"Why don't you rest in the spare bedroom upstairs? You look like shit."
"Yeah, I feel like it too."
"Try to sleep. We'll see what we have in the morning. Natalie can sleep on the sofa. Annabeth and I will be up for a while, and we won't leave her alone."
Agreeing because exhaustion overwhelmed him, Cade forced himself to his feet and cataloged his pain, perversely grateful for the suffering that felt like a penance for his colossal mistake. He passed by Natalie dozing on the sofa and trudged up the stairs as the events of the day washed over him like some montage from a movie. Was it really only hours ago that Tristan was making love to him and telling him he was falling for him?
How did everything go so wrong so quickly?
He collapsed on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers, and lay there for a long while, recalling every minute of the last six days and praying he hadn't lost the man who had suddenly and unexpectedly become the most important person in his life.
Chapter 19: Captivity
Tristan
Stabbing pain, dizziness, bile creeping up his throat.
Tristan jerked awake, feeling the sensations all at once in a jarring return to consciousness.
Blinking as he tried to focus, the room spun viciously, and his eyes recoiled from the harsh lights, so he squeezed them shut again, sucking in deep, rattled breaths. He tried to swallow, but his mouth felt like cotton, and he couldn't get his bearings.
Bracing himself against the dizziness, Tristan peeled his eyes open, bringing the room into shaky focus. A room, a car. His brain struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings, but wooziness jumbled his thoughts.
Trying to clear his sight and mind, he reached up to rub his eyes, but confusion spiked when he realized his hands wouldn't move, that they were bound tight behind him. A glance down showed his ankles tied to a chair with white rope. Panic flashed, and he strained against the restraints, but the knots held tight.
He still couldn't grasp what was happening.
Disoriented and dazed, he focused on the last thing he could remember... the rescue, the house, the car.
The memories twisted back into focus, sharp and sickening.
Tristan had felt antsy and cramped as he crouched on the floor of the car, so he peeked over the seat to look for signs of activity from the house. Believing that the headlights rolling toward him signaled the end of the extraction, he was relieved... until it became clear the vehicle wasn't Kate's white van.
Dropping back to the floor, he cursed his stupidity as his heart hammered with fear. When the car door jerked open, he nearly pissed his pants.
"Get out, nice and slow."
Blood turned to ice in his veins as Tristan peeked up and came face to face with a gun. Again. Praying for Cade or the other guys to save him, he climbed from the car as slowly as possible, trying to buy time.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
Tristan tried to stall, tried to think up something clever, but all that came out was stuttering. "I... uh... "
"Wait a minute, you're the red-headed reporter. What the fuck are you doing here?"
The weapon inched toward his head, and Tristan imagined being shot right there, pictured Cade and Natalie finding his body in this very spot. The ghastly image had words tumbled out, "Getting my sister."
The man's eyes flicked to the house, then back at him. "Why are you out here?"
When Tristan didn't answer, the guy shoved the gun into the flesh of his forehead. "You got someone in there for you? How many guys?"
As cold metal dug into his skin, bloodcurdling fear had Tristan blurting out a spontaneous lie that might prevent the man from going inside. "Six!"
The man stared at the house, his face screwed up in concentration as Tristan held his breath, afraid that any tiny movement from either of them would signal his death.
But after several beats, the man cursed, turned back to Tristan, and said, "You took the Broker's laptop, didn't you?"
Tristan gulped, trying to think, but he was too afraid to answer, unsure if saying yes or no was better.
