

  "She's my fucking family," Aiden said. "And yeah I've known Evers since I was born. That's why I'm telling you to make the fucking call. Because if you don't get her back, you'll lose him. Fucking look at him, Cooper. You have no fucking clue what's going through his head right now."

  "And you do? What the fuck do you know about it?"

  "He knows because he has a woman he would die for," Lucas said, his voice like gravel. I knew he was thinking of Charlie, of how far he would go to keep his wife safe.

  I shuddered to think what would happen to anyone who caused Charlie a second of pain.

  "No, you're right," Cooper said, "I don't know. You're all fucking nuts. Thinking with your dicks instead of your heads."

  Cooper was full of shit. I never pushed him on this, but I was running out of time. "You do know, Cooper. We both know, there's one person—"

  Cooper pointed a finger at me, stabbing through the air as if he could puncture my words like a balloon. "Shut the fuck up."

  "—and if you weren't such a fucking pussy, you'd really know what we're talking about."

  "Yeah, you're one to call me a pussy considering all the time you wasted lying to Summer—"

  Cooper fell abruptly silent as he realized what he'd said. His face blanched. He ground his teeth together, staring at the carpet between his feet.

  After a long moment, he said, "Find another way."

  "There isn't another way. Give me the phone, Cooper," I said, holding out my hand. He shot me a disgusted look.

  "No. You're a fucking mess. I'm not letting you get on the phone with him. You'll threaten to eviscerate him if he touches her, and the whole thing will go to shit. I'll make the call."

  He activated the screen, looking for the number he'd jotted down from Tsepov's voicemail. When he pulled it up, he put the phone to his ear and paced to the door.

  "Do it here, Cooper. I want to hear what you say."

  Cooper scowled but stopped just inside the door. Tsepov answered the second time Cooper put the call through.

  Their exchange was blessedly short. Tsepov, while nowhere near as savvy as his uncle, was not a complete fool. He'd taken Summer thinking she wasn't a real Winters, that Aiden wouldn't care one way or another if something happened to her.

  Once he realized she was a liability, he was eager to trade her for me, promising that she was fine, and demanding that Aiden do nothing until he confirmed that Summer was unharmed.

  Cooper arranged a meet at Smokey's place in an hour. Tsepov didn't want us knowing where he was holed up, and he didn't trust us enough to come here.

  See, not entirely stupid. Smokey's place was empty, temporarily abandoned, and isolated enough to avoid prying eyes.

  Cooper hung up and slid the phone in his pocket. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said.

  "You know I do." Cooper shook his head in resignation. Already thinking ahead to Summer's rescue, I said, "I'll be right back. Get to work on the plan."

  I left the library, heading for the stairs to our rooms. Aiden said something about going to the hospital. All I could think of was Summer in her thin silk nightgown, so short it barely covered the curve of her ass.

  She'd be cold. Never mind that it was fucking July, she'd be cold, and she wouldn't want to be the next thing to naked after what she'd been through.

  I pushed open her door, my eyes on the robe tossed over the chair in the corner. My fingers closed around the lush cotton, the scent of lemon and flowers and saltwater drifting up, reminding me of that night in the pool. Of her raspberry bikini.

  Bundling the robe in my arms, I jogged back down the stairs, buoyed by hope. Tsepov had agreed to give her back. She was unharmed. Now that he knew we were coming for her, she was as safe as I could make her.

  In an hour, she'd be with my brothers. I didn't spare a thought for what might happen to me.

  Any risk was acceptable if Summer was safe. Any risk.

  I would protect her with my life. If that meant I wasn't coming home, that was fine. As long as she did.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Summer

  The bag over my head was making my face itch. I had bigger concerns than an itchy face, but that was the only one I was willing to think about. Everything else was too terrifying to contemplate.

  I was not going to think about the ride from Rycroft to wherever we were now. I was not going to think about sitting in the back of the limo next to Tsepov, his cold, slender hand wrapped around my arm—

  I ground my teeth together.

  Nothing happened. Nothing fucking happened, Summer. Stop thinking about it.

  I shivered. They had the AC cranked up, and it felt like fucking January in here.

  When we got here, someone had carried me inside, dumped me into a chair, and wrapped something around the bag on my head, pressing it into my eyes and over my ears until I could barely hear or breathe.

  They'd carried me again, up a flight of stairs, and dropped me onto a mattress. I was alone, my arms and legs bound, blind and deaf and scared out of my mind.

  All I could think about was Evers. He would come after me. I had no doubt. His eyes were the last thing I saw before the bag dropped over my head, filled with desperate anger. Guilt. And love.

