And my own fear had scared her, terrified her. I threatened her. And I felt like nothing more than a piece of shit because of it.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling stubble start to come in on my cheeks and jaw. I was so fucking tired. We all were, and I knew there wouldn’t be any sleep to be had until Wilder made it through and was stable.
I wouldn’t be able to rest until I knew he’d survive.
I thought about what I told her, how I swore she’d feel my wrath if Wilder died. It had been a frantic lie. I wouldn’t hurt her. But in this situation, I didn’t know what to do now. I kidnapped her; she’d seen a lot of shit going down these past handful of hours, but I couldn’t just let her walk out of here or she could identify our house… us in general. Fuck, she was even a witness to the murder and crime in the back alley of that shitty bar.
She was too much of a risk.
I had to figure something else out, but I also had to make sure she knew she was safe, even if she didn’t feel like it.
Chapter Nine
Zoey
The sound of a door closing gently roused me, and I blinked a few times, my vision slightly blurry as I stared at the ceiling. I’d slept like the dead after I finally passed out, but I felt like I could use another full day of being unconscious before I felt human again.
The events from last night rushed through me. I was a little bit surprised and proud of myself that I wasn’t freaking out as reality all sunk back in.
Kimber and Amelia pulled out the sofa bed for me late last night, and as I continued lying there on my back, staring at the ceiling, I watched the play of light move across the ceiling from the sun streaming through the open blinds.
I looked out the window. The wrought iron bars probably should’ve made my panic rise, but I felt nothing in that moment.
What the fuck am I actually doing? I thought to myself. I turned my head to the left to where the bed was, saw Wilder lying there almost peacefully, and for some reason, I breathed a sigh of relief, as it was clear he was still alive. His color still looked ghostly, but he was alive. Again, for the hundredth time since being put in this situation, I wondered why the hell I cared so much.
The sheet was pulled up to his waist, his chest bare, and the bandage that wrapped around his muscular torso and covered his wound looked new, stark-white with no blood seeping through.
I looked back to the bedroom door, saw it was closed, and I noticed a stack of clean clothing set on a little table between the couch and bedroom door. There was another tray, presumably from Amelia or Kimber, left for me. I leaned forward to get a better look at what sat atop it. There was another bottle of water, a glass of orange juice, and a plate that held what looked like a blueberry muffin, a little bowl of mixed fruit, and two sausage links.
Despite feeling like I hadn’t gotten enough sleep and that I’d been ran over by a semi, my stomach clenched then growled at the sight of the food. I rubbed my hands over my eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them, attempting to clear my head.
This whole situation was insane. I still didn’t have my purse or my phone, which I was going to demand to be returned to me, and then I was going to figure out what the hell was going on. They couldn’t keep me here against my will, but even as I thought that, I also told myself these men clearly didn’t play by the rules or give a fuck what was legal or illegal.
I got up and started fixing the sheets, putting the couch back together and then standing and staring at it. I shook my head in disbelief at my own actions, tidying up what was essentially my prison. I was so tired, so damn tired, and it wasn’t just physical but mental.
The last twenty-four hours took a toll on me, not just what happened with being taken, but also in the mindset that I was leaving again, packing up and setting temporary roots somewhere else. As much as I enjoyed the nomad life, it was very weary and lonesome. I did miss human connection, interaction… friends. It might not seem like I cared much for those things, because I was always bouncing from one place to the next, but there was a part of me that wished I could settle down, that I could bond with people, with someone enough that it would make me want to stay somewhere permanently.
On the heels of that thought, I looked at Wilder again. His head was turned in my direction, his short, dark hair mussed.
I stared at him for a long seconds once again, watching the way his chest rose and fell steadily. I didn’t know anything about medical intervention, wounds of this nature, or the survival rate. I hoped that because he was still alive it was a very good sign, but I didn’t want to bring it up or ask in fear of jinxing it.
I walked over to the small table by the couch and picked up the clothes. It was a pair of jeans and a V-neck white T-shirt. I was a little bigger than the sizes they gave me, but they’d work. I’d make them. Anything was better than the clothes I’d worn and slept in for over a day.
There was also a brand-new toothbrush, a little travel-size tube of toothpaste, and a small toiletry kit that had showering necessities. I knitted my brows. It was like these people thought I was moving in, or hell, like I was at some motel with turn-down service.
I didn’t think too hard on that, because the truth was, I felt grimy and disgusting, and a hot shower was calling to me.
After heading into the bathroom, taking the hottest shower imaginable, hot enough I’m surprised I didn’t burn my skin off, I got dressed and headed back out into the room. I was running the small brush through my long dark hair when I stopped short, seeing Frankie kneeling by Wilder’s bed. My heart jumped in my throat and my breathing stalled. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
I didn’t move, taking shallow breaths, but it felt like my heart was so loud, echoing off the walls and ceiling.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Frankie said in a deep, husky voice. He looked over his shoulder at me, and I could see just from his face that he hadn’t slept all night. The scruff on his jaw was several days thick, and the dark circles under his eyes showed his exhaustion. He knelt on the floor beside the bed, his hand on Wilder’s forearm.
I wanted to say something snarky, pointing out that why wouldn’t I be afraid given the circumstance, but now seemed like a grossly inappropriate time. I didn’t know why I cared about what was appropriate or not with this man, but still, I found myself walking over to the couch and sitting down, the brush still in my hand, the damp strands of my hair hanging around my shoulders and starting to dampen my cotton T-shirt.
He turned his attention back to Wilder, sighed heavily, his wide shoulders and big chest moving up and down from the act, and then he was standing. I saw his hand tighten around Wilder’s forearm before he turned and faced me. Frankie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I noticed he still wore the same clothes from last night, the faded blue jeans that looked a little looser around him because he’d been in them for so long, and his dark T-shirt was wrinkled. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it all night.
Despite Wilder and Frankie being identical twins, there were strong differences in both of them. I found Wilder insanely attractive, felt an undeniable pull to him, this strange connection as I held his bleeding body against me in the back of that SUV. But when I looked at Frankie, I felt nothing, no recognition, no attraction. Nothing. Despite him being my kidnapper, I would’ve thought, because he looked exactly like Wilder, that I would’ve felt some form of desire.