Cole (Hunting Her)

by Eden Summers

  “She’s not going to arrest you.” Cole strolls for the mass of food on the coffee table and picks up a chip from a pile of nachos. “Sit down. Eat. Try to relax.”

  “Don’t dictate to me. Don’t for one second think I don’t hold you accountable. You made us attend that function at the restaurant. You gave Robert the opportunity to attack.” She jabs a finger in his direction as everyone remains quiet. “You promised all of us we would be safe.”

  He eats the chip, dusts his hands, and takes her vehemence without a flinch.

  I just wish I couldn’t sense his underlying torment.

  “Are you finished?” His face remains impassive, his tone perfectly balanced.

  “You know what? Anissa’s right.” She flicks a glance my way before returning her attention to him. “You’re a fucking ass—”

  “Yes, I’m a fucking asshole. I’m fucking responsible. The fate of those kids rests on my fucking shoulders.” There’s no waver in his voice, only an increase in volume that vibrates into my chest. “I fucking know all that, Layla. But have you ever wondered if this would’ve happened if you hadn’t sold me out to Robert?”

  “She did what?” Keira gasps.

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. And the only response comes from a subtle vibration of a silenced cell.

  “I’ll let your sister fill you in.” Cole starts toward me, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out his phone. “Emmanuel,” he says in greeting. “Where the fuck are you?”

  15

  Cole

  I shut myself into the main bathroom, clenching the cell in my fist.

  “I’m in Sacramento, son. Have you arrived yet?”

  “I arrived a fucking hour ago. I’ve been waiting for your call. I don’t have your damn number.”

  “Ahh, yes. I forgot my details are blocked. Sorry. Technology isn’t my friend.”

  Bullshit. Fucking bullshit.

  “Where are you? Where are the kids?” I pace, not appreciating his chilled tone. He’s too relaxed to be concerned for their safety. He’s too fucking smug.

  I don’t trust this piece of shit. Not in the slightest.

  “They are here with me. Safe and well. To tell you the truth, my wife has become quite smitten. It’s been a long time since young ones were under our roof. She’s enjoying this immensely.”

  “Where are they?” I repeat.

  “As I said, they are safe. But still very tired. It’s best if they remain with us for the night. That way, I get to indulge my wife’s maternal instincts. She was a nurse, you see, and she’s making sure they’re under constant observation due to the sedatives. You should enjoy your time in Sacramento while you wait.”

  And there it is—the thinly disguised threat.

  The extended hostage situation.

  The thickening of his plan.

  I pace faster. Harder. I gnash my teeth and pray I have the patience to kill this motherfucker slowly. “As you can imagine,” I grate, “my family are beside themselves with worry.”

  “I understand.” His accent thickens “But there is no need. My wife assures me the children are perfectly healthy. They have been laughing and playing. Their smiles are bright when they’re with us. We may not be blood, but my friendship with your father ensures we are family.”

  I press my closed fist against my forehead, pushing harder and harder. “Emmanuel, I insist—”

  “Insisting will not help me against my wife’s wrath if I return these precious gifts from God too soon.” He chuckles. “Trust me, they are in good hands. They are happy. Tomorrow morning we will meet, and they will tell you all about the lovely time they had. Until then, enjoy yourself, Mr. Torian.”

  “No. This isn’t—”

  The call disconnects. The hold on my anger goes with it.

  I roar, slamming my fist into the tiled wall.

  He’s starting a fucking war. In unfamiliar territory. I have no leverage here. No assets.

  “Cole?” Anissa’s voice carries from outside the bathroom. “What is it? What happened?”

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to think. I need to figure out how the fuck to get a hold of this asshole.

  My cell vibrates. A text message illuminates the screen. A cell number.

  What the hell is Emmanuel playing at?

  I click the details as the door opens, and connect a call.

  Nissa stares at me, one gentle brow raised in question while I plaster the phone to my ear and listen to the monotonous ring.

