by Eden Summers
She scoffs, bending over an open suitcase on the floor. She doesn’t even meet my gaze before stalking to the closet, her metal coat hangers twanging as she rips out a jacket and several shirts.
“And downstairs wasn’t my fault,” I add. “He deliberately taunted me with his move-into-my-place bullshit.”
“No he didn’t.” She thunders back to the suitcase, dumping the clothes inside. “He’s trying to protect me. He thinks you’re extorting me.”
“He’s trying to throw your fucking relationship in my face.”
She pauses, hunched toward the ground as she lets out a long breath. She wants to rail on me. To fight.
I want it, too.
Instead, she moves to her bedside table, snapping open drawers to riffle through underwear.
“Admit I’m right.” I close in behind her. “He may have you, but he’s so fucking insecure he has to shove your affair down my throat.”
She straightens. Turns. Glares. “Get out of my way.”
“I will once you admit I’m right. Then tell me it doesn’t piss you off that he’s so fucking weak.”
Her face is etched in darkness, but the shadows don’t hide her spite.
“I don’t know how you can stomach having him in your bed,” I sneer. “Let alone your body.”
“Stop.” She raises a clenched fist that chokes her silken underwear. “You know nothing about me and Easton. All you’re doing is proving your jealousy.”
“Of course I’m jealous. You’re mine. You’re meant to be with me.”
Her eyes flare in rage. “Don’t—”
“Here you go with your feminist bullshit.” I cut her off. “You want to call me out on not owning you when you know you’ve fucking owned me for a lot longer.”
I grab her fist, lowering it so I can move closer. “You were my possession in Greece.” I hold her noxious gaze. “And I was yours. The only difference is my feelings never changed. I still want you.”
Her brows pinch. “No, you want me to lose my job—you made that clear downstairs. You want me scrambling to keep my life together. You want to turn my world upside down, and you have. I still can’t pull myself together after what you put me through.”
“You forgave me my sins,” I reach for her chin, needing to touch her.
She pulls back. “In the heat of the moment, maybe, but not now. You kidnapped me, Cole. You drugged me. Nobody can simply forgive those things.”
“You already did. We both know it’s true.”
“You’re wrong.” She walks around me and throws her underwear into the suitcase. “It was Stockholm syndrome.”
“Like hell it was. Your fucking shrink has denied that bullshit prognosis repeatedly.”
Her eyes snap wide.
“You still have feelings for me, little fox, despite your best efforts to deny them.”
“You bribed my psychologist?” Her mouth gapes.
Even in the darkness, I notice her paling skin. She’s horrified. But I did what I had to do to get the necessary information. “You’d turned your back on me. I’d been concerned, not to mention agitated. When you refused my calls, I’d been left with no choice.”
“I’ll have her license revoked.” She pants. “I’ll…” She stands speechless for long moments, her lips working over silent words before she flees the room.
“The shrink isn’t to blame.” I follow. “I always get what I want.”
“Why am I doing this?” She reaches the far end of her sofa and turns to me. “Why do I keep seeking you out?” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “The best option was to shut you out of my life.”
Her struggle is bittersweet.
The fact I’m still in her head when she’s spoken for, and after this time apart, is a soothing balm to my pride.
“I can’t do this with you again.” Her eyes open, the tired depths blinking back at me. “I’d been ready to move on.”
“We never stopped.” I continue toward her, despising how she retreats. I don’t quit my approach until she’s backed against the far wall, her breathing labored, her hands splayed against the plaster. “You might have been with him, but I bet you thought of me.”
“Don’t.” She winces. “My life is here. In the FBI. Doing the right thing. I only came to you this morning because—”
“You came because the so-called right thing feels wrong. You hate it there. You can’t stand being without me.” My pulse chants an erratic beat as I will the declaration to be true.
She loathes being without me. I know she does.
Her wince increases, the furrow of her brow deep. “It’s because of Stockho—”
“Bullshit.” I step into her, my thighs jolting hers, pressing her harder into the wall. “I bet you can’t look me in the eye and honestly tell me you believe your feelings are a mental issue.”
She turns her cheek, proving my point by glancing away.
I’m so fucking tired. My limbs are drained of strength. But I could stay here forever. I could live in this embodiment of fatigue if it meant I wouldn’t be without her.
I breathe her in. The lavender from her perfume dances through my senses, muddling my control.
“It isn’t Stockholm, little fox.” I lean in, pressing my lips to her neck, the heat of connection scorching.
She shudders. Whimpers.
The sweetest fucking mewl hums in her throat, turning my dick to stone.
“This thing between us is far more powerful than that.” I speak against her skin, tasting her salty flesh.
“I don’t care how powerful it is,” she whispers. “I don’t want it.”
“At one point, neither did I. But I’m done fighting. This is going to happen.”
“Easton—”
“Fuck Easton,” I snap. “He was a mistake.”
“You’re wrong. About everything. I was moving on.” She shakes her head softly, her jaw brushing my cheek. “And I will again, once those kids are found.”
