Cole (Hunting Her)

by Eden Summers

  “I’ve got dealers questioning me?” I ask, incredulous. “And this is the first time you’ve decided to mention it?”

  “Excuse me for thinking you didn’t need the added drama. I took care of it. I’ve made it known you were inflicting a little manipulative revenge after she arrested your father. But all my hard work will mean nothing if you keep being seen with her.”

  The sharp bite of protection sinks its teeth into me.

  He’s been badmouthing her. Tarnishing her name.

  “All your hard work?” I keep my anger disguised, letting the bubble of rage thicken inside me. “Let me make one thing clear—when it comes to Anissa, keep your fucking mouth shut. Don’t justify my behavior to anyone. If people question me, I will deal with their mutiny. I’ll be the one to reiterate that my decisions are not up for discussion. And any further doubts will be seen as disobedience and handled accordingly.”

  His nostrils flare. His eyes narrow.

  “Do you hear me?” I snarl.

  “Yes, I fucking hear you.”

  I edge closer, so far in his face I could headbutt some sense into him. “You don’t get to speak shit about her. You don’t get to decide if she’s helpful or not. If she’s trustworthy or not. I don’t even want to hear you mutter her name in an unwelcoming tone.” I grin, the curve of lips threatening. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not entitled to a fucking opinion. What I do with her is none of your business.”

  He sneers, his gaze silently roaring with animosity.

  “Same goes for you.” I step back, giving Sarah a direct look of warning before starting for the front door. “Nobody gets to dictate what happens with Anissa.”

  Nobody but me.

  10

  Anissa

  I slam Cole’s front door behind me and march to my car.

  Every step ratchets my emotions up another notch. Anger, fear, and helplessness vibrate inside me. I’m thrumming with energy and exhausted at the same time. Itching to fight but also begging to surrender.

  I reach the driver’s door, pull it wide, and slump into the seat. But I can’t leave.

  I can’t.

  I slam my palms against the steering wheel and blink away the traitorous burn in my eyes. I’m not sad. The tear-filled heat is driven by hysteria. Mental pandemonium.

  Cole fucking Torian is such a stubborn, thoughtless prick. His inability to see past his own pride and allow me to help is not only careless, it’s dangerous.

  Those kids…

  That little girl…

  I don’t even want to imagine what she’s going through or who she’s with.

  “Goddamn you, Cole.” I pummel the steering wheel again.

  I should report this regardless of his protests. I should take this into my own hands despite the threat of arrest for residual crimes. I need to put the lives of those children first, even though the thought of betraying Cole makes my throat dry.

  All I want to do is help. I could make things easier, not only for those kids, but for him. For the man I should be happily distancing myself from.

  Yet I still can’t start the car.

  My body refuses to vacate the premises.

  “Come on, Anissa. Move.” I force my hand to the ignition as a dark shadow drifts over my window.

  My pulse quickens. I tilt my head to face the large frame of my tormentor looming over me from outside the vehicle. He opens my door, one hand remaining on the handle, the other moving to the roof, caging me in.

  “What are you still doing here?” His voice is neutral. No accusation. No apology.

  I keep clinging to the steering wheel and shift my focus through the windshield to avoid those conquering eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have told you.” The indifference in his tone is far different than how he spoke to me inside. The aggression is gone. Maybe even the animosity, too. “You’ve got a soft heart. I knew you’d feel obligated to help.”

  I’m not soft. I’m determined. Righteous.

  Those kids need me.

  Cole needs me.

  “I’ll get them back, Nis. I’ll stop at nothing.”

  I can’t stand him talking to me like this. I hated his vehemence, yet his kindness is far more lethal to my sanity.

  “Or is that the problem?” he asks. “Are you worried about the blood I’ll shed?”

  “No.” The answer comes immediately. Truthfully.

  I meet his gaze, letting him know I wouldn’t deny him anything in his search for Tobias and Stella. He can maim and mutilate those involved. Murder and massacre.

  I guess that’s part of the problem. My ethics are scrambled.

  They have been since Greece.

  That’s the real reason I couldn’t return to work. Not because I need more time to get my head around what happened. But because I haven’t been able to ditch the mentality of a lifelong criminal. I’ve struggled to convince myself that incarceration is the right punishment for those involved in sex-trafficking and people-smuggling. The animalistic, eye-for-an-eye way of life has grown on me like a fungus and I can’t ditch it, no matter what I try.

  “The only thing that matters is Stella and Tobias.” I swallow over the bitter taste of surrender. “Please let me help.”

  He releases a tired breath and takes a step back, pivoting away from me. He’s quiet for a moment, glancing across the neatly manicured lawn as if searching for guidance.

  The new facets I’m seeing in him today have each become more soul-shaking than the next. First fear, then vulnerability and defeat.

  Now it’s heartache, his harrowing expression making me fragile.

  I never knew he had this depth. I’d always hoped, even daydreamed, but never truly believed.

  It takes all my restraint not to go to him. To touch. To soothe.

  “Your offer is appreciated,” he murmurs. “But you have to realize it’s unacceptable when on your terms. You’ll want to involve the authorities and that isn’t an option.”

