The Drift: Preacher Brothers, 3

by Snow, Jenika

  Who touched me, who gave me comfort?

  The scent was all around me, so strong I felt that pain go away as if I were drugged, intoxicated.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Fuck, my throat was tight, my lips dry. “Wa—” I couldn’t get the words out, but a second later, there was a straw to my lips. I sucked, drawing the cold water into my parched mouth, almost moaning at the euphoria that one sip provided.

  I turned my head when I was done, and the hand was once again wrapped around mine. Then I heard the sweetest fucking sound I ever heard. She hummed then softly sang to me. I tried in vain to open my eyes, to see who this was. She was my very own fucking angel, and I wanted her smell, warmth, and the sound of her to wash over me, seep through me.

  Darkness claimed me over and over again, giving me a reprieve from the pain, but when I’d come to, it was to hear her, smell her... feel her.

  I didn’t know who she was, but I knew I’d never let her go.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zoey

  I’d been picking at my breakfast when I heard Wilder start to groan and shift on the bed. I could see from his facial expression he was in pain, and I didn’t even hesitate as I found myself rushing over to him. I sunk to my knees in front of the bed, slid my hands and fingers along his forearm, and finally took his hand in mine. He stilled momentarily, turned his head toward me, and, although he didn’t open his eyes, I felt like he was watching me.

  I held my breath, not sure what to do, if I should call out for help. I was just about to, when he made a deep noise in the back of his throat. And then he started to talk, mumbling incoherently. I couldn’t understand him, but the way he licked his lips, his mouth seeming so dry, I assumed maybe he was thirsty. Thankfully, there was a small water bottle and a straw on the table, as if someone anticipated him waking and needing a drink.

  I opened the lid, put the straw inside, and placed my hand behind his head, lifting it up slightly. I brought the straw to his mouth and watched while his throat worked as he swallowed.

  When he was finished, I set the bottle down, letting my other hand slide away for his head, his short, dark hair soft in my fingers. I held his hand again, feeling like maybe I was making a difference, helping him with his pain.

  For the next twenty minutes, he was in and out, waking up and moaning as if in more pain before passing back out. People came in and out during that time, checking on him, Kimber giving him meds. I noticed antibiotics and pain medication.

  I moved back when they were here, getting out of the way, standing in the corner, and letting them do their thing. But then when they left, I was right there with Wilder, holding his hand, telling him things I wished somebody would tell me if I was in his situation.

  And that’s where I was now, several hours later, still kneeling beside his bed, my head resting on the mattress, one hand twined with his, and my other hand running gently up and down his forearm. I traced the tattoos that lined his skin, mesmerized by them.

  Whenever somebody came in, they didn’t mention me being close to him or holding him. The men acted like I wasn’t even there, and Kimber and Amelia gave me sympathetic looks.

  I didn’t even understand what I was doing with Wilder or why I cared so much. But I couldn’t stop myself no matter how much it made sense to.

  I closed my eyes and started singing the only song I ever remembered my mother humming to me. It was the only “motherly” thing she’d ever done, and even those moments were rare and always when she was shitfaced after stumbling in from the bar. But I still cherished those times, latched on to them as a hopeful little girl.

  So I kept singing, not for me or for those out-of-the-blue, drunken memories of my mother, but for this man I didn’t know, this man who I’d never heard his voice clearly, or even knew the color of his eyes. He wasn’t alone, had many people who clearly loved him, yet here I was, wanting desperately to make him feel better.

  Because there were so many times I wished someone had done this for me.

  I stopped singing and just stared at his hand twined with mine.

  “Your voice...”

  I snapped my head up and was staring into Wilder’s dark eyes. My heart was racing, my voice gone, so I couldn’t even attempt to reply.

  “Don’t stop singing,” he whispered, sounding so hoarse. “Your voice is so pretty.” He closed just eyes and groaned softly, clearly in pain. “It makes me feel better.”

  “I’ll get someone,” I whispered and was about to stand, but he tightened his hold on my hand, causing me to still.

  “I’m fine. Please don’t leave.” He cleared his throat and grimaced, and I could see he was trying to be strong.

  I sank back to my knees, our hands still wrapped around each other, my gaze locked on his face.

  This can’t be normal, feeling something this strongly for someone I just met. Common sense told me that over and over again, repeating in my head like a broken record. But I just didn’t care. I liked how I felt for him, this man who I knew nothing about, this man who looked at me right now like I was the sun and he’d been deprived of it his entire life.

  He gave my hand another squeeze and asked me to start singing again. And that’s just what I did. I sang softly, only loud enough for him to hear.

  For his ears only.

  And it was when his eyes closed again and he fell back asleep that I felt my heart give a mighty jerk in my chest. It was only then that I took a stuttering breath and sat back on my haunches, staring at his face, which was relaxed in sleep, that I realized I was in far more trouble than being kept here and held against my will.

  I was in far more trouble, because my heart was being compromised by this man.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wilder

  I woke up, and for the first time, I noticed I didn’t feel that excruciating pain take my breath. I still fucking hurt, no doubt about that, but I was able to breathe without clenching my teeth.