“No you won’t. Not with Easton anyway.”
She turns her face into me, her gaze questioning, her lips so fucking close. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I’ll kill that man before I let him lay another hand on you.”
She’s not repulsed by my threat. There’s no fear or panic or gasp. Only stillness.
“You know I’m not joking, Nis. I’ll make sure he permanently keeps his distance.”
“You’re insane.”
I smirk, pressing my chest to hers, her deliciously soft breasts making my dick jolt beyond salvation. Sex is the last thing I should be thinking about. But going through the start of this nightmare alone has only cemented how much I need her.
Every part of her.
“I’m also determined.” I sense the heat of her mouth against mine. The delicate sweep of her breath. “I can—and will—slaughter every man who attempts to replace me. For the rest of your life if I have to.”
She groans. Softens.
I’d fucking bleed for her. Die for her. If only I could have her.
She closes her eyes.
She’s succumbing to me.
It’s the most immense victory, spurring blood to pump faster through my veins.
I’m about to bridge the distance and claim the prize of her lips when her arms reach between us, her hands splaying on my chest to push me back.
“I’m not like you, Cole. And I don’t want to be.” Her eyes open and someone different stares back at me. Someone restrained and in control.
Fuck.
“I want to help those kids,” she repeats. “But not like this. Either agree to be professional or I’ll have to find another way.”
12
Cole
I remain close to her for long moments, my fingers wrapped around the wrists still shoving against my chest. But she doesn’t falter.
If anything, her eyes turned colder.
I’m losing her. All over again.
Without agreeing to her terms of professio
nalism, I back away, retreating to her room to grab her suitcase. Then I silently walk to the apartment door and wait for her to follow.
We don’t speak on the way to the car. She glowers the entire time, climbing into the Porsche to cross her arms over her chest.
“Do you want me to get you something to eat before we return?” I keep my attention on the road, my hands on the wheel. I deny myself the visual and physical connection I crave and stare at the traffic straight ahead.
“No.” Her answer is short. Sharp.
“Are you sulking?”
“I’m not goddamn sulking,” she mutters. “I’m thinking. I’m trying to do what I’m here for.”
“You need to eat. The extra weight looks good on you.”
“Oh, wow.” Her tone turns incredulous. “You’re really going to go there? You must have a huge set of balls to comment on my body.”
I hold in a grin. Her anger is like a fucking balm to all my concerns. It’s as if I find peace in her volatility.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I shoot her a look, my brow raised. “Your body is one of my most favorite things in the world.”
She sighs. “You agreed to be professional.”
No, she assumed my silence was confirmation.
“How ’bout—” My suggestion is cut off by the vibration of my cell, the ringing connecting with the car Bluetooth to trill through the speakers.
‘Unknown number’ illuminates across the dashboard screen.
Anissa repositions in her seat, leaning forward. On alert. “Are you going to answer? It could be…”
I connect the call and pray this is the communication we’ve been waiting for. “Cole Torian.”
“Ah, Mr. Torian, I’m glad I reached you.”
Apprehension tightens my throat at the unfamiliar accented voice of an older man.
“Who is this?” I drive on autopilot and glance at Anissa as she pulls out her phone and taps buttons to start a recording.
“Excuse me for contacting you out of the blue. My name is Emmanuel Costa. I’m a friend of your father’s, although I admit it’s been quite some time since we’ve been in touch.”
Foreboding prickles the back of my neck. Any friend of my father’s is no friend of mine, but this man’s tone holds the quiet calm of a genuine welcome.
“I tried calling him directly,” he adds, “but there was no answer. I’m not even sure I have the correct number anymore.”
“My father has been hard to contact lately. Is there something I can do for you?”
There’s a pause, the quiet deafening.
“No, son, I think it may be the other way around. I’m under the impression I might be able to do something for you.”
Anissa’s gaze bores into the side of my face as I pull over on the quiet residential street.
“I’m told I may be obtaining something of yours in the near future,” he continues.
Darkness edges into the corners of my vision, the build of fury almost blinding. “You’re obtaining something of mine? I suggest you choose your words wisely before you continue.”
“Oh, no, please forgive me.” His accent thickens. Italian? “I’m not addressing this correctly. It’s not me who arranged these… how should I put this… assets? It’s one of my men, who seems to have misjudged a situation and put himself into trouble. Again, I tried to call your father, but when there was no answer, I didn’t know who else to reach out to apart from you.”
“Cut the shit, Emmanuel. Do you have the kids or not?”
There’s another pause, this one siphoning the air from my lungs.
“I don’t, no. It’s my employee. But I’ve since instructed him to come directly to me. I assure you they should be arriving safe and sound within the hour. There’s no need to worry.”
I don’t know what to make of this. Is it an olive branch or a Trojan horse?
“Where are you?”
“I’ve just flown into Sacramento to meet him. He has driven through the night with your two little ones asleep on the back seat. Not a hair on their heads has been touched.”
I scoff.
Not a hair has been touched, yet they were sedated. With fucking chloroform. And taken across state lines.
