“We got something big going down, Bubba.”
The sound of his little brother using his old nickname elicited a pang in his chest. “Yeah?” Reid looked at the men standing around him, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of his neck.
Zane chuckled lightly and scrubbed at the back of his neck under hair that fell long and greasy. He needed a shower. His brother’s eyes were bloodshot from God knew what drug and a patchy beard hugged his cheeks. It was hard to reconcile him to the soft--faced boy Reid had last seen. “Why don’t I show you?”
Turning, Zane headed down the dark hall to the back bedrooms. The carpet was flat and matted beneath Reid’s shoes as he followed his brother. He felt the other men behind him, crowding close like anxious dogs. Something was definitely in the air. Feral and testosterone--laced. He recognized it from prison. Right when a fight broke out. Blood was in the water and the sharks were hungry.
Zane opened the door to the master bedroom and stepped inside. Reid followed. He sucked in a breath as his gaze landed on the bed and the woman restrained there. His stomach pitched and a fresh wave of acid surged up inside him.
Her hands were bound together with a single cord that extended to the brass headboard. She sat board--straight on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were red--rimmed and puffy. She’d been crying, but her eyes were now bone--dry above the gag. She didn’t blink as her wide brown stare flitted over him, assessing him before flicking to the men at his back. Her nostrils flared as if scenting danger. She would be right about that. They were the wolves and she their next meal. Of that he was certain.
She tossed her head and said something against the gag. Her dark hair was loose and tangled around her shoulders, trailing long over her cream--colored blouse. The shiny fabric was dirt--smudged and stained, but still looked expensive. Probably the most expensive thing in this cabin. A bruise marred the flesh of her cheek above the gag where someone had hit her.
Reid still had no problem recognizing her. Fuck.
“Surprise!” Zane waved at her.
They’d done it. They’d abducted the president’s daughter.
TWENTY-FIVE
BRIAR THREW HERSELF into her work. For a long time being a nurse was the only thing that had mattered. It gave her purpose and fed her soul. Then she met Knox and he had filled her mind with other things. Things she had no business thinking or feeling with him. She was determined to forget those things and get back to the way she was before.
When she wasn’t at work, she did laundry and watched TV. The media rolled constant coverage about the missing First Daughter. She had watched in fascination initially. Until she realized they only had conjecture and no real information to report.
Then Briar took to cleaning her condo until it was spotless. She went to the store and loaded up on ingredients to cook things like lasagna and pies and cookies from scratch. Things that took concentration and time. When she was done making her pies and lasagna and cookies, she would just sit back and stare at them. And then clean and do more laundry.
But always, Knox was in the back of her mind. His face, his touch, his voice. I could lose control. Around you, I feel that way.
She admitted that was maybe his great appeal to her. Why she was so drawn to him. Because she felt consumed. She felt needed. As though she was oxygen to him. He had wanted her and there had been something desperate and powerful about it. No one had ever wanted her like that. She wanted him like that, too.
And he had let her go because of it. Even confessing her love for him—-or near--love—-hadn’t mattered. If anything, it made him head to the door faster.
She sighed as she paused amid folding her laundry to take a pie out of the oven. Maybe he was right. Maybe feelings like that were unhealthy.
She set the pie to cool as a knock sounded on her door. Slipping off her oven mitt, she moved to look out her peephole. Her sister stood there alone, and she grimaced.
“I know you’re in there,” Laurel said, staring back at Briar like she could see her through the peephole. “I saw your car and I can smell pie.”
“Fine,” she muttered, and pulled the door open.
Her sister stared at her a moment before sweeping inside.
“You haven’t answered my calls,” Laurel accused.
“I texted you back. I’ve just been busy.”
Laurel sniffed the air. “Blackberry?”
Briar nodded.
Her sister moved into the kitchen to glance at the other two pies already set out to cool. “What are you so busy doing? Opening your own bakery?”
“What are you doing here, Laurel? It’s Sunday.” She always had family events and activities planned in the afternoon with her family. Briar knew because she was usually there, too.
“We needed to talk, and seeing as you’re avoiding my calls, here I am.” She spread her arms wide.
“You don’t need to say anything about the other day. I’m not seeing Knox anymore.”