  “Mr. Torian,” the fucker answers. “Did you forget something?”

  Jesus fucking Christ. He’s entirely cavalier.

  “Listen to me, you son of a bitch.” I have to expel all my breath and drag it back in to stop myself from detonating. “I want those kids returned to me. Now. Not tomorrow. Not after your wife plays Mary fucking Poppins. Now. Tell me where they are.”

  There’s a pause. A frantic beat of silence before his kind tone rockets my rage. “Mr. Torian, your lack of patience is quite disconcerting after I’ve gone out of my way to help you. But I understand your anxiety. I will send you some more pictures of them to ease your concerns.”

  Fuck him.

  Fuck this pathetic game.

  “I don’t care about pictures or your fucking wife. If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Steel enters his tone. “Please, do not mistake my kindness for weakness, child. I do not take well to threats.”

  There’s a pause. One that I can’t fill.

  I have no power. No fucking move to make.

  “I am a man of my word,” he continues. “You will see these children tomorrow. But not a moment before. Now please do not call again unless it is urgent. It is not healthy for me to become agitated by such unnecessary concerns.”

  The line disconnects.

  My vision darkens. I raise my arm to throw the phone.

  “Cole, don’t.” Nissa runs at me, grabbing my hand to pry the cell from my fingers. “You need it.”

  What I need are answers. What I need are those fucking kids.

  My breathing quickens. Mindlessness takes over. I can’t think clearly through the rapid-fire thoughts screaming in my ears.

  My fingers itch to squeeze around that bastard’s throat. My arms throb with the need to hear bones crack. I want blood.

  “What happened?” Anissa pockets the cell and stares at me in concern.

  No, it’s pity.

  “Nothing.” I walk around her and stalk from the bathroom. Every goddamn step toward the living room is a struggle while she remains hot on my heels. What’s worse is Layla’s face when I enter the room.

  She rushes for me. “What did he say? Where do we go to get them?”

  I ignore her, meeting Sarah and Keira’s gaze over her shoulder. “All the women, out.”

  “What?” Layla stops before me and grabs my upper arms. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I sidestep and pin Sarah with a scowl. “Where’s the other room you booked?”

  “The next level down…” Her voice is hesitant.

  “Then get going. Hunt can update you later.”

  “No.” Layla follows after me, still clinging to my arms. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Are they okay? Oh, God, did he hurt them?”

  “They’re both fine.” I refuse to meet her gaze. The guilt is suffocating. “Now go.”

  “No,” she screams in my face, slapping a hand across my cheek.

  I take the impact without a flinch. I prefer the sting to the ache in my chest.

  “Fuck.” Benji runs for her as she continues her assault.

  Sarah and Keira, too.

  They grab her arms as she thrashes and kicks, cursing my name and vowing to never forgive me.

  I don’t back down. Don’t even falter. I lock all the punishing shit inside. Keep it buried deep as I clench every muscle in my body.

  “Make sure she’s sedated until morning,”
I direct to Hunter, who remains unmoved on the sofa, throwing a French fry in his mouth as if the suffering of my family is just another fucking Friday on his work calendar.

  I wish I was as immune as him. As capable of shutting off emotion.

  “No.” Layla bucks in Benji’s hold. “You can’t do this.”

  “Go.” I jerk my chin at Hunter, then turn my attention to Decker, then Benji. “Make sure they’re all calm before coming back. The last thing I need is a scene.”

  They nod, Hunter and Decker stalking toward my sisters like enforcers, wordlessly demanding obedience.

  I don’t hear a protest from Keira. I feel it instead. Her judgmental gaze bores into the side of my head, slicing deep as she’s ushered toward the hall in my periphery.

  Layla doesn’t need to tell me she will never forgive me for this. I knew she wouldn’t as soon as I found Stella’s empty bed. This situation has fractured our foundations. Permanently. There’s no recovering from the damage that’s already been done.