“What do you want?” I cling to the steering wheel, my knuckles white with the tight grip. “Money? Drugs?”
“Son, I don’t want anything.” He chuckles, the jovial sound a contrast to the sinister darkness surrounding the situation. “Especially not these children when I already have four of my own. I’m merely trying to right a wrong.”
I frown. “Are you suggesting I come to Sacramento, and what? Just pick them up?”
“Precisely.”
This doesn’t add up. Nobody obtains power over me and gives it back willingly. There has to be a catch. A trap.
Anissa’s hand slides over my thigh, her face demanding my attention.
She nods at me in encouragement, her eyes filled with confident hope. But she doesn’t understand the smoke and mirrors of my world. She’s still naive to the complexities.
“Okay.” I hold her gaze, needing the strength that comes with her determination. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Perfect. I’ll text you the address once arrangements have been made.”
Anissa smiles, the curve of lips subtle.
This isn’t right. The simplicity. The ease. Someone doesn’t go to the effort of stealing children from a notorious criminal to then give them back, even if acting under orders from a man who’s now dead.
“I want proof of life.” My request sounds like a plea. A pathetic show of weakness.
“That won’t be a problem. I’ll arrange for an image to be sent to you. Safe travels, Mr. Torian, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Wait,” the demand leaves my mouth before I can think things through. But I refuse to spend the next God-knows-how-many hours anticipating an ambush. I need answers. At least a hint as to this man’s comprehension of the situation. “I appreciate you not asking a price for the safe return of those kids, but you need to be aware I will require one of my own for the attack against my family. Nobody steals from me and gets away with it.”
Anissa’s hand tightens on my thigh, the grip a subtle warning.
“I understand.” Emmanuel’s voice holds regret. “I will make sure my employee is here to explain his decisions once you arrive.”
The call disconnects. Anissa’s hold gentles. My thoughts explode.
I rerun the entire conversation in my mind. The nuances of tone. The choice of words. I analyse everything, hoping to find a clue to an underlying agenda, and come up with nothing.
“This is good news.” Anissa’s fingers slide away, the threat of disconnect snapping me back to the present.
“Don’t.” I grab her hand, refusing to break the contact. She’s the only thing grounding me.
She winces, the slight tug of retreat spiking my instability.
“Allow me this one thing, Nis,” I growl. “Just this.”
Just one hold. One brief grasp of a lifeline to help me concentrate on extraction instead of bloodthirsty revenge.
Her throat works over a heavy swallow. Her lips part.
But she doesn’t deny me.
She lets me entwine our fingers as she turns to face the road ahead of us, resting back into the seat.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks. “What travel arrangements need to be—”
“I’ll take the jet.”
“You don’t seem relieved. Do you think this is a setup?”
“Maybe.” I clasp the steering wheel and pull back into traffic.
“Why wouldn’t he threaten you to begin with?”
“He might be naive enough to think I’ll arrive in Sacramento unprepared. Or that I won’t dig into his life before arriving.” I press buttons on the steering wheel to connect a call to Decker. What I don’t do is let go of her hand.
I guide her palm to the gearstick, placing mine on top of it as I
ask Deck to make travel arrangements and start digging up dirt on Emmanuel Costa.
“You aren’t going to tell him to keep quiet?” she asks after I end the call.
“I don’t need to. He knows we’ll be home soon, and he’ll keep his mouth shut until then.” I sense her continued desire to pull her hand away. But she doesn’t do it. She humors me with the connection while also refusing to look at me.
“How can you be sure?”
I guess I can’t. At one time, I would’ve sworn my life on the loyalty of my people. Now I don’t have that faith.
I think that’s why I crave her so much. I can trust her. Rely on her. I’ve got too much leverage over Anissa for her to betray me. “Decker won’t want to upset my sisters without more information.”
She nods, falling uncomfortably quiet.
I turn onto my street, then into my drive, and up to the guarded gate before she slinks her hand out from beneath mine.
“What happens now?” She glances across my gardens as we make our way to the back of the house. “Do you want me to come with you to Sacramento?”
Not only do I want it, I expect it. Demand it.
“I was under the impression you planned on seeing this through.” I pull into the garage and cut the engine. “Are you looking for a way out?”
“No, of course I’m not. I just wasn’t sure if you’d want me to assist from here or…” She shrugs. “I’ll admit, I didn’t anticipate having to get on another jet with you.”
I unfasten my belt and push open my door. “Are you worried?” I shove from the Porsche and wait for her to follow, but she doesn’t.
After a few moments, I lean back into the car to see her still seated in place.
“Please tell me this isn’t another game.” Her eyes implore me. “Promise me, Cole. Vow it. Because if this is a trick, I’ll…”
I want to catch her fragile threat and throw it back at her.
What would she do?
How would she get back at me?
It’s the flimsy shield she holds up against me that stops me from retaliating. She’s close to breaking point, and I’m the one who carved the initial fractures.
“I give you my word, little fox.” I clutch the top of the doorframe, hating the slight wince crossing her features.