  He would find me. I just had to hold on. Hold on and pray to whatever gods were listening that Evers didn't do anything reckless. I couldn't stand it if anyt
hing happened to him.

  In another situation, I'd trust Evers' judgment.

  Right now?

  Right now, I didn't trust anything.

  I refused to consider the gunshots. They echoed in my head, ricocheting back and forth until they multiplied into a barrage of gunfire.

  It hadn't been a barrage. It had been two distinct shots. Two shots and I had no idea where they'd landed.

  Not in Evers. It couldn't be Evers. Hadn't I told Tsepov he needed Evers? Which meant—

  Don't think about it, I told myself. Don't think about your father. Don't think about pretty much telling the guy with the gun to kill him.

  My father was the reason I was here. He'd put us all in danger, and for what? For more money?

  I'd seen the numbers on those bank transfers. Where had it all gone? He'd had enough. He'd had more than most people saw in a lifetime, and I was here, half-naked, tied up, and blindfolded in the hands of a man who trafficked women. Because of my father.

  I knew from Emma what kind of business the Tsepovs ran. I knew what would happen to me when I was no longer useful.

  Worse, my father knew. My father knew exactly what Tsepov would do with me, and he'd betrayed us all anyway.

  If begging for Evers' life at my father's expense made me a bad person, I could live with that. As long as Evers hadn't been on the other end of that gun, I thought I could live with just about anything.

  I didn't sleep. I wasn't sure I'd ever sleep again, but I drifted. Maybe I was lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Maybe it was the stress or adrenaline. Everything started to seem like a dream.

  When the door to the bedroom banged open, it took me a minute to realize someone had come into the room. Rough hands pulled me off the mattress and threw me over a shoulder.

  Onions and cologne. The one who'd carried me out of Rycroft. I was on the move. No. It was too soon. Evers needed time. To get free. To find me. If Tsepov moved me, sold me—

  * * *

  He dropped me onto a seat. Soft. A couch? No, a car. Maybe the same one as before. Leather upholstery sticking to my bare thighs. A hand closing around my arm, dragging me across the seat, pushing me down.

  Fine wool under my cheek. A hand on my shoulder, fingers curled, holding tight. My nightgown was twisted around my hips. Men’s voices. Where were they taking me? How was Evers going to find me if they moved me? I’d vanish and—

  I shook with the effort to hold back my nausea. The bag over my head was strapped tight to my mouth. I could not throw up like this. I swallowed hard. Oh, please, please don't let me throw up.

  I was so focused on holding back the need to puke, I barely registered the hand on my hip. I squirmed, trying to get away. It was fruitless. I was bound. I couldn't see. An arm came down over my chest, pinning me in place.

  I went still, my lungs heaving, desperate for more than the muffled hot air I pulled through the bag over my head. Not enough oxygen.

  Instinct told me to fight, to move, to do anything I could to get those fucking hands off me. Logic said that was only going to make it worse.

  I needed to calm down. I could barely breathe. My head was spinning. Fighting would only make me weaker.

  I stayed still, praying the ride would be over soon. If they took off the hood, untied me, I might have a chance to get away.

  As long as I was alive there was hope.

  Whatever they did to me, whatever happened, I had to stay alive.

  Evers would find me. If I could just stay alive, Evers would—

  The gunshots hadn't been for him. They couldn't have been. Tsepov had no reason to shoot Evers.

  Evers would come for me.

  Tears leaked from my eyes, absorbed by the bag tied so tightly around my face.

  Evers was coming for me.

  Whatever happened, I just had to stay alive.

  It was all I could think. Everything else—the car, those hands on my body, my burning lungs and spinning head—everything else was too horrifying.

  The car came to a stop, and the lap beneath my head slid away. The door at my feet opened, and I was pulled across the seat, my nightgown riding up over my hips, baring my flimsy bikini panties. I didn't have time to cringe before I was airborne, tossed over that now familiar wide shoulder, assailed by the stench of onions and cologne.

  For a minute, the smell of wet grass joined the onions and cologne. Then it was pot. Why did it smell like pot?

  The air on my skin had changed, the dew of early morning traded for stale heat, like a house that had been shut up for too long. I took another breath, and through the hood, I caught mildew and marijuana.

  I knew that smell. Why did I know that smell? I was dropped on something soft. A bed? A couch?

  I thought about trying to stand but tossed it out immediately. My hands were secured behind my back, ankles bound so tightly the bones rubbed. What was I going to do, hop? Hop right into a wall was more like it.

  I hated being this helpless. I wasn't much better than a sack of potatoes, hauled around, unable to speak, unable to protect myself.

