The faint vibration of rock music thumps from somewhere at the other end of the house. It doesn’t sound far away. More like the volume is set on low.
A knot of nerves strangles my throat as I creep along the hallway, following the random-sized pieces of slate that tile the floor. Some of the doors I pass are locked with keypads. Others are open, revealing more large bedrooms, each vacant and tidy, with the same natural hues and picturesque windows.
Whoever owns this place is wealthy and wouldn’t need to capture a woman for ransom. Unless the payment for my release isn’t related to money.
Trace could afford this property, but the modern design isn’t his style. I can’t picture him hanging out in a huge contemporary mansion in rustic-nowhere Missouri away from his work. Besides, if he wanted me here, he wouldn’t drug me to make it happen.
Holding the poker out in front of me, I sneak around a corner and stop.
The corridor descends down a gradual slope of stairs that spill into a brightly-lit living room. Brown leather furniture occupies the center, and it isn’t empty.
Someone’s sitting on the couch.
I press my back against the wall and hold my breath. I can only make out a man’s denim-clad legs, bent at the knees where he reclines. Did he see me? My heart hammers so loudly he can probably hear me freaking the fuck out.
The low rumble of a rock song drifts along the blond maple flooring and echoes through the soaring ceilings. The sound is coming from the TV on the wall beyond the sitting area. I know the melody—the dynamic vocals over electronic and heavy metal instrumentation. I squint at the song title on the bottom of the screen.
Go To War by Nothing More.
A chill trickles down my spine. I’ve heard Cole play that song while working out. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.
I tighten my grip on the poker and fix my attention on the man’s legs. Frayed jeans, tanned bare feet, spread knees. I can’t see the rest of him, but it looks like Cole.
That can’t be right. Why would he be sitting here while I’m passed out and left alone in a strange house? Is he in trouble? Was he kidnapped, too?
With my back pressed to the wall, I gulp down my terror and edge forward on shaky legs. Every step down the long stairs requires stealth, vigilance, and a plan—none of which I possess. All I want to do is run back to the bedroom and hide under the bed.
When I reach the bottom stair, I see him.
Cole.
Stubble darkens his handsome profile, his brown hair tousled and physique seemingly stronger, bulkier, than the last time I saw him.
It’s been five weeks.
My pulse slams into overdrive, and a sharp pain stabs my chest.
I kicked him out. Changed my number. Sold my house. I never thought I’d see him again.
And here he is.
He doesn’t look at me, his attention transfixed on something I can’t see. But I’m in his periphery. Experience tells me he’s far more observant than he’s letting on. He knows I’m here.
My stomach hardens as I watch him, waiting for a sign, a verbal cue, anything to clue me in on how to proceed.
Seconds pass like hours. My shoulders tighten, my heart rate reaching dangerous levels. Why isn’t he speaking or moving? I need to know what he’s looking at.
With the poker gripped in a clammy hand, I lean forward, stretching as far as possible while remaining hidden. When the width of the room comes into view, my heart slams to a stop.
Trace.
He stands behind a second couch, his arctic blue eyes and angry scowl trained on Cole. The sight of him in a t-shirt and dark denim jeans is arresting, but that isn’t what holds my breath hostage.
He’s aiming a handgun, finger on the trigger, directly at Cole.
“How are you feeling, baby?” Cole doesn’t take his eyes off Trace.
I jerk my head back, and a sudden coldness hits my core. Cole’s talking to me? Why is his tone so casual? Like he’s not staring down the barrel of a gun. Like I wasn’t drugged and kidnapped and dropped in the most fucked-up situation imaginable. What the fuck is going on?
“Danni.” Trace cuts his eyes to me and returns to Cole. “Put down the poker and come sit down.”
This isn’t happening. They wouldn’t have done this.
“Please tell me you’re not responsible for drugging and kidnapping me.” My voice is reedy, halting, disbelieving.
They continue to stare at each other in silence, with that damn gun hovering between them.
“Is anyone else here?” I grip the wall and scan the living room and open kitchen on the far end.
“Just the three of us.” Cole stretches his arms across the back of the couch, making his chest a bigger target for Trace’s bullet. “One big happy family.”
I have so many questions, and my composure is eroding by the second. Fear from moments ago, grief from the past five weeks, the devastation of their betrayal, the utter shock and relief in seeing them both again—all of it churns into a cauldron of bubbling, maniacal emotions. My throat swells. My eyes burn, and the fireplace poker trembles so violently in my hand I can’t hold onto it.
“Trace?” I set the poker on the stairs and take a cautious step forward, tears welling. “Did you do this? Did you kidnap us?”
It kills me to think he might’ve resorted to this level of madness, but he’s holding a gun. I didn’t even know he owned one.
He laughs, a cold cavernous sound. “Explain to me why you think I’m the bad guy.”
I open my mouth to mention the weapon, but my assumption might be wrong. What if Cole kidnapped me and Trace showed up to save me?
That doesn’t feel right, though. This entire situation is fucking with my head, but there’s one thing I know for sure.
“You like to have the upper hand.” I swallow, eyes on Trace. “When I left you, I took away your control over me. Is that what this is? Are you taking the control back?” I pause behind the chair that sits crosswise between them. “Please, put down the gun.”
“Or shoot me already.” With a humorless grin, Cole softly sings along with the vocals of the song, taunting Trace with an arrogant lack of concern.
His beautiful voice is unnervingly distracting. Deep and seductive, he carries a humming tune, mouthing the aggressive lyrics about corrosion of trust, loss of security, and the total breakdown of love.
The song pretty much sums up the state of our ruined relationships. We circled an unsolvable problem, inadvertently tangling a web around us. Lies, jealousy, resentment, stubborn love, all of it spinning us into a vicious spiral. The more we struggled, the stickier and tighter the web became. So I walked away, gave up everything I loved, before it was too late to escape.
Or so I thought.
“I have more control than you know, Danni.” Trace holds the gun steady, arm stretched and trained on Cole. “But that’s not what this is about.”
“You’re holding Cole at gunpoint, and that has nothing to do with me?” I feel sick to my stomach with anxiety.
“We’re just settling a disagreement.” Trace scans my hunched, swaying stance. “Sit your ass down before you pass out.”
“I’m not moving until you put away the gun.”