  “Then we do it your way.” I release the steering wheel, turning my entire body to face him. “Whatever you want, Cole, I’ll do it. Just let me be a part of this.”

  “At the cost of your career?”

  I open my mouth to protest, but he’s right. The looming threat is real. “I’ll be careful… discreet… I can keep a low profile.”

  “We don’t work nine to five. And this isn’t a desk job. It’s all in or nothing.” He swivels back to me, eyes narrowing. “That means being available twenty-four-seven. Everyone else is living under this roof, and I’d expect you to do the same.”

  My gut flops. Drops. Rolls.

  I ignore it and shrug. “Whatever it takes.”

  There are numerous beats of silence, the gentle quiet thickening around me.

  “You’ll move in here?” He raises a brow. “Into my house?”

  Having him repeat the insanity doesn’t help. My stomach does the same acrobatics. Tumbling. Turning.

  It’s always been a vicious game of push and pull with him. One hand delights in shoving him away while the other itches to drag him forward.

  Right now, it’s the itch.

  I’m sure there’s a multitude of psychological reasons for my behavior. But most of all, it’s just him.

  Just Cole.

  Plain and simple.

  “Into your house, but not into your bed.”

  “Of course not.” The words are snipped. “I wouldn’t want to step on your boyfriend’s toes.”

  I have zero intent of informing him of the inaccuracy of his assumption. Absolutely zero.

  “He can’t know anything about this,” he continues. “Not a damn thing, Nissa.”

  I roll my eyes and slide out of the car, having to concentrate on my movements so I don’t brush into him as I close the door. “I won’t say a word.”

  “And Easton won’t notice when you don’t go home?”

  “He won’t be a problem.”

  He huffs. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve got
him bluffed.”

  I try to ignore the sidestep into a conversation neither of us want to have, but the diversion reminds me of Cole’s perfect timing the other night. “Did you lie when you said you didn’t bug my apartment?”

  “Me? No.” He feigns offense. “I’d never stoop that low.”

  I don’t let anger take hold, because that’s what he wants. He’s baiting me. Taunting. “Have you forgotten I’ve watched you stoop far lower?”

  He stares at me for several heartbeats. His controlled, superior expression doesn’t loosen until he sighs, his shoulders relaxing with the movement. “Believe me, little fox, my imagination has punished me enough with thoughts of you and him. Bugging your apartment is a level of hell I never want to reach.”

  He walks away, his long stride flawless while I’m left cemented in place.

  His admission is more bait. This time the delicious kind.

  He wants me to believe he’s yearning for me. I won’t fall for that again.

  I lock the car and follow after him to the front of the house where he holds the front door open.

  “You’re going to need to be patient.” His voice is low as I step inside. “My people won’t appreciate you being here. It’s best to keep your mouth shut as much as possible. Relay any thoughts to me privately.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll be fine?” He closes the door, then turns to face me. “You can handle Hunter’s animosity multiplied?”

  “Do you even remember what you’ve put me through?” The question is more of an accusation. He’s acting as if he doesn’t recollect our past. “Do you even vaguely recall the actions that led to Greece and how you got me there? Of course I can handle your men.”

  “I remember everything,” he states simply, the potency of those three words blissful in their purity, before he distances himself, leading me down the hall to stop at the staircase. “You need to go upstairs for a while. Stay in my room until I come get you.”

  “Why?”

  He keeps his back to me. “Penny will be here soon and she’s not aware of what’s happened. I hope you understand the need for privacy when I break the news.”

  More kindness toward others? Really?

  This man continues to surprise me.

  “It shouldn’t take long.” He keeps walking, not giving me a backward glance.

  I can’t help but watch him place distance between us. I wait until he enters the living area and moves out of view before I start on the stairs.

  I breathe a little easier at the top step, the light breeze sweeping away the acrid scent of bleach.

  I ignore the stare of the woman in the looming picture and make my way to Cole’s bedroom, stopping at the threshold once more to take in the sight.

  His power oozes from within the large space. It’s in the menacing bed with its inky black coverings and shiny red pillowcases. In the dark, polished dresser that lacks any adornment. In the suit jacket neatly placed across the armchair in the corner.

  His aura has seeped into the furniture. Into the walls and curtains.

  The crunch of gravel draws me across the room to the open window. Decker’s car slowly makes its way up the drive with Penny behind the wheel and Luca riding shotgun. I withdraw, hiding from view as she parks beside my car, and they all climb out, Decker joining them from the back seat.

  They walk quietly to the front door, Decker limping a few steps behind. Once inside, the subtle murmurings of conversation sweep my ears. I can’t make out the words. I don’t try.

  I ignore my need to snoop and give them privacy. A howl of pain rends the air.

  Penny knows.

  Her suffering finds a home inside my chest. I hurt for her. For those kids. For a family who once seemed deserving of punishment, but this is far too much.

  I kick off my shoes and creep down the hall, stopping at the staircase to sit on the top step. I stare at the blank wall in front of me, picturing the confronting scene below like a voyeur on the outer edges of this incredibly emotional moment.

