16 - Kodiak
16
Kodiak
—
The tension in my chest constricts as I watch the energy slowly drain from Frankie.
She’s been through too much today, yet here she is, stitching the stab wound in Monty’s neck.
Her fingers move with practiced ease, guiding the needle with swift, sure motions. She bends in close, her breathing stable, her focus unshakable. Pulling the wound’s edges together, she places each stitch with a gentle touch.
“I was only a few millimeters off from nicking your carotid artery.” A shiver runs through her, leaving goosebumps on her arms.
“But you didn’t.” Monty angles his head, making the wound more accessible to her. “It’s like some part of you didn’t want to kill me.”
“Monty…” She lines up the next stitch. “No part of me wants to kill you.”
“The letter you wrote to me disagrees.” Eyes closed, jaw clenched in silent endurance, he remains still under her careful ministrations.
An impressive effort, given his apparent aversion to needles.
“I wrote that letter the night Denver…the night he raped Wolf.” Her fingers brush over the edges of his bruised face, lingering on the features that look so much like Wolf, as though she’s imagining him instead of Monty.
“I know.” Monty’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
She blinks, sucks in a shaky breath, and adds another suture.
Despite the conversation and circumstances, there’s undeniable beauty in her dedication. It’s in the way her brow furrows in concentration and the murmur of reassurances she offers Monty as she works.
Flexing my hand, I stare at the scar that runs through it. She didn’t trust me the night Denver stabbed me. She didn’t trust any of us. Rightfully so. Still, she stitched my wound with a kindness I didn’t deserve.
She’s so strong, so capable, so damn caring, even after everything. It’s something I’ve always admired about her, even if it makes me insanely protective.
There’s a raw, unspoken bond between healers and protectors.
She’s a hellion on the outside, full of fire and fight. But beneath the ferocity, she’s a tender-hearted soul, drenched in empathy, her heart forever open, giving away her healing power to anyone in need. She bleeds energy, tangled in the pain and need of others until she’s hollowed out.
If she’s not careful, she’ll lose her life force in that endless give.
That’s why she needs protectors, warriors of her heart, standing guard and warding off the takers who try to steal her. She needs us to be her sanctuary, to give her a place to recharge and breathe life back into her weary soul.
Leo and I stand watch, connected in so many ways, but especially in this. In our admiration and love for her. And in our undying need to keep her safe.
She finishes the final stitch and ties it off with a knot. Leaning back, she exhales slowly and rests her fingers against Monty’s throat as if to reassure herself that he’s okay.
He’s fine, woman. You can stop touching him.
“Thank you.” He opens his eyes, staring up at her with unsettling adoration.
“Just…be more careful next time.” Her bottom lip trembles, and she looks away, lowering her hand. “No more sneaking up on crazy people.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“Aren’t I?” She heaves a sigh. “Monty, I need to be honest with you.”
He gives her a single nod, his eyes sharp.
“If I find out you aren’t a danger to us,” she says, “I’ll feel really fucking shitty about the way things turned out.” She swallows. “I haven’t been kind. I’ve been too angry for too long, and you don’t deserve that.”
“Frankie…” He holds up a hand.
“Let me finish. If straying from our vows is your greatest sin, I’m a sinner, too.” She gestures at Leo and me, producing a snarl in my throat. “But… but …if you end up hurting us, then I’m a colossal, certified idiot for moving into your house and depending on you to help them. Do you see the position I’m in? You understand what I’m saying?”
Working his jaw, he inclines his head.
“Why are we here?” She glances around as if noticing her surroundings for the first time. “In this room?”
“We thought…” I rub the back of my neck. “If you went outside in the dark so soon after your panic attack, it might make it worse.”
“I see,” she whispers. “The thing is…I don’t have triggers. I mean, I didn’t. I wish I could remember what happened.”
The few times I had a similar episode, I was sleeping, stuck in a nightmare, and reliving traumatic events. I always remembered the details.
I wish I didn’t.
“It’s okay.” I crouch before her and take her hand. “Your mind is protecting you.”
“Why? Nothing has happened to me that hasn’t happened to you.”
“That’s not true. When you came to Hoss, you were trapped with four men twice your size, and we didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat. We were cruel to you. Kept you at a distance. We all went through hell, but I always had my brothers. Those first few months, you were completely alone.”
Her lips purse in a pensive frown. “Denver trapped me against his kitchen counter. I’m talking about the day he held a hypodermic needle to my neck, and Wolf…” Her hand twitches in the cradle of mine. “Wolf was there.”
“I remember.” I lift her fingers to my mouth, warming them with my breath.
“Maybe that’s why…” She nibbles on her cheek. “Maybe that’s what triggered me.”
I don’t have to wonder if she wrote about that day in her journal. One look at Monty confirms it. He stares at the floor, his eyes unblinking, scourged with the knowledge of what happened.
“I’m tired,” she admits, her voice softening. “Can I just rest for a while? By myself?”
“Of course.” Monty pushes to his feet, giving her space. “We’ll be within earshot if you need anything.”
Then, because she’s Frankie, she looks him dead in the eye and asks, “Are you the threat in Denver’s riddle?”
He holds her gaze, his fingers splaying open and his hands falling limply to his sides. “I don’t know.”
“How do you not know? You’re either going to hurt me, or you’re not.”