  It was quiet, as far as I could tell, but I didn't think I was alone. Before, laying on the bed, I'd known the room was empty even without being able to see. The air had been flat. Still.

  Here, wherever I was, I heard nothing, but I felt people. Movement.

  I tried talking, begging, but no coherent sound got through the hood. Only desperate mumbling that stopped when a fist cuffed the back of my head, and a muffled, accented voice said, "Shut up."

  I was lifted again, this time cradled like a child tucked against a solid chest, the reek of onions and cologne making its way through the hood. Him again. Someone should tell him about his cologne. And the onions.

  Steps down and cool air on my skin. Voices. New arms, and I was tossed onto something soft. A car seat. Leather.

  Before I could get my bearings, a body fell half on top of mine. Car doors slammed. There was a jolt of movement, tires squealing, and we slid, almost falling off the bench seat.

  Hands closed over my arms, pulling me up, and I snapped.

  It was the hands. More hands, grabbing, touching my bare skin, pulling at me, dragging me onto the seat.

  No more.

  They'd sold me, traded me away, and Evers wouldn't be able to find me. Despair and terror drowned out everything else. I fought, the sounds in my throat feral and panicked.

  I tried to pull my knees up to my chest, to duck my head down, do whatever I could to block any access to my body. I twisted and burrowed into the footwell to get away from the hands reaching for me.

  Voices, indistinct and urgent, filtered through the hood. Hands yanking on the fabric, and the constriction around my mouth and ears fell away.

  My name.

  I heard my name.

  "Summer. Summer, for fuck's sake, stop screaming. It's Griffen. Cooper and Lucas are here. We've got you. We've got you, Summer. It's okay. It's okay now."

  Griffen?

  I knew that voice. Griffen.

  The fight drained away, and I fell limp, breath heaving in my chest, clearing my head. Griffen's hands hooked under my armpits and dragged me up on the seat.

  "Don't move. Let me get you out of this thing."

  My wrists were free, and he was feeding my hand into a sleeve. Thick, soft cotton. The smell of my body cream. Lemon and flowers. My robe.

  Fabric draped around my body, shielding me, and some of the ice in my bones began to melt. A tear ran down my cheek. I never thought I'd be so grateful just to be covered.

  I pulled the robe tight and sat back in the seat, drawing my knees to my chest as Griffen pulled the bag all the way off my head, and I sucked in a sweet, clean breath of air.

  My eyes darted around the interior of the vehicle. One of the Sinclair Security SUVs.

  Cooper was driving. Lucas sat in the passenger seat, and Griffen was in the back with me.

  But where was Evers? Where the hell was Evers?

  Chapter Thirty-Six
>
  Summer

  I asked the only thing I cared about.

  "Where's Evers?"

  Silence stretched, the men sneaking glances at each other, none of them talking.

  Hating the thread of hysteria in my voice, I demanded, "Where is Evers?"

  Griffen reached out a placating hand. "Summer, calm down, honey. Everything's okay. Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

  He shot a dark look to the front of the car. Cooper met my eyes in the rearview, assessing and cool. Lucas stared at me, searching for something in my face.

  I pulled the robe tightly around me, tying a knot in the belt, and shook my head. "I'm fine. They didn't do anything, just—"

  I couldn't say it. The words grope and touch didn't describe the violation of those hands, the way my skin crawled beneath them. The fear.

  I shook my head again.

  "I'm fine. Tell me where Evers is."

  "He's—" Griffen started.

  "Did he get shot?" A sob choked my voice. "Was it Evers?" My words squeaked out, squeezed by tears and panic. No. He was supposed to be here. He was going to save me, and then he would be here. Where was he?

  "He didn't get shot," Griffen said, in a rush.

  If those bullets hadn't been for Evers, that meant they'd hit my dad. I'd deal with that later. "Just tell me. Is he okay?"

  Cooper's eyes, hard and angry, flashed up to meet mine in the rearview. "I guess that depends. We traded him for you."

  My head reeled. What? Why? I couldn't take Cooper's accusing glare. I looked to Lucas and Griffen. "Why? Why would you do that? What if they hurt him?"

  "They're not going to hurt him," Lucas rumbled. "Evers was a Ranger. He's tough as hell. These guys," Lucas shook his head in derision, "he can handle these guys, Summer. You couldn't."

  "You were in a lot more danger with them than Evers," Griffen said. "And honestly, he was no use to us as long as they had you. He was half crazed. The only thing he cared about was getting you back."

  I wrapped my arms around my chest and settled back into the seat, trying to put the pieces together in my head. They had Evers.