  The next thing I realized, which seemed even more important, was she wasn’t by me, this unknown woman who calmed me and gave me solace in the darkness.

  Alone, not feeling her warmth, not feeling her touch or hearing her voice as she sang to me, caused me a different kind of discomfort. Had I dreamt her?

  Fuck. I was tired in more ways than one, so that was pretty damn plausible.

  I closed my eyes, as nothing made sense, but then everything filtered through, flashes of what happened, the back-alley deal with Frankie and the tweaker, being shot, the pain. So much pain.

  Then different flashes of memories came through, things that made me feel a hell of a lot better.

  Her smell.

  Her touch.

  Just... her.

  Maybe my mind conjured her up so I could cope, so I could get through this nightmare.

  Fuck, that thought depressed me.

  I blinked my eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Everything was quiet around me, the steady beat of my heart the only thing I clearly made out. I didn’t want to move, not just yet, not sure if the pain would have me passing out again. I did a mental check on my body, moving my fingers and toes, inhaling slowly before exhaling at the same pace. The latter had discomfort shooting through me like a motherfucker, but that was to be expected. I lifted my head slightly and looked down at my chest, seeing the white bandage wrapped around my bare torso.

  I had an IV hooked in my arm, and the memories, the in-and-out flashes of light and sound, a picture of Kimber working on me, the sound of my brothers worrying over whether I’d die or live, all came flooding back.

  I looked around the room, realizing they put me in the guest bedroom, which made sense, since it was the closest to the front door. I could tell by the setting sun that it was late in the day. How long had I been out? It felt like I’d been lying here damn near forever.

  I surveyed more of the room for any inclination on what happened since I’d been out. There was a tray sitting on the bedside table next to the loveseat, the plat
e atop it having only a few pieces of food left, an empty glass, and a water bottle sitting beside that. That clearly wasn’t for me, seeing as my belly grumbled at the thought of food.

  The sounds of water running in the bathroom and then turning off had my body tightening, which then made the pain increase. But all that was easily pushed to the side at the very real possibility that maybe my mystery woman wasn’t a fabrication at all.

  I held my breath as the door opened… as the light was turned off… and then she stepped out. And at the first glance of her, I sucked in a sharp breath. Even though I couldn’t see her face clearly, she was so fucking beautiful I actually found myself lifting my hand and placing it on my chest, afraid my heart would stop. Never had anyone had this kind of impact on me.

  Flashes of images of her kneeling at the bed, holding me, touching me, singing to me, played over and over in my head. She was looking at the floor, and I allowed myself the privilege of memorizing every part of her before she realized.

  I remembered her, the memories I had from when I opened my eyes those few times very clear in my mind. This was her. She needed to come closer so I could smell her sweet scent, so I could feel her hand on me and know that it was indeed her.

  I needed to hear her voice, and then I’d know without a shadow of a doubt.

  She was beautiful nonetheless, with dark, almost black hair that hung in loose waves around her shoulders. She was tiny, would be in comparison to standing next to me. Her body was womanly, with curves I could make out underneath her jeans and T-shirt.

  She lifted her head and stopped as soon as our gazes met. I swore she held her breath. I know I did. She was gorgeous, with eyes so blue they were like sapphires. And the contrast abasing her dark hair and alabaster skin was unlike anything I ever encountered in my life.

  Maybe I died, and she was the angel waiting to take me to wherever the fuck I deserved to go.

  This was the first time I was looking at her with a clear head and vision. The times before, she’d been blurry, since I was unable to focus, hanging onto the things like her scent and touch, the sound of her. But God, I never anticipated this was what she looked like.

  I’d never seen a person so painfully beautiful.

  “You’re up,” she whispered, almost as if to herself. She looked to the door, and I knew she was either going to bolt or go get someone else.

  “Please, don’t go.” I don’t know why I said that. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I never begged for anything, but hell, I’d done that right now. “Please, come here.” I needed her to be closer. I wanted some alone time with her so I could really examine her, so I could have this moment without my brothers and their women coming in.

  “They’ll want to know you’re up,” she said a little louder this time, but still soft enough only I could probably hear. “They’ve been so worried.”

  I bet they had, and I didn’t want to make them worry anymore, but I needed this moment to be just us. I needed this right now.

  She stepped closer before I could tell her that, and with each step she came to me, the more this excited energy and anticipation thrummed through my veins.

  I held my breath the closer she got, and when she was only a foot from the bed, I actually reached out for her. “You can’t be real,” I said under my breath. Fuck, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and judging by the widening of her eyes and the little tilt of her mouth, she hadn’t expected that to come out of me either.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, still holding my hand out, praying to whoever would listen that she’d slip hers in mine and let me touch her.

  She swallowed, and I found the motion of her slender throat working so damn feminine. “Zoey,” she whispered, and I could sense her nervousness, practically see it coming from her in waves.

  Zoey. Zoey. Zoey.

  I played her name over and over in my head, knowing I’d never get enough.

