14 - Monty
14
Monty
—
The next three days bleed into a grind of finalizing details and rehearsing our story until it’s woven tight. Every word we practice is a carefully placed brick in the wall we’re building to protect Frankie.
Meetings with detectives come first. They interrogate us separately, poke around for cracks in our wall, and leave with the promise to find the two mothers who lost their sons.
They won’t.
Then the press arrives, vultures circling for scraps, starving for a juicy story, demanding their pound of flesh.
They’re the hardest to convince.
To satisfy them, we agree to separate interviews and spend two days moving from one engagement to the next within the estate.
We only need to give them enough to answer their questions. If there’s nothing scandalous to report on, they’ll pack up and go away.
After my final interview, I wander the main house, searching for my wife.
My mind races, constantly scanning for potential threats, calculating risks, and mapping out contingency plans if our story doesn’t stick.
The most pressing topic in every interview has been the location of the cabin. If I only knew. It’s the catalyst that can set the whole thing on fire.
Denver never told them its location, and the storm disoriented Leo during the flight, leaving him unsure of the exact direction they came from. Frankie’s convinced it lies in the hills of the Brooks Range, but we have no way to confirm this without sending a massive search party. Which could draw unwanted attention.
The Turbo Beaver’s Hobbs meter indicates it was within a four-hour flight from Whittier, which matches Leo’s recollection.
I sigh, feeling the prick of every stake. The flight data recorder was destroyed in the crash, and without GPS or navigation systems, there’s no way to track the flight path.
If we can’t find it, neither can the media. The last thing we need is an ambitious journalist discovering Denver’s body or any of the others left behind.
But if we can’t find it, we may never find my son.
The gravity of it all presses down on me. Sleep is a distant memory, replaced by caffeine and adrenaline. My body moves on autopilot, driven by the singular goal of getting my wife back.
Her eyes, shadowed with fear and determination, haunt my thoughts. I can’t let her down. I won’t let her fall. We’ve repeated our lines, refined our alibis, covered every angle, and tied every loose end.
So far, none of us has slipped up.
Turning the corner, I find Frankie in the kitchen.
Alone.
She stands at the sink with her back to me, the sound of running water masking my approach.
My heart hammers, and my breath quickens.
She’s never without Leo and Kody. They must be stuck in their interviews.
The opportunity is too perfect, my longing to be close to her too overwhelming.
I pause, hanging back for a minute, just watching her.
Her naturally red hair glows in the sunset light from the window, cascading to her waist like a fiery waterfall. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, swaying those slender hips. I know every curve and dip by memory. I could draw her shape with my eyes closed. She’s so soft. So feminine and dainty. But her petite frame belies the strength she possesses.
She’s always been meticulous about her health, eating right, running, and taking care of herself. The nurse in her demands a healthy lifestyle, and it shows in the way she moves, every gesture filled with unconscious sensuality and allure.
She leaves me breathless.
I miss her so much it hurts. I miss holding her in my arms, feeling the warmth of her body, spreading her out beneath me, and fucking her for hours every night.
Her pure, compassionate heart is almost as addictive as her filthy, sexual mind.
The sight of her standing in my kitchen transports me back to when she lived here happily, before the abduction, when everything was right in our world. It feels natural to stroll up to her, wrap my arms around her, and rest my chin on her shoulder.
I do it without thinking, drawn in by the rightness of it, drugged by the scent of her cherry perfume.
The instant my hands slide around her waist, I’m a slave to the familiar feel of her. My skin heats. My mouth dries, and my cock stiffens against my zipper.
She freezes. Chokes on a cry.
My stomach clenches, and I drop my hands. Too late.
She whirls, slashing out a knife from the butcher block. The blade catches my throat, the blinding pain making me gasp.
Fuck! How did she grab a weapon so fast?
“Frankie.” I press my hand to the wound, unable to stop the flow of warm blood through my fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
Her eyes widen in horror. Her face pales. Her hand trembles, and the knife clatters to the floor.
She stumbles away, her breath coming in ragged bursts. Her pupils dilate, and her eyes dart around the room as if trapped somewhere else.
Caged in a nightmare.
“Frankie, it’s okay.” I take a step toward her, reaching. “It’s not your fault.”
She flinches violently, her whole body recoiling as if I’m the threat, cutting me deeper than any knife.
