“She’s not impressed with your weapon, asshole.” Cole smirks. “No wonder she left you.”
“I left you, too,” I whisper.
A dismal cloud darkens Cole’s expression, and his hands clench on the back of the couch.
“Have you both lost your minds?” I stab a shaky finger between them, my voice rising to a teary shrill. “I quit this and moved on. I’m supposed to be on my way to a new life right now. A new life without you. So I’m struggling to understand why I’m here, knee-deep in your toxic, manipulative bullshit.”
“How’s that going for you?” Cole tilts his head, giving me the full brunt of his gaze.
“What?”
“Your life.” His jaw sets. “Moving on. Without me.”
It’s only been five weeks, and I feel like a severed, broken sliver of the person I was. I’ve lost weight, lost energy, lost the will to do anything. The move to Florida is supposed to be a change of scenery, a way out of this miserable goddamn rut. But I’m not telling him any of that.
“Which one of you drugged me?” My throat scratches, my eyes gummy with hot tears.
Trace regards me for a moment, his brows pulling in and expression pained. Then he lowers the gun and releases the magazine into his hand.
“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” The muscles in my neck strain to the point of pain. “I woke alone, in a strange room, thinking the worst. I didn’t know who took me, why I was here, or what would happen to me.”
“I know my apology has no weight under the circumstances.” Trace empties the chamber on the gun and sets the pieces on the sofa table before him. Then his blue eyes lift to mine. “But I’m sorry. We stepped out of your room to settle a dispute.”
“It was a lapse in judgment.” Cole bends forward, elbows on his knees, and regards me with shadows in his gaze. “We’re both at fault. I’m sorry, too.”
They’re apologizing for leaving me unattended? What about the whole damn kidnapping thing? Maybe it’s the drugs, but I’m having a really hard time understanding what the living fuck is going on.
“Why did you do this?” I hug my waist, working to keep my blubbering emotions under control. “Why am I here?”
“You haven’t danced since you left,” Trace says softly.
I look away and grind my teeth. “You were watching me?”
“Always.”
“My house is still bugged?”
My old house. The reminder that I sold it makes my chest hurt.
“I reinstalled the cameras the day I moved out.” Cole studies me intently.
“It was all an illusion then.” My voice rasps, thick with resentment. “I was never free of you.” A hollow laugh bubbles up, choked by a sob. “You let me walk out of the penthouse that day, with every intention of monitoring me? That’s so fucking ironic, because your cameras and listening devices and constant invasion of my privacy were big reasons why I left.”
If they’ve been watching me, they know just how wretched I’ve been without them. I haven’t been eating, dancing, or living. I haven’t done anything but miss them with every goddamn pang in my chest.
How fucked up is that? To ache for not one but two men who lie and cheat and manipulate at every turn? Oh, and now I can add drugs and kidnapping to the list of reasons why I should be looking for a phone and reporting their asses to the authorities.
Is this Trace’s estate? I don’t even know where I am. “What is this place?”
Cole meets Trace’s eyes and shifts his unblinking glare to me. “This is where we finish this.”
“Finish what?” I gape at Cole, my pulse thrashing at the base of my throat. “No, never mind. I quit this shit five weeks ago, which means I’m done. It’s over.”
I whirl toward the front entry and take off at a sprint. Maybe there’s a car outside or neighbors who can help me. Or maybe there’s not. I just need to get the fuck out of here.
When I reach the door, I find it locked with another keypad.
“Let me out, dammit.” I yank frantically on the handle, heaving with desperation. “You can’t keep me here.”
Their silence heats my blood, and I pivot to face them.
“Are you holding me hostage?” I glare at Trace’s irritatingly composed expression.
“We didn’t kidnap you.” Cole stands from the couch. “And we’re not holding you here.”
“You’re a liar, Cole.” I release the door and storm back toward them. “One of you drugged me and brought me here. Or was it both of you? Are you working together now?”
Trace scowls at Cole. Neither of them speak.
Two seconds ago, I walked in on a standoff with a gun. It’s safe to assume that whatever arrangement they’ve cooked up is unstable at best.
I veer past them and check the patio doors. All locked with keypads. Circling the kitchen island, I search for another way out. “What was your disagreement about?”
“You’ve made some poor choices.” Trace clasps his hands behind his back and follows me at a distance. “Specifically, your decision to move halfway across the country.”
“It was the smartest decision I’ve made since I met you.” I swing open a door in the kitchen, revealing a massive pantry. Damn. “Where’s the garage?”
Open shelving on the kitchen’s raw wood walls displays dishes and cookware. The floor plan is simple, airy, and bright, as if designed to pull visitors toward the exterior views of the lake and woodland.
There’s another door beyond the built-in refrigerator, the wood frame blending with the maple cabinetry. I bet it leads to a garage.
“You’re free to go.” Cole prowls around the long kitchen island, standing opposite of Trace and corralling me in. “After I explain a few things and deliver your punishment.”
“Punishment?” My jaw drops, and my heart rate explodes. “Are you serious?”
Trace assumes an imposing stance, hands behind him, blocking my path to the garage door. His eyes flick between Cole and the gun on the table. “We haven’t agreed on who is punishing her.”
“That was the disagreement?” I stab my fingers through my hair, my voice pitching with disbelief. “You wanted to be the one to punish me, so you pulled a gun on Cole?”
“I want to be the only one putting a hand on you. Ever.”
“This is nuts.” I try to dart around him, but he shifts with me, trapping me behind the island. I turn to Cole, who barricades the other end. I’ll scratch and claw my way past them if I need to. “We’re over. No more talking. No more punish—”
“You kicked me out of our house.” Cole stalks closer, six feet away, three feet, every long stride forcing me backward toward Trace. “I haven’t talked to you or touched you in weeks. Not cool, baby. Your ass is going to be so fucking red you won’t be able to sit down for days.”
“You cheated on me!” A sob rises up, shaking my shoulders. “I waited for you, mourned your death, while you were banging another woman!”
“Are you hearing this?” Cole glowers at Trace and thrusts a finger in my direction. “She just proved my fucking point. I win.”
Trace’s nostrils widen with a heavy inhale before he gives a slight nod. “Fine.”