  “I hate you, Cole,” Layla screams down the hall. “Let me see my daughter.”

  The door clicks shut moments later. The muffled sounds of my sister’s wails haunt me until she leaves the penthouse floor.

  I close my eyes against the deafening silence. I breathe deep of the stillness that feels sinister instead of welcoming.

  The gentle pad of footsteps approaches. I stiffen farther at the potential of another bitch slap.

  “What about me?” Anissa asks softly. “Do you want me to leave?”

  I scoff.

  I don’t get her. I fucking don’t.

  She wants me, then she doesn’t.

  She needs me, then shoves me away.

  One minute, she hates me. The next, she’s all over me just like on our last night in Greece.

  I can’t figure her out. I doubt I ever will. I think that’s half of the appeal.

  “Do whatever you like.” I open my eyes and scan the room until I find liquor bottles perched on a golden cart near the television. Then it’s full steam ahead until the scotch is in my hand, a glass in my fist, and the burning liquid is flowing down my throat.

  “Is that a good idea?” She comes up beside me, wreaking havoc with my nerve endings.

  “Don’t mother me.” I pour another finger and throw it back.

  “You’re exhausted. You’re panicked.” She reaches for my arm and grips my suit. “Alcohol isn’t the answer.”

  “Then what is?” I snap. “What the fuck is the answer, Nis? Because I’m clueless here.”

  She takes my fury with the raise of her chin. So confident. So composed.

  She’s a force I want to lose myself in.

  Drown in.

  “What happened?” Her hand falls to her side. “What did he say?”

  I huff a sarcastic laugh. “That him and his wife are having such a lovely time with my niece and brother that they’re going to keep them a little while longer.” I fling my arms wide in frustration. “Ain’t that fucking nice.”

  “What do you mean? Is he refusing to release them? Did he threaten you?”

  “He’s not doing shit. Not threatening, but certainly not playing by the fucking rules. He’s messing with me. Pushing. Just wait until I get the chance to push back.”

  There’s a buzz of a cell. My cell. Coming from her pants pocket.

  She pulls out the device, then meets my gaze. “Can I?”

  “By all means.” I reach out, unlocking the screen with my fingerprint. She can’t fuck up this situation any more than I already have.

  I refill my glass as she focuses on the screen.

  “I don’t understand his strategy.” She raises the cell to me, showing a picture of Stella and Tobias in a fancy kitchen, the counter smothered in flour, their hands and faces marred with white smudges as a grey-haired woman grins behind them.

  The kids wear new clothes. Fresh. Brand name. Expensive.

  But it’s their faces that speak the truth.

  Even though they smile, there’s no joy in their eyes. They know they’re being held prisoner. They understand the seriousness of the situation and are playing along.

  I look away, my throat tightening. My eyes burn.

  I’m going to cause unfathomable bloodshed. I’m going to maim and torture and slaughter. I’ll kill every son of a bitch Emmanuel knows.

  I slam my glass down on the cart and grab the scotch, drinking heavily from the bottle in the hopes it will dilute the venom in my veins.

  “Please stop,” Anissa begs. “Please, Cole. I need you to help me with this. I need you to make me understand.”

  I guzzle the burning liquid until it runs down my chin, the alcohol dripping onto my shirt. My shoes. The carpet.

  “Cole.” My name is a warning this time. “You’re better than this.”

  I almost choke over her lie and lower the bottle to turn to her. “Am I? Am I fucking better, Nis?”

  She snaps rigid at my harsh tone.

  Fuck.

  I throw the scotch. It smashes against the far wall. Glass scatters, the destruction giving me no satisfaction. “Layla’s right. I did this. I’m responsible.”

  I stalk toward Anissa, getting in her face. There’s no point putting off the inevitable. She needs to commit to hating me. I want her to despise me as much as I despise myself. To loathe me. To fucking run.