“No, no, no, no.” She blinks rapidly, tears spilling from her eyes and breaking my heart.
“Hey, hey, shhh.” I can’t touch her. She despises me, and I’m covered in blood. I don’t know what to do.
Her hands cover her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she rocks back and forth.
“Stop! Stop! Let me go!” Her eyes are wild, lost in a memory I can’t see.
Is it the trauma of her abduction? Or the sexual assault? Her journal described everything in detail. Denver took her from behind when he kidnapped her and later when he forced himself on her.
A shudder tears through me, and my thoughts scatter, unable to grasp the magnitude of what I’ve done.
The helplessness, the fear—I brought it all crashing back, hitting her like a tidal wave and pulling her under.
“Breathe, baby.” I flutter my hands around her, not touching, utterly useless. “Listen to my voice. You’re in Sitka. You’re home. Safe. No one can hurt you here.”
She lowers to the floor and curls into a ball, her quick, shallow gasps flooding me with panic.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I remove my phone, my fingers flying over the screen, smearing blood with the urgency of my message.
Leo, Kody: Come to the kitchen now. Be calm. She’s scared. PTSD?
I hit send and pocket the device, unsure if they know how to open a text. They’ve only had their phones for three days.
Sinking to my knees beside her, I reach out a hand, then pull it back, afraid to touch her. I’ll only make it worse. But my mind screams at me to do something, anything, to bring her back from the edge.
Her chest heaves as she struggles to breathe, each inhale a desperate gulp for air. Her skin takes on a clammy sheen, beading with sweat, and she shakes uncontrollably in the grip of a full-blown panic attack.
“Frankie, please,” I whisper, heart pounding. “You’re safe.”
She can’t hear me. She’s too far gone, lost in the depths of hell. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable and broken, it shatters me. It makes me realize just how deep her wounds truly go.
“Frankie,” I say again, hoping somehow my voice can reach her, bring her back to me. “I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”
She doesn’t respond, her eyes wide and unfocused, still caught in the throes of panic. Her breaths come in rapid, shallow gasps, and she clutches her head, rocking in the fetal position.
I can’t fucking bear it.
Footfalls approach from the hallway, heavy and determined. I release a sigh of relief.
Leo bursts into the kitchen, his eyes instantly locking onto her trembling form on the floor. His expression hardens, and he rushes to her side, kneeling beside me.
“What happened?” He glances at my bleeding neck, reaching for her.
“Wait. Go slow.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. “I triggered something, a memory, and she pulled a knife on me. How often does this happen?”
“Never.” He looks shocked, his brows knitting. “Kody does this sometimes, but not her.”
“How long does it last?” I whisper. “With Kody?”
“Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours, depending on the severity and trigger.” He bends over her, his movements slow and deliberate. “Frankie, it’s me. I got you, love. You’re safe.”
He leans in close to lift her.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” She screams over and over, sobbing and scrambling away until her back hits the pantry door. “Please, don’t hurt me again.”
He looks stricken, sitting back on his heels and grabbing his head. “What the fuck? What the fuck?”
“Hey.” I snap my fingers in his face, halting his mini-freak-out. “How do you pull Kody out of it?”
“We don’t. I mean, she did once. But I don’t know how.”
Kody rushes in, his posture taut like a bowstring drawn to its limit. His black eyes sweep over her, and he steps closer, his presence an oppressive shadow that consumes the light.
He crouches beside her, his expression blank as he gently cups the back of her head.
“Frankie, it’s me, Kody.” His voice, though gruff, holds a note of desperation. “Snap out of it.”
Her eyes remain wide, unseeing, as she coughs and wheezes, hyperventilating.
He tries everything—commands, firm touches, stern reminders of who she is—but nothing breaks through.
Leo paces back and forth, unable to stand still. His fists clench at his sides, every exhale a snarl of distrust aimed at me.
“Frankie, look at me.” Kody crowds her without making physical contact. “He’s dead. Gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. Look at me, goddammit. See me .”
“No needles. No needles. Please, no more needles.” Her panic escalates. Her feet kick out, and she fights her way across the floor, putting distance between her and us.
I watch helplessly, my own anxiety rising with her terror. Measuring my breaths, I try to calm my growing anger—at myself, at the situation, at the lack of control.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Leo strides over, his temper unraveling. “What triggered this?”
