That becomes painstakingly clear by the wooden walls and flooring that make up the open kitchen and connected living room.
But what I'm not expecting is to see my captor standing at the stove in the small kitchen, his back turned to me as he flips pancakes.
He peers over his shoulder, familiar hazel eyes connecting with my own.
“Logan?” My voice is barely a whisper and rough with sleep.
My cousin smiles, the whole delusional situation lost on him. “Mornin'. Well, it isn't morning…”
He’s dressed in a dark Henley and jeans. Rugged hiking boots cover his feet as he shifts his weight to face me. His hair is shorter, and he’s far more filled out than he was when we were kids.
I blink in surprise, questions filtering through my head as I stare at him.
He cants his chin towards the stack of pancakes piled on a plate beside him. “Sorry for serving breakfast, but it’s all I had in the pantry—”
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask in outrage. “You drugged me! And kidnapped me!”
He frowns, his dark brows that mimic my own, pulling down. “I didn't kidnap you, A. I brought you home.”
My head rears. “Home? Where the fuck am I?”
“Montana,” Logan answers.
I press my fingers to my temples, everything feeling like too much. “What is going on? Why did you—”
“Dad got a call from your mom,” he sighs, cutting the burner off. “Sit and let’s talk.”
I don't want to eat fucking pancakes with my cousin, whom I haven't seen since I was ten. I wantanswers.
I make a sound of deep aggravation at the back of my throat, but my cousin ignores me as he pulls some plates down from a cabinet and sets the dining room table. He takes a seat at the far end before motioning to the chair across from him.
I plop down in it, snatching two pancakes off the plate before smacking them messily onto my own. “Your explanation had better be good.”
He chuckles. “I found you at Rowan Kingsley’s house, so I'm assuming you know about the syndicate.”
“More or less,” my eyes narrow on him.
He stares at me for a beat before sighing. “There are different branches. Dad is the leader of the Northwestern syndicate, and I'll take over his title once he retires.”
I stop, my hand tightening around the fork I'm holding. “What are you saying, Logan?”
I know the answer, but my mind can't process any of it. How could my family be a part of this? Did my dad know? Does my mom know?
And if they did…
Why didn't anyone tell me anything?
My cousin’s eyes find mine, something serious settling on his features. “Our dads worked for the syndicate, A. They’ve always known about it, and so did your mom.”
My whole world tilts on its axis as everything slows around me. Is it possible for time itself to slow down? I feel like I'm frozen in place, and life around me has ceased to exist.
How is this possible?
Why?
Talking feels impossible, but as the question tumbles past my lips, I feel numb. “Where’s my mom?”
“She’s here,” Logan says gently. “She wanted to be here when you found out. She’s staying with my dad across the compound.”
