The Drift: Preacher Brothers, 3 Read online

  Here we were, her in the back of my SUV, Wilder bleeding out on her lap, my frantic, quick actions making a fucked-up situation even worse.

  But there wasn’t any other way to do it. I wasn’t a good guy, and the threat of my twin dying made me nothing more than a heartless bastard.

  For her sake, I hoped he survived, because if not, she’d be the first to feel my wrath, even if she was the last person to deserve it.

  Chapter Four

  Zoey

  My heart was racing as I stared down with what I knew was an expression akin to full-on fear, but the man was clearly out cold. Or hell, was he dead, lying on my lap?

  The smell of blood was so thick in the air that I actually gagged. It filled the interior of the SUV, and I tried to take short, shallow breaths out of my mouth so I didn’t have to smell it. But all that accomplished was it coating the inside of my mouth in a tangy, coppery flavor that reminded me of when I’d bitten my tongue.

  I lifted my focus to the driver. Intermittently, he looked at me through the rearview mirror, the shadows of darkness and flashes of light from the streetlamps as we raced passed them making him seem even more ominous and sinister.

  “This is wrong,” I whispered, and there was a huge hitch in my voice, as if I were trying too hard to convince my kidnapper of that fact.

  He didn’t say anything for long moments, so long that I didn’t think he actually would respond.

  “I know.” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror again. His voice was so hard and cold, so apathetic. “But I don’t care.”

  I looked back down at the man who had his head resting on my lap. It was as if the initial shock started to wear off, because I realized he was an exact replica of the man driving.

  Twins.

  He had short dark hair, a face that was brutally handsome, severe in his attractiveness. His head was turned toward the front of the car, and I could make up the sharp lines of his jaw, the masculine cut of his chin. I moved my gaze up to his full lips, along his strong, straight nose, and stopped at his closed eyes. His eyelashes were dark, crescents that fanned out along his far-too-pale skin. Even I could see how pasty his complexion was, no doubt from all the blood loss.

  “Keep pressure on the wound,” the driver said harshly, and I could hear the note of worry in his voice no matter how much he tried to hide it.

  I found myself pressing my hand down harder on the wound.

  I was surprised I wasn’t a sobbing mess. It was a survival instinct, the need to stay sane and alive in this situation. And because of that, I didn’t hesitate at all. I continued to stare down at the unconscious man’s face, and something tugged at my heart. I had a very sick feeling he wouldn’t make it. He was losing too much blood, had already lost so much.

  I took my other hand and placed it right under his ear at his pulse point, seeing if I could feel a pulse. For a moment, panic settled in me as I felt nothing, but then there it was, very small and faint. I was going to tell this man to take his brother to the hospital, because I had a very strong feeling he wasn’t going to make it otherwise, but I kept my mouth shut. It was pretty obvious these men weren’t law-abiding citizens, not if they were behind a bar, no doubt making back alley deals, and definitely not when bullets were flying.

  I swallowed, my throat hurting, tight and so damn dry. This was just my luck, my last night at work, about to start over, go somewhere else, be a new me, when this shit happened. Adrenaline moved through my veins, but I knew I was in shock. I had to be, right? I felt like I was in a dream, some out-of-body experience. I was hovering close, watching as I followed this dangerous man’s orders, knowing that at the end of it, I probably wouldn’t make it out alive. I’d seen their faces, seen the shooting. If he was crazy enough to kidnap me, wouldn’t it go to reason he was crazy enough to kill me so I could never identify them?

  “I’m almost there. Have shit ready. He’s bleeding out.”

  I blinked a few times, realizing the driver was on the phone with someone.

  I didn’t know how long we’d been driving. It seemed like hours, like an eternity, but then it was over as if it just started. We pulled to a stop at a gated house. The driver leaned out his driver side window and punched in a code on a little console, and then the gate slid open before he hauled ass up the driveway.

  The house appeared pretty normal, a family home if I called it anything. But the situation—this man—was anything but what I envisioned a family to be like, brothers or not. I still had my hand pressed to the wound, afraid to even breathe, let alone move it. Yeah, the driver scared the shit out of me, but there was an even stronger part of me that was more afraid to remove my hand, because if I did, this man would die. I didn’t know why any part of me cared, but it was so pronounced in me that I was like stone, not even moving an inch in any direction.

  He skidded to a stop by the front door, and a second later, I watched as two men burst from the house and ran to the SUV. The driver put the SUV in park and cut the engine before I could even blink. The back door was thrown open, and the two men who’d come out of the house looked at me curiously before snapping out of it and hauling the unconscious man off my lap and into their arms.

  “Who the hell is that?” one man asked.

  “Collateral damage,” the driver responded. “Kimber inside, Cullen?”

  The one name Cullen nodded. “Dom, let’s get him inside now.”

  “Fuck, he’s bleeding too much,” the one named Dom said. “You can deal with that.” He lifted his chin in my direction. “You’ve brought a fucking mess to our doorstep, brother.” That was all that was said, and then the two were rushing toward the front door with the unconscious guy in their arms.