Fuck, this isn’t helping. They aren’t helping. But I’m desperate, so I give him the truth.
“She was at the sink. I didn’t announce myself. I came up behind her and put my hands on her hips. I thought…” I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t thinking. My touch, my presence, something triggered her. She grabbed a knife and…”
I gesture at the cut on my neck.
Too bad my ferocious girl didn’t have a knife the night Denver took her.
Leo’s eyes narrow, his expression dark. “You fucking sneaked up on her?”
“I didn’t know it was a trigger.” I narrow my eyes right back. “That would’ve been an important fucking thing to tell me, don’t you think?”
“We didn’t know.” Kody hovers over her, his frustration boiling over into barely concealed rage.
Before any of us can say more, footsteps echo down the hall.
Reporters.
Some of them are still on the island, and if they walk in on this…
The knife on the floor. The blood leaking from my throat. Frankie curled up like she was attacked.
“Fuck!” I tear off my shirt, sending the buttons flying, and use it to sop up the red mess coating my hands and chest.
“I’ll deal with them.” Leo storms off, leaving me and Kody with Frankie.
I draw in a steeling breath and move closer, lowering beside her. Kody glares but doesn’t move to stop me. My hand trembles as I reach out, brushing her hair away from her face.
She doesn’t react, doesn’t seem to hear or see anything around her. Her mind is somewhere else, somewhere horrific and unfathomable.
I close my eyes, searching for something, anything, that might help her escape.
Then it comes to me. A song. Our song. The one we danced to at our wedding. I start humming softly, the familiar tune shaky at first but gaining strength with each note.
“Frankie, it’s me,” I whisper between the verses. “It’s Monty. I’m here. Come back to me.”
I keep humming, the melody wrapping around us.
Memories flood back—our wedding day, her radiant smile, the way we swayed together under the twinkling lights. My throat tightens, breaking the rhythm. But I push through, focusing on the music.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I notice a change. Her breathing, rapid and shallow, begins to steady. Her eyes, wild and unfocused, start to clear.
She blinks, her gaze darting around before landing on me. Recognition pulses in her eyes, and a small, fragile connection forms.
My shoulders droop as a thousand-pound mistake lifts from them.
“Monty?” Her voice is brittle, faint, but it’s there.
“I’m here. I’m right here, baby.” I keep humming, holding her gaze, willing her to trust me.
Gradually, the tension in her body melts away. She uncurls from her fetal position, extending a trembling hand to grasp mine. I squeeze it gently, offering her my strength, my love.
“You’re okay.” I brush a tear from her cheek, the echoes of our song lingering in the air. “You’re safe.”
She nods, a tiny, shaky movement, but it’s enough. The panic recedes, leaving us both drained but connected.
I haven’t forgotten Kody, his stormy presence looming behind me, his eyes boring into my back. Slowly, I turn to face him, still holding her soft hand.
Surprise and wariness war in his expression, his usual confidence shaken.
“Didn’t know you could sing…” He stares down at her, then back at me, cruelty frosting his eyes. “Like a goat.”
“Kody,” she whispers, her breathing now even as her body sags over my lap.
Within seconds, she’s asleep.
His bearing softens into something more complicated—reluctant gratitude, residual distrust, and relief.
“Guess it worked,” he mutters, his tone grudging as he runs a hand through his hair. “Thank you.”
His gratitude is stiff, strangled. I can tell it cost him.
I incline my head, acknowledging the truce, however temporary it may be.
Leo returns, sprinting into the kitchen, out of breath and sweating.
“Reporters are taken care of. Everyone’s gone except the security team.” He glances between us, assessing the situation quickly. “Is she…?”
“Better.” I keep my voice low. “For now.”
First thing tomorrow, I’m lining up a therapist, psychiatrist, whatever she needs.
He nods, his gaze sharpening where her head rests on my thigh. If he picks a fight with me about this and disturbs her sleep, I’ll know exactly where his priorities lie.
His eyes shift to Kody, and in one look, they seem to hold an entire conversation. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them do that.
“He did good,” Kody finally says, the words surprising in their sincerity. “He calmed her down, brought her back to us.”
Leo turns to me, letting his unnerving, dual-colored stare linger several beats too long. “We need to keep her stable.”
Silence descends in a twilight of acceptance.
We may not trust each other, but we all want the same thing.
And right now, she’s stable with me.