  “I’m the reason they were taken. I’m the one who has to live with the guilt of the nightmares they’ll endure until the day they die.” I let out a bark of laughter. “And that’s if they live at all. Who knows what this sick fuck is capable of?”

  She reaches for me. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Fuck off.” I back away. “You know it is. It’s just more ammunition for you to pile against me.”

  “No. You’re not responsible, Cole. You didn’t do this. You would never willingly place those kids in danger.”

  “But I did.” I swing around to the alcohol cart and reach for the gin.

  “No more alcohol.” She grabs my wrist, holding tight. “Put it down.”

  “I’m not done.”

  “Yes, you are.” She shoves me sideways, catching me off guard, and places herself between me and the liquor. “You’ve had enough.”

  “And you’ve got a death wish.” I bridge the space between us, the heat returning to her eyes as she raises her chin. “Move.”

  “No.” She shuffles her feet apart, taking a fighting stance. “Get a glass of water instead.”

  “I don’t want water.” I step toward her.

  “Back off.” She raises her hands and aims them at my chest.

  I snatch her wrist, but she does the same, snapping her palm around my forearm, then lunging in a flurry of movement. She twists my arm behind my back and shoves me face-first into the wall.

  My cheek slams hard into the plaster, the pain holding no comparison to the agonizing punch to my pride.

  All I can do is laugh.

  I laugh because a woman has dared to manhandle me this way.

  I laugh because the one person I want by my side is the same person who can easily defeat me.

  But most of all, I laugh because despite it all, I wouldn’t want anyone else here to witness me at my lowest. Nobody but her. A fucking Fed.

  “You need to calm down.” Her voice is soothing near my ear as she gentles her grip, no longer threatening to tear muscle.

  She’s all warmth and stability. Perfection and excellence. Even now, when I’m drowning in defeat, I want her. Need her.

  I crave the goodness to wash all the suffering away.

  “No more drinking,” she continues. “No more games. You have to sit down and tell me what happened on that phone call. And while we’re working on a plan, we’re also going to figure out when you can get some sleep. Your mind has to rest.”

  My mind and my soul.

  I’m so sick of this life. Of the betrayal. The sabotage. I’m ready to burn the world to the ground, along with everyone in
it.

  Except her.

  I’d keep Anissa around, if only to listen to her tell me how much of an asshole I am.

  “Are you listening?” Her voice is low. Too fucking gentle and caring for the hard-ass bitch I know.

  “Yeah.” I shove backward, catching her unaware, and duck to spin out of the twist to my arm. Then I’m all over her, foot to foot, my hand claiming her throat.

  She gasps, her eyes widening, her fingers moving to my threatening hold.

  I’ve done this before, felt her delicate neck in my grip. In Greece. In passion. This moment isn’t overly different. Her eyes blaze with heat. Her lips part in shock, but also in that sweet, submissive seduction.

  Her lack of fight is all I need to tell me she wants this as much as I do.

  She craves my control. The mastery—even though it’s now clear I’m a master of nothing and no one.

  She aches for me to fuck her. Practically screams it through the silence.

  My dick throbs, already agonizingly hard.

  It wouldn’t take much. A yank of a zipper. A tear of her underwear. I’d sink deep before she could form a protest. But we both know she wouldn’t anyway.

  Those eyes don’t lie. Maybe to others. Never to me.

  This woman is mine. She has been from the moment I laid eyes on her. And I’d thought I’d been enough. I’d mistakenly thought my concept of right and wrong was better than hers.

  Now, my well-defined superiority is crashing around me.

  “It’s normal to be emotional,” she whispers. “But you have to move past it. Push it aside. We need to think strategically. And I can’t do that until you tell me what happened.”

  She’s still thinking of those kids. With my hand around her throat and my restraint threadbare, she remains focused on the children I put at risk.

  “Stop torturing yourself.” Her fingers slide from my hand, her palms moving to cup my face. “Jesus, Cole, I can’t stand to see you this way.”

  This way. This weak.