  For a second, I sat there, blood covering me, soaked into my clothes, all over the leather seat, on my hands, and the scent filling my head. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Hell, I barely breathed.

  “Come on,” the driver said, and I snapped my head to look at him. I shook my head; the only thing I could think of was that he planned on killing me. His expression hardened, and he stepped closer to the open door. “Get the fuck out.” The look I gave him had his expression shifting. He exhaled and looked me up from head to toe. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Right.

  I shook my head again. Why was I fighting this? He’d get me out of this car one way or another, and his way wouldn’t be pleasurable, I assumed.

  “Get. Out. Of. The. Car,” he said through clenched teeth. “I want to be with my brother and make sure he lives.” His voice was low and dangerous, and something in my heart tugged at the thought of the man in there not surviving.

  I didn’t know who he was, what his background was, or if he was even an all-around evil dude, but I realized I didn’t want to see him die either. And that last part confused the hell out of me.

  I moved toward him and climbed out. He took my wrist, and I was surprised at how gentle his hold was. He led me to the front door, and I was in a daze as we entered. I couldn’t even describe the house for how unfocused my eyes had become. I couldn’t describe the scents or the sounds for how hard my pulse beat in my ears, drowning everything else out.

  I was vaguely aware we headed down a long hallway before I was ushered into a room with so much commotion going on it was a whirlwind of cursing, shouting of orders, and blood... so much blood I swore I saw it in the air.

  The driver let go of me and rushed forward. He didn’t bother hiding his fear and worry now. I could see it clear and cut sharply on his face. I moved back until the wall stopped my retreat, placed my hands flat on the cold wall behind me, and prayed for stability. I prayed no one saw me, that I’d become as invisible as a speck of dust when the lights were out.

  Between the bodies moving around frantically, orders for supplies, for an IV, for scissors and the likes, I caught glimpses of the man wounded and unconscious. He was on a bed, his shirt ripped open, the bullet wound a startling display of gore. His chest was coated in the red f
luid, some parts already dried, and where the wound itself was, the deep red fluid seeped out whenever the gauze was removed and replaced with new ones.

  I stared at his face, almost peaceful in his unconscious state. His skin was so damn pale that I felt this thick knot become lodged in my throat.

  I could hear everyone talking, but it sounded like I was underwater. I could only focus on his face.

  I didn’t know how much time passed. It could have been seconds, definitely minutes, hell, maybe even hours had gone by. I stood still in my same spot, away from everyone, out of the way, too scared to move.

  Nobody glanced my way, clearly having forgotten me. I should’ve snuck out, ran, left out the door. No one would probably notice. But for some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t move, my eyes wide as I stared at the woman trying to save him.

  Blood. There was so much blood. God.

  I felt the tension of the room so thickly it wrapped around my throat, squeezing the air from me.

  And then it was as if something was loosened, the noose not as tight around everyone’s necks. The three men stepped away, murmuring softly to each other, their voices deep and, although hushed, had a hard edge to them.

  The one named Cullen leaned down and kissed the woman on top of the head who’d been working on the wounded man. He ran his hand up and down her back, said something softly to her, and I watched as she nodded, tipping her head back to look at him, the strain and exhaustion very clear on her face.

  There was another woman in the room, one who stayed close to the man named Dom. These were their women, I assumed.

  “Is he going to live?” the driver asked, although his face was hard and devoid of emotion. The stoic expression on his face was startling, but his voice betrayed how he felt. He was worried. Everyone in the damn room was worried.

  The woman who’d been working on the wounded man exhaled and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Frankie. I got the wound to stop bleeding, and he’s stable right now by some miracle, but I just don’t know.” The room was silent again. “Right now, he’s out of immediate danger, but the next couple hours will be pretty iffy.” The woman looked over at Frankie. “If you’re not a praying man, now might be the time to start.”

  Chapter Five

  Wilder

  I tasted copper, like I had a mouthful of pennies. It coated my tongue, slid down the back of my throat. Weights held me down, a thickness that coated me in this visceral sensation.

  “Fucking hell, someone do something!” I heard Dom shout, or maybe it was Frankie, Cullen.

  “He’s losing blood. Get me all the supplies,” a female spoke, maybe Dom’s woman. Cullen’s?

  I’m fine. What’s all the fucking panic about?

  I thought I said those words out loud, but they rattled around in my head over and over again like that lone shoe in the dryer just banging the shit out of itself.

  I tried to open my eyes, but they felt glued shut.

  What the fuck?

  “Who the hell is she?” one of my brothers spoke, but I couldn’t place who it was. Everything started sounding more distant, distorted. Whoever spoke, his voice was clipped, angry.

  “She saw it all. She saw too much.” That was Frankie’s voice, sounding strained, heavy with something, an emotion I couldn’t place, one I’d never heard come from him before. “No fucking way I’d leave her. So she could tell the cops? Fuck no.”

  There was a distinct female murmur, one that sounded muffled, as if a hand was over their mouth. I tried to sit up, open my eyes. I needed to know what the fuck was going on.

