The Drift: Preacher Brothers, 3 Page 3

  “But I want you to know you have choices. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but Frankie is only acting like this because he’s desperate, because his twin over there is fighting for his life and he doesn’t know what do to.” She exhaled. “No one knows what’s going to happen, and it’s making these normally hardened men even more unbearable.” The way she said the last part told me she felt the same way.

  I could have stayed silent, just let those words hang between us, but I found myself sitting up a little bit, and I had no idea why. “I don’t know anything about being close to someone, not even where family’s concerned.” I watched Wilder, stared at the way his chest rose and fell. “I don’t know that kind of connection, the need to make sure somebody survives at all costs,” I whispered. “I may not have ever experienced it, but I can understand it.” I looked at her then. “I can understand it, but it doesn’t make what they’ve done right.”

  She shook her head. “No, it really doesn’t.”

  Right now, I didn’t want to sympathize with anybody in this room. Those men were… intense, in a psycho way.

  “Hell, Dom kidnapped me from work and kept me here,” she confessed.

  I stared into Amelia’s eyes. I wasn’t surprised by her revelation.

  “And Cullen is Kimber’s… whatever you’d call the two of them. Her, the lion tamer.” Amelia and Kimber smiled, but then Amelia’s expression sobered. “If the Preacher boys can fall in love and grow a heart, everything will be okay.” The way she said that last sentence was almost like she was trying to convince herself.

  “They’re all bark and no bite,” Kimber said then.

  I really found that hard to believe, but I kept that to myself.

  “It’s really late, and I know you’ve got to be tired and hungry. Just eat and try to sleep. The loveseat over there turns into a bed. There are sheets already on it, and a blanket is in the bathroom closet right through there,” Amelia added and pointed toward the en suite bathroom.

  I nodded but didn’t say anything. I was tired, damn near starved, and fighting right now or trying to escape just seemed like too much work.

  Amelia stood, and Kimber walked up to her. “Someone will probably be in constantly until Wilder is… better. I hope you’re a heavy sleeper.”

  At this point, I could probably sleep through a nuclear explosion.

  “You’re safe here, I promise.” Kimber was the one to give me those reassuring words as their men walked in, and I was shocked at how comforting I found them.

  “I promise things will look better in the morning, when everything is not so high with emotion and worry and, God willing, Wilder makes it through the night.”

  I looked back at Wilder, something deep in my heart tugging as I watched everyone gather around him. These were big and scary men who committed at least one illegal act just by kidnapping me, not even counting the whole back alley bullshit I witnessed. Yet they loved hard. That was clear.

  My curiosity with this man didn’t sit well with me, and as I watched Dom and Amelia, and Kimber and Cullen, I felt like I was twisted in this crazy web and didn’t know if I’d be able to escape.

  Chapter Eight

  Frankie

  “We could always just get rid of her,” Cullen said with no emotion on his face.

  “What the hell, Cullen?” Kimber prompted with disgust lacing her words.

  “And you remember how the fuck that plan ended last time, right?” I snapped, and I was surprised to see my normally hard-as-rock brother look a little… sheepish.

  “We are not hurting her, for fuck’s sake,” Dom said and exhaled, lifting his hand and running his palm over the back of his head. “Yeah, she’s seen a lot, too much, but fuck, we are not hurting her.” He cut a glance toward Cullen.

  Cullen lifted his hands in surrender. “We aren’t hurting her—got it.”

  No fucking way Cullen would have bent so easily if not for the fact that he’d fallen in love with Kimber. She kept his big, burly ass in line; that was for sure. And a part of me knew she changed the hardened man he’d always been. She warmed his ice-cold heart, so now he didn’t look at everything as black or white, but as having a multitude of colors, scenarios, and solutions.

  I ran a hand over my head and shook it, thinking that would clear it. “I shouldn’t have taken her.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have, but I get why you did.” Dom was the one to speak.

  “You did it, because you looked out for the family. No one thinks that’s wrong,” Cullen inserted, and I glanced at our oldest brother, watching as he brought his woman in close and kissed her on the cheek.

  I looked at Dom, seeing him do the same to Amelia.

  I’d never thought I’d see the day when Dom, let alone Cullen, would fall to their knees for a woman. I never thought they’d risk everything and anything for non-blood.

  I looked down the hallway to where we set Wilder up. It was a spare bedroom, pretty barren aside from the bed, small couch, and the en suite bathroom. I pictured the woman in there, the one I’d taken. I wasn’t a bad guy despite the fact that I did bad things. I certainly wasn’t Cullen or even Dom. But I did take her out of desperation. I’d been scared as fuck for my twin.

  And my own fear had scared her, terrified her. I threatened her. And I felt like nothing more than a piece of shit because of it.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling stubble start to come in on my cheeks and jaw. I was so fucking tired. We all were, and I knew there wouldn’t be any sleep to be had until Wilder made it through and was stable.

  I wouldn’t be able to rest until I knew he’d survive.