  My ass is numb by the time another crunch of gravel travels from the window. Additional people enter the house. The hum of conversation grows, the words still out of reach, but the tones of Cole’s sisters’ voices are distinguishable.

  There are tears. Sobs. Wracking, hiccupping cries.

  All of it sinks into me, the torment softening me to a family I’ve spent so long hardened against.

  I use my phone to work on a list of names as they suffer. I jot down the contact details of my informants and the vague recollections of local people who have had links to previous abductions. There aren’t many. But it’s a start.

  By the time I hear footsteps approaching from the hall below, I’m starved for communication.

  The crying has petered out to long silences between occasional blown noses.

  Cole finally sates my starvation as he comes into view at the lower landing, his look of exhaustion aging his face ten years.

  “Are you okay?” I’m the first to break the silence as he remains distanced from me, simply staring with hollow eyes.

  “Yeah.” One word. A lie.

  He’s far from okay. I don’t even know why I asked, I just… talking is a far better option than fixating on his torment.

  He approaches, the slow steps bringing him within touching distance. I stand and move out of the way as he continues past me, down the hall and into his room.

  I follow, pulled toward him by an invisible thread to find him discarding his shirt at the foot of the bed. I watch in silence from the door as he lays the material atop the mattress, then starts to unbuckle his belt. I swallow, not looking away as he discards his pants, exposing tanned, muscled legs and black boxer briefs.

  The sight drags me into the past. It also seems as if I never left. As if our time apart has merely been a blink of contemplation instead of weeks spent agonizingly alone.

  “I need to freshen up.” He walks for the closed door a foot next to where I stand. “I won’t be long. Once I’m done, I’ll escort you to your apartment to get whatever you need.”

  I nod, ignoring his perfectly muscular chest as he continues out of view, closing the door behind him.

  I lean against the threshold as I hear the faucet turn on. There’s a slush of water. The sound of him brushing his teeth.

  I’ve listened to all of this before, the menial tasks unlocking warm memories of our time in Greece.

  I’d been consumed by him back then. Emboldened. He’d awakened my every nerve. Inspired passion beyond my comprehension.

  Everything had felt… right.

  The differences in our lives hadn’t mattered. The lies and manipulation were forgotten because being with him became a calling.

  He felt like my goddamn messiah.

  In reality, he was nothing but a magician creating emotional illusions. And shamefully, those tricks would still work on me now.

  I already want to go back. To relive the nightmares and injuries just for a taste of passion.

  Stockholm.

  Goddamn fucking Stockholm.

  I don’t move when the water shuts off. I remain cocked against the doorframe, staring across his room as he enters, now fully dressed in another pristine suit, his pure perfection sucking up the oxygen and replacing it with smothering humidity.

  I push from the frame and glance into what I thought was the bathroom door, finding a huge wardrobe filled with hanging suits, shirts and ties. Shoes are neatly placed in tidy chutes. Jeans are piled on a shelf. The area is bigger than my living room, with an open side door to a tiled area, revealing a seductive two-person shower.

  “Do you feel better now?” I return my gaze to him before heated memories burn me.

  “I needed to wake myself up. Maybe it would’ve worked better if you’d joined me in the shower.”

  I scoff. “I didn’t ask to give you ideas.”

  “Then why did you?” He straightens his lapels, all suave and sophisticated. “Are you
starting to care about me again, little fox?”

  Despite the taunting question, it’s becoming more blatantly obvious I didn’t discard any heartfelt feelings toward him in the first place. They’re all still here, tinkering inside my chest.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your boyfriend.” He winks at me. “This can be our little secret.”

  I wish I knew the best way to shut down his comments about Easton without exposing the truth. But it’s best to keep a slight barrier between us. If I’m not careful, he’ll figure out I’m not just here for those kids.

  This isn’t work to me.

  I’m here for him.

  “Can you please stop mentioning Easton?” I ask. “Don’t talk about him.”

  “Why?” He flicks out his collar to then smooth it down. “To appease your guilt? To ease your betrayal? Or is it so you can have a break from reality and return to the fantasy life of being with me?”

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Each question packs a sickening blow, cutting me at the knees.

  “How about this?” He bridges the space between us, his aftershave acting like a drug to my senses. “Admit how you feel about me and I’ll forget that piece of shit even exists.”

  He doesn’t reach for me. There are no touching hands or grabby fingers. But I sense them.

  Everywhere.

  “You’re mine, Nissa.” There’s adamance in his voice. Conviction. “You know this. You feel it. Yet you punish me for things I’ve already explained. You hold me accountable for transgressions that were necessary to ensure our future. And you blame me because it’s the only excuse you have to keep me at bay.”

  His minty breath brushes my lips, sinking into my tongue.

  He’s right. So right.

  And still, I deny him with the shake of my head.

  “You’ll quit fighting soon enough,” he growls. “And when I finally reclaim that sweet pussy of yours it will be worth the wait. But until then, I plan on reminding you of your cheating ways as many times as I goddamn like.”