I try to calm my thoughts so I can fall back to sleep, but there’s no way it’s happening right now. Besides, now that I’m awake, I desperately need something to drink. Nothing crazy. Maybe water. Or juice. Shit, and now that I’ve had the thought, I know I’ll never get back to sleep until I slake my thirst. Carefully, I extricate myself from the tangle of legs and arms, trying not to jostle the mattress too much.
I creep across the room to the door and exit without so much as a sound. Pleased with myself, I tiptoe down the hallway and head for the stairs. I shouldn’t run into anyone down there at this hour, but if I do, I’m wearing one of Archer’s T-shirts that hits me mid-thigh. I was already wearing a pair of boy shorts under my clothing earlier, so I figure I’m good to go. I’m not worried about appearing immodest or getting skeeved out should one of the brothers see me like this. There’s nothing to leer at here, just me in a T-shirt three sizes too big for me.
In the kitchen, I pop open the fridge and pull out a jug of orange juice, then spin on my heel to get a glass from the cupboard. After pouring a small amount and downing it, I set the glass in the sink to wash in the morning. At the last second, I decide to take a bottle of water back upstairs with me. As I turn around from the fridge, my heart jumps into my throat, and I gasp aloud, stumbling back a step.
A masked figure, all in black, stands not a foot from me. In the split second it takes to register he’s there, he snatches me to him, turning me so he can belt one arm around my waist and both arms, and lifts me enough that my toes hardly touch the ground. Terrified, I draw in a deep breath, prepared to scream.
Cold metal at my temple stalls my action, freezing me in place. A gun. Whoever this is has a fucking gun. My chest seizes, clamping down on my heart so hard, I might pass out. In my ear, a familiar voice hisses, “You make a goddamn sound, and I will shoot whoever shows up. Hear me? You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
In response to his threat, I break into a cold sweat. My lungs only work sporadically as I fight to breathe. To think. To find a way out of this. Because no. I wouldn’t scream. I would protect Kingston, Cannon, and Archer with my life, and in the deepest part of my soul, I know they’d come for me no matter what. Even if it meant facing down a loaded gun. It dawns on me right then, the words I’ve been too scared to tell them—Ilovethem. I love them enough to keep from so much as squeaking in terror. The intruder tugs me roughly, forcing me toward the basement steps.
The basement. The juniors. I heave out a breath, and even though I can’t quite place the voice, I decide to go with my best bet. “Alec, if you think this is going to fly, you’re dead wrong.”
The guy grunts, the sound almost… amused.Okay, not Alec.
“Fine, Stuart, then,” I snarl, thrashing in his arms, though I know it’s fucking stupid with the gun to my head. “Or Joel or Bridger. Whoever the fuck you are, don’t do this,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Not really up to me…Ellie.”
Inwardly shrieking my lungs out, my heart pounds hard as I wrestle with the idea that somehow, someway Nick could be involved with this. If the person hauling me down the stairs werehim,I’d recognize the scent and feel of his body… so I know it’s not. But he’s theonlyone who calls me Ellie. Coincidence? Could be. But I find it doubtful from my assailant’s sneering tone.
Scared out of my mind, my breaths come in a short, staccato rhythm. Fingers bite into my arm, just above the elbow, and my jaw locks tight against the discomfort as he quickly takes me past the pool table, past the huge TV and sofas, past the poker room. My memories in these rooms aren’t the greatest, but I’d never felt unsafe when Kingston, Archer, and Cannon were around, even if they had been assholes in the beginning.
But now, I’m going out of my mind with potential scenarios, trying to piece together what’s happening to me. This guy breaks into my room. Dane goes missing. And now this jackass has me and is taking me who the hell knows where. Frustrated, I let loose an agonized moan of discomfort.
“Shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you. Not that it’ll fuckin’ matter.”
Wait.I do know that voice.Fuck. Elliot. Mind in the game.There has to be more to this than you’re seeing. The bigger picture. If Nick is here…
My eyes widen as the words Nick said when he abducted me come slamming back into the forefront of my mind.You’re done here. You’ve asked enough questions about Will.
At the time, I thought Nick was being his usual narcissistic self, not wanting me to spend my time or give anyone—even my missing cousin—more attention than I gave him. And I know it pissed him off that I wasn’t responding to his texts once I arrived here at Hawthorne Hall. But… fuck. What if there’s—
I’m snapped from my thoughts when the masked man stops in front of a door I’d opened before when cleaning the rooms downstairs. Realizing it went to a cellar of some sort—probably where utilities and such are kept for the house—I hadn’t bothered to descend those rickety-looking stairs. I recall thinking that while Hawthorne Hall seems to have had many expensive updates over the years that no one had bothered with that area of the house. Probably because no one really goes down there.
But now. Oh, hell no. I struggle again in earnest, kicking my legs out so that I can catch them on something and stall our descent. My captor grunts, then huffs out a gritted, “Fuck. Fucking stop if you don’t want me to use this gun on you.”
My brows dart sharply together as he carts me down the steps into a dank, foul-smelling room. It’s no small space either, but a quick glance tells me I was correct. Furnace and various other bits of equipment dot the room.
I suck in a breath. There are a pair of chairs arranged back-to-back with a rope dangling from the one. Oh shit, are they going to make me sit in the empty one and tie me down?
The other is occupied, but the room is dark, and at first, I can’t quite tell who the other occupant is. “No. Don’t you dare strap me to that chair.” My heart hammers in my chest as the guy chuckles, his hot breath wafting over my face and making my stomach want to eject the juice I drank upstairs.
When we get close enough for me to make out the other unfortunate person down here, my face falls, and I cry out without meaning to because I’d recognize that blond head of hair anywhere. My lips tremble, and my eyes fill with tears.
Dane.
He’s slumped over and looks unconscious, his glasses sitting askew on his bruised and bloodied face.
THIRTY-TWO
CANNON
When I open my eyes,I expect to find a pretty girl resting on the pillow next to me. Kingston is good-looking enough but sure as fuck isn’t Elliot. I put my palm down on the space in the bed where she’d been lying between us, it’s cold. I frown, feeling for my phone. It’s somewhere in the bed with us. My alarm hasn’t gone off, so I know it’s not five thirty yet.
Some guys the morning after their twenty-first birthday wouldn’t dare dream of going for a run but seeing as how drinking has never been something I could partake in, there’s no need to plan for a vicious hangover. The day after my birthday is simply another day.
Speaking of hangovers, though, I glance past Kingston to Archer. Poor guy. I feel for what he’s been through, I really do. Honestly, if we ever get a chance to meet Damien, I will hold that fucker down and let Archer release all that pent up anger on him. Because as much as I’d felt his shame when he’d told us the truth of his relationship with his stepbrother… I’d also felt the rage that simmers just below the surface. Archer no doubt drinks to forget and to stop the unending pain he feels surrounding the situation. To make everything a slightly hazier version of what he’s endured at Damien’s hands. I wish I’d known what he’s been through sooner, but now so much about Archer clicks into place.