  I thought about what I told her, how I swore she’d feel my wrath if Wilder died. It had been a frantic lie. I wouldn’t hurt her. But in this situation, I didn’t know what to do now. I kidnapped her; she’d seen a lot of shit going down these past handful of hours, but I couldn’t just let her walk out of here or she could identify our house… us in general. Fuck, she was even a witness to the murder and crime in the back alley of that shitty bar.

  She was too much of a risk.

  I had to figure something else out, but I also had to make sure she knew she was safe, even if she didn’t feel like it.

  Chapter Nine

  Zoey

  The sound of a door closing gently roused me, and I blinked a few times, my vision slightly blurry as I stared at the ceiling. I’d slept like the dead after I finally passed out, but I felt like I could use another full day of being unconscious before I felt human again.

  The events from last night rushed through me. I was a little bit surprised and proud of myself that I wasn’t freaking out as reality all sunk back in.

  Kimber and Amelia pulled out the sofa bed for me late last night, and as I continued lying there on my back, staring at the ceiling, I watched the play of light move across the ceiling from the sun streaming through the open blinds.

  I looked out the window. The wrought iron bars probably should’ve made my panic rise, but I felt nothing in that moment.

  What the fuck am I actually doing? I thought to myself. I turned my head to the left to where the bed was, saw Wilder lying there almost peacefully, and for some reason, I breathed a sigh of relief, as it was clear he was still alive. His color still looked ghostly, but he was alive. Again, for the hundredth time since being put in this situation, I wondered why the hell I cared so much.

  The sheet was pulled up to his waist, his chest bare, and the bandage that wrapped around his muscular torso and covered his wound looked new, stark-white with no blood seeping through.

  I looked back to the bedroom door, saw it was closed, and I noticed a stack of clean clothing set on a little table between the couch and bedroom door. There was another tray, presumably from Amelia or Kimber, left for me. I leaned forward to get a better look at what sat atop it. There was another bottle of water, a glass of orange juice, and a plate that held what looked like a blueberry muffin, a little bowl of mixed fruit, and two s
ausage links.

  Despite feeling like I hadn’t gotten enough sleep and that I’d been ran over by a semi, my stomach clenched then growled at the sight of the food. I rubbed my hands over my eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them, attempting to clear my head.

  This whole situation was insane. I still didn’t have my purse or my phone, which I was going to demand to be returned to me, and then I was going to figure out what the hell was going on. They couldn’t keep me here against my will, but even as I thought that, I also told myself these men clearly didn’t play by the rules or give a fuck what was legal or illegal.

  I got up and started fixing the sheets, putting the couch back together and then standing and staring at it. I shook my head in disbelief at my own actions, tidying up what was essentially my prison. I was so tired, so damn tired, and it wasn’t just physical but mental.

  The last twenty-four hours took a toll on me, not just what happened with being taken, but also in the mindset that I was leaving again, packing up and setting temporary roots somewhere else. As much as I enjoyed the nomad life, it was very weary and lonesome. I did miss human connection, interaction… friends. It might not seem like I cared much for those things, because I was always bouncing from one place to the next, but there was a part of me that wished I could settle down, that I could bond with people, with someone enough that it would make me want to stay somewhere permanently.

  On the heels of that thought, I looked at Wilder again. His head was turned in my direction, his short, dark hair mussed.

  I stared at him for a long seconds once again, watching the way his chest rose and fell steadily. I didn’t know anything about medical intervention, wounds of this nature, or the survival rate. I hoped that because he was still alive it was a very good sign, but I didn’t want to bring it up or ask in fear of jinxing it.

  I walked over to the small table by the couch and picked up the clothes. It was a pair of jeans and a V-neck white T-shirt. I was a little bigger than the sizes they gave me, but they’d work. I’d make them. Anything was better than the clothes I’d worn and slept in for over a day.

  There was also a brand-new toothbrush, a little travel-size tube of toothpaste, and a small toiletry kit that had showering necessities. I knitted my brows. It was like these people thought I was moving in, or hell, like I was at some motel with turn-down service.

  I didn’t think too hard on that, because the truth was, I felt grimy and disgusting, and a hot shower was calling to me.

  After heading into the bathroom, taking the hottest shower imaginable, hot enough I’m surprised I didn’t burn my skin off, I got dressed and headed back out into the room. I was running the small brush through my long dark hair when I stopped short, seeing Frankie kneeling by Wilder’s bed. My heart jumped in my throat and my breathing stalled. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

  I didn’t move, taking shallow breaths, but it felt like my heart was so loud, echoing off the walls and ceiling.

  “You don’t have to be afraid,” Frankie said in a deep, husky voice. He looked over his shoulder at me, and I could see just from his face that he hadn’t slept all night. The scruff on his jaw was several days thick, and the dark circles under his eyes showed his exhaustion. He knelt on the floor beside the bed, his hand on Wilder’s forearm.

  I wanted to say something snarky, pointing out that why wouldn’t I be afraid given the circumstance, but now seemed like a grossly inappropriate time. I didn’t know why I cared about what was appropriate or not with this man, but still, I found myself walking over to the couch and sitting down, the brush still in my hand, the damp strands of my hair hanging around my shoulders and starting to dampen my cotton T-shirt.