  “Everyone out that is only going to argue. You’re making it worse,” Cullen’s female, Kimber, yelled. She sounded pissed.

  There was a rush of voices.

  “Everyone, calm down,” Kimber snapped. “I need to focus on this or I can’t help him.”

  I groaned as pain started to lance through me like a fucking hot poker.

  “Cullen,” Kimber whispered. “I can’t do this. I’m not a doctor.” I heard tears in her voice, but for the life of me, I couldn’t move anymore, could barely breathe.

  “Baby, you got this. Please. You got this.” I’d never heard Cullen sound so… distraught.

  And then there was silence, a door closing, the heaviness of the room tangible.

  “I’m sorry. I’m going to try to save your life, Wilder. I’m going to try, and God help everyone if you don’t make it.”

  Kimber was still crying, but it became more distant, like I stood down a long hallway and she kept moving farther from me.

  “God help the world, because this’ll break the Preacher brothers apart and have hell raining down on them.”

  And it was that last sentence she spoke that finally pulled me under, and I gratefully let that darkness claim me.

  Chapter Six

  Zoey

  He’d been in and out of consciousness for the last hour, and I could see the worry on everyone’s face each time he woke up then passed back out. He murmured incoherently every once in a while, but I never moved from my spot. My legs ached, my body was tired, and the adrenaline high was starting to wane. I had no idea what they’d do with me, but one thing never left my mind.

  I’d seen so much. Too much.

  I was a liability.

  I turned and looked toward the bedroom door, which was still open. I could leave, escape. I could sneak out and run as fast and hard as my legs would take me. They were too engrossed in what was going on to even pay me attention. I thought those things over and over again and found myself edging toward the door. And each step I took, I felt a little tightness in my chest, increasing even more the closer I got. I stared at the one they called Wilder.

  Wilder.

  The way I thought his name, the way it made me feel, shouldn’t sit well with me.

  I was so close to the door now. So close. But right before I could dart out, the one named Cullen stepped in from the hallway, his massive body blocking the entryway, his muscular arms crossed as he looked down at me. His eyes told me he knew exactly what I planned on doing.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked in a deep, thick voice.

  And after he spoke, I felt all eyes on me.

  Looked like I wasn’t going anywhere after all.

  Chapter Seven

  Zoey

  Several hours laters

  I rested back against the wall so damn tired, but I couldn’t sleep for the life of me. I kept staring at Wilder, watching the rise and fall of his breathing, drawing comfort from it. It was strange to care about what happened to someone I didn’t even know, hadn’t ever spoken to, and, for all intents and purposes, his twin wanted me dead.

  Kidnapped, held against my will, and probably about to be buried six feet under for being “collateral damage” was all pretty clear to me. But despite that, I stared at Wilder’s face and found myself hoping he survived, wanting to look into his eyes, to see if they were the same shade as his brother’s. I wanted to hear his voice, to see how deep it was, to see if it made me feel that the connection, this boundlessness I felt we had, would be stronger.

  There was a soft knock on the bedroom door, and it opened a second later. Kimber peeked her head around the corner and gave me a timid smile.

  “Can I come in?”

  I didn’t respond, because I knew it wouldn’t have mattered what I said. She’d come in here regardless.

  And she did.

  She pushed the door open and a second later stepped in with Amelia trailing behind her. Amelia held a tray and walked over to me, while Kimber went to Wilder. Someone had come in every five minutes to check on him, but the men had all but ignored me, as if they either forgot I was here or didn’t give a shit that they kept a woman hostage.

  Amelia sat on the floor a few feet from me and set the tray down, pushing it forward slightly, a small smile on her face. “You have to be hungry.”

  I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say.

  The tray held a couple
bottles of water beside a plate that had a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a slice of watermelon. Beside that was a small slice of chocolate cake.

  “I made the cake this afternoon.”

  I glanced up at her, hearing the pride in her voice. I don’t know why I found it comforting. Maybe because it was so… normal.

  “How are you doing?”

  I was so tired I didn’t have the strength to fight. I shrugged. “I’m doing shitty, about the same as I feel.”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I know. I’m sorry about... all of this.”

  I rested my head back against the wall. “It’s not your fault.”

  She exhaled wearily. “It’s not like I’m helping you walk out of here though.”

  She had a point, but again, I was too damn tired to fight her on this.

  “What’s your name?”

  I thought about not answering, lying, but what difference did it really make? “Zoey,” I finally admitted.

  “You from around here?”

  “Yes and no.” The look she gave me would have made me laugh if the situation had been different. “I’m what you’d call a free spirit… a nomad. I don’t really hang around for very long.”

  She nodded like she knew what I meant.

  “You look young.”

  “So do you,” I replied. She grinned. “I’m twenty-five and too old to be jumping around like I do, but staying stationary and being sedentary was never my ‘thing,’ I guess.”

  We were silent for long moments, but it was the good kind of silence, the kind I needed right now.

  “I’m really sorry you’re stuck in this fucked-up situation.”

  Me too. “Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up.”

  I could hear how genuine she sounded, and I didn’t know why that tugged at my heart.