  “Zoey.” It sounded good rolling off my tongue. “Come closer.” She probably thought I was a fucking lunatic. I didn’t care though, as long as she gave me what I desperately needed. She looked down at my hand, and I held my breath again as I watched her lift hers and put it in mine.

  And there it was. Her touch. I had the feeling of her ingrained in my memory, in my fucking body for the rest of my damn life and even after that.

  This had to be the most bizarre, incredible moment of my life, and I couldn’t even place why. We didn’t know each other—well, I knew nothing about her. Why was she here? I prayed like hell she wasn’t Frankie’s girl. I knew he hadn’t been with a woman in a helluva long fucking time, because he was hung up on some female from his past. But maybe he caved? Damn, I certainly would if Zoey was in my life.

  And the thought of my twin having her… would not happen.

  I almost died, wasn’t a good man in the normal sense of being a law-abiding citizen, and have gone through a lot of shit in my life, but having Zoey here, her hand in mine, everything seemed… right.

  I used a little bit of force and pulled her forward even more until she was now sitting on the edge of the bed. And then I inhaled deeply, taking in her scent that I’d become addicted to.

  God, yes. There it was, sweet and clean, like a hint of cotton candy with clean laundry.

  I said nothing. I couldn’t even find any words in this moment.

  I was speechless as I stared into her bright blue eyes. I could tell she was nervous, could feel the tension as she held my hand. I found myself stroking my thumb back and forth over her skin. She was so soft.

  I finally snapped out of whatever trance I was in, cleared my throat, and reluctantly pulled my hand from her so I could brace my palms on the mattress and push myself up a bit. The motion jarred my body, and I hissed, clenching my teeth but finally getting myself propped up against the headboard.

  Zoey had this concerned expression on her face, her eyes wide as she worried her bottom lip with her straight white teeth. I could see her hands were outstretched slightly, as if she meant to help me or maybe stop me.

  “Please be careful,” she said with so much genuine concern it had my gut twisting. “I really should get someone.”

  I shook my head slowly and placed my hand on her forearm. She was so tense under my touch, and I hated it. “In a minute.” She nodded after a second and visibly relaxed but only marginally. “Who are you? Where’d you come from?” I finally asked, my voice so fucking hoarse from not speaking for… however long I’d been out. I had a lot of fucking questions, but nothing was more important than finding out more about Zoey. “Are you and Frankie...?” I trailed off, because saying the words was like acid on my tongue. And even then, I had to grit those four words out through clenched teeth.

  I loved my brother—my twin—but the very thought of him and Zoey together… not gonna happen.

  She shook her head then glanced at her lap for a second before drawing her eyes back up to mine. I saw a flash of anger in her blue eyes, and instantly I wanted to beat whoever’s ass had put it there. “I was in the alley the night you got shot.” She swallowed, and I saw that anger dissipate a little. “I saw you get shot... and your twin saw me.”

  Shit. I knew where this was going before she even finished. “He took you, didn’t he?” She knitted her brows as if confused that I already figured it out. But she didn’t know my brothers. She’d seen too much, and that meant she was a liability. And on top of it, I’d been shot, probably bleeding the fuck out, and Frankie most likely wigged out. He was as easygoing as they came and sure as shit didn’t hurt or kidnap women. But under pressure?

  Fuck.

  I straightened, my muscles tightening. “He didn’t... he didn’t hurt you, right?”

  She furrowed her brows again and slowly shook her head. “No. I would have done some damage if he tried.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that. This girl had fire in her veins.

  Mine.

  That one word bounced around in my head, and as fuck
ing insane as it was to claim ownership of a female, especially one I literally just met, it still seemed pretty fucking right.

  “So Frankie kidnapped you, and he’s keeping you here against your will?” Just my fucking luck that this woman—this angel— was here against her will. Yet despite no doubt hating everyone in this fucking house, here she sat beside me on the bed, letting me touch her hand, memories of her singing to me, of her comforting me, so damn real it tightened my chest.

  “Yeah, but—” My throat tightened as I saw the apprehensive look cross her face. I felt like she had more to say, but she let her lips tightly press together.

  I wanted her to tell me all her secrets, all her hopes and dreams, all her fears and worries. I wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. I wanted to make sure no one made her feel less than, not even my brothers, not even my twin who had taken her. He may not have physically hurt her, but the pain he caused her by his actions was just as bad.

  “They say they won’t hurt me, that once you’re better, I can go.” She looked back at me, her blue eyes big, her expression vulnerable. “I don’t know if that’s the truth—”

  “No one will fucking hurt you. No one.” Even I heard how certain those words were as they came out of me forcefully. They came out so sharp and hard that Zoey’s eyes widened marginally. Before I could say anything else, the bedroom door opened, and in strode everyone in the whole house. Dom and Amelia, Cullen and a Kimber, and then there was Frankie.

  Zoey let go of me instantly and moved back as far as she could go, the wall at the opposite end of the wall stopping her retreat. I already missed her presence, her scent and touch, her warmth and the sound of her voice.

  I heard everyone seeming to talk all at once, felt Kimber checking on me, looking at my wound, but my gaze was locked on Zoey and hers on me.