  He turned his attention back to Wilder, sighed heavily, his wide shoulders and big chest moving up and down from the act, and then he was standing. I saw his hand tighten around Wilder’s forearm before he turned and faced me. Frankie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I noticed he still wore the same clothes from last night, the faded blue jeans that looked a little looser around him because he’d been in them for so long, and his dark T-shirt was wrinkled. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it all night.

  Despite Wilder and Frankie being identical twins, there were strong differences in both of them. I found Wilder insanely attractive, felt an undeniable pull to him, this strange connection as I held his bleeding body against me in the back of that SUV. But when I looked at Frankie, I felt nothing, no recognition, no attraction. Nothing. Despite him being my kidnapper, I would’ve thought, because he looked exactly like Wilder, that I would’ve felt some form of desire.

  But nope, nothing.

  I didn’t even know why I was thinking these thoughts, strange rationalizations and conclusions that had nothing to do with—and wouldn’t aid in—helping me figure out what was going on or how to get out of the situation. Maybe it was a form of survival, my mind trying to occupy me with something other than what a shitstorm I was really in?

  We stared at each other for a moment, this tension starting to fill me. His stare was intense and dark. Although he wasn’t standing or acting in a threatening manner, I started to shift on the cushion, acutely aware of his gaze on me.

  “I want my purse and my phone,” I said, and I was surprised, even proud, at how strong my voice was. “I want to get the hell out of here.” He didn’t say anything, didn’t even react to my words. I assumed he probably expected this from me. He finally sighed and lifted his hand to run his palm over the back of his head.

  “I can’t let you leave. You know that.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging from the act.

  I found his pose annoying.

  “And I can’t give you back your phone for obvious reasons.”

  I leaned back on the couch and made a deep, frustrated sound in the back of my throat. I should be terrified, and a part of me was, but a stronger part was just annoyed. “If you think I’m going to say anything, rat you guys out, I’m not.” Of course, if I were in his situation, I wouldn’t believe me, but still, I said that obvious statement.

  Again, his expression remained blank. “Wouldn’t anyone in your position say the same thing?”

  “Obviously, but I’m telling you the truth. Last night, I was on my way home to leave the city. I don’t stay in one place too long, not because I’m running from something or someone, but because I’m a free spirit.” I had no idea why I was telling him any of this—maybe to convince him I wasn’t a threat. “Listen, I don’t care who you guys are or what you do. I focus on me, and that’s it. So when I say I’m not going to tell the cops or anyone, I mean just that.” My voice was strong, my conviction ringing in the words.

  He tilted his head to the side as if my words were finally having some kind of effect on him despite his expression still being like a brick wall. “That may be true, and I might have even believed you in another circumstance, but right now, until I can figure something else out, until my brother is fully going to make it out of this alive—” He shook his head. “—I can’t let you leave, and I can’t give your phone.”

  I set the brush down beside me and curled my hands into tight fists beside my thighs, feeling my anger rise. “So you’re keeping me here against my will? It’s illegal. Everything you’ve done is illegal.” I clenched my teeth. “It’s not fucking right.”

  He smirked then, the only actual, visible reaction he’d given me since I started talking.

  “That’s the least of my worries, or the least illegal thing I’ve ever done, sweetheart.” The way he said that endearment was condescending, as if he were speaking to a child, enunciating each word so it really stuck. “I’m not gonna hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. And once I figure out what to do, once it’s all said and done, you’re free to leave. You have my word.”

  Like that made any difference to me or meant anything. Like I was supposed to believe him just because he “gave me his word.”

  He
said nothing else as he turned and left.

  I leaned forward again. “Frankie.” It was the first time I said anyone’s name here out loud.

  He stopped when he had his hand on the doorknob and looked back at me.

  “What makes you confident in leaving me alone here with your brother? Aren’t you afraid I’ll retaliate, hurt him to get back at you?” Of course, I’d never do that, never thought about it until this one moment, and that was only because I wanted to get under his skin, to hurt him like he was hurting me.

  There was the window I could try to escape through, but the damn bars stopped any hope of that with their swirly iron designs, meant to look pretty and artistic, but it was a prison all the same.

  I expected him to lash out—the same way I had—but he just sighed heavily, his shoulders slouching, that weariness on his face increasing tenfold. “If I thought for one minute you were a threat to my brother, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He looked at Wilder, but he kept his emotions masked. “Besides—” He glanced at me again. “I see the way you look at him. There’s compassion. You may not know him, but you want him to live as much as I do.“ And with that last sentence, he left me alone, his words ringing very true.

  Chapter Ten

  Wilder

  I smelled something sweet and floral, this aroma that had everything in me waking up. The pain was unimaginable, had my heart racing, my body roaring out. I latched onto that scent, letting it wash through me. It calmed me in a sense, and right now any distraction aside from the agony was what I clung onto.

  I heard a moan, realized it came from me. I turned my head to where I smelled the scent, where it was stronger. I groaned again as even that slight movement had pain lancing through me like fire was racing over my exposed flesh.

  Someone touched my arm, fingers sliding down to my hand. Someone held my hand. A female. I could tell that much from the gentle hold, the too-soft skin. It wasn’t Amelia or Kimber. I could tell that much from the touch and feel.