“I already hurt you. Maybe he believed I would hurt you again.” He rubs his temple. “That’s not my intention.”
“Are you hiding secrets from me?”
“I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. But you already know that.”
“That’s not an answer. Are you hiding anything from me?”
“Not on purpose. I don’t share every thought in my head. But if you ask, I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I want to trust you.”
“Tell me how to earn it.” He slides his hands into his pockets.
“I don’t know if you can.” She lifts a shoulder.
“Do you need anything?” Leo prowls forward, ending the conversation. “Water? Something to eat?”
“I want to drink tea with no pants on.”
“Good answer.” I adjust the pillows behind her, ensuring she’s comfortable.
Leo removes her sneakers and socks and reaches for the button on her jeans.
When he glances over his shoulder at Monty, she doesn’t wait for their impending argument. She unzips and shimmies the denim down her hips.
“Here. Let me.” Leo adjusts his body to block Monty’s view as he eases the jeans down her legs.
A tightness forms around Monty’s mouth, carving deep lines of jealousy and discontent.
I brace to intervene as Leo pulls the blanket to her chin and kisses her lips.
Monty turns away, hands fisted on his hips.
Leo steps back, giving me room to lean in. My forehead rests against hers in a silent connection. I taste her mouth, caress the graceful shape of her face, and reluctantly pull back.
As we leave the room, I take one last look at her, searching for an excuse to stay.
“I’ll be fine.” She waves her hand. “Go. Keep the peace.”
“What peace?”
“Touché.”
Downstairs, Leo heads to the kitchen to make tea. I lean against the wall in the living room and scowl at the couch.
“It’ll be gone tomorrow.” Monty nods at the thing and takes the chair across from it, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.
“She’s tougher than she looks.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
My lip curls. “Don’t touch her again.”
“I’ll give you the same warning.”
“My touch doesn’t trigger her.”
A vein visibly throbs in his neck, right beside the stitches.
Leo returns with a mug of tea and jabs a finger at us. “No fighting.”
That’s rich, coming from him.
I grunt.
Monty closes his eyes.
While Leo delivers the tea to Frankie, we sit in silence, lost in our thoughts. The only sound is the ticking clock on the mantle, marking the passage of time.
After what feels like hours, Leo joins us, sprawling on the hated couch. “How do we help her?”
“She has a psychiatrist.” I take in Monty’s sudden rigidness. “Who is he?”
“Dr. Doyle Whitaker.” Monty rises from the chair, instantly agitated.
“What’s his deal?”
“He has some kind of hold over her.” He paces the room, his erratic movements and tight circles reminding me of Leo.
With all that anger buzzing under the surface, waiting for an outlet, pacing must be a coping mechanism for him, too.
“Look, I get it.” He swipes a hand down his face. “Doyle has all the credentials. Prestigious medical school, over a decade of experience, and a reputation for helping patients through tough times. But he’s too smooth for a doctor, too magnetic with that damn smile. It makes it easy for him to win people over, especially Frankie.”
“Is that how you won her over?”
He pauses, meets my eyes. “Yes.”
I’ll give him this. He doesn’t shy away from hard questions. His honesty makes me want to side with him.
Good thing I don’t.
“There’s something about him.” He strides to the window, staring out at the dusky landscape. “He’s the type of asshole who crosses ethical lines and manipulates his position for his own gain. He helped her through her mom’s death, and because of that, she values him like a friend.”
“Do you have proof of him manipulating her?” Leo asks.
“No. Their interactions are always behind closed doors, as expected, given the privacy laws. But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s exploiting her when she’s vulnerable. He’s not in this for her. He’s in it for himself.”
Monty is so twisted up with jealousy and possessiveness that it may be clouding the truth. Not that I judge him for it. Leo and I suffer from the same affliction.
Maybe Frankie’s irresistible pull affects all men. Or maybe it’s a Strakh thing. Are the men in my family inclined to latch onto a woman with their fangs and claws and never let go?
Despite everything, Monty has known her the longest. If he thinks Doyle is a threat, I can’t ignore the warning.
Doing something about it, however, is another problem. I saw the way she reacted to Monty’s accusations about Doyle. I need to find a different approach.
“She wants us to see a psychiatrist.” My stomach hardens at the thought. “Let’s bring Doyle in as the family doctor. Each of us can meet with him and formulate our own opinions. Kill two birds with one stone. We get help while getting to know the man helping her.”
“I hate that fucking idea.” Monty grimaces. “But it’s brilliant. I’ll call him in the morning.”
As Monty paces off down the hall to use the bathroom, I turn to Leo. “How’s she doing?”
“Sound asleep.” His smile carries a tenderness reserved only for her.
“Good. She feels safe then.”
“But is she?” Leo flicks his gaze in the direction that Monty went.
“I go back and forth on that. His guilt and concern feel real, but so did Denver’s at times. What do you think?”
“His face gives my middle finger an erection.”
“That’s mature,” I mutter.
“We need to treat him as a threat until we know with one hundred percent certainty that he’s not.”
“Agreed.”
If Monty isn’t the lethal hunter Denver warned about, who is it? Maybe there isn’t a stalker at all, and the riddle is just another way for the devil to fuck with us. We haven’t seen any indication to support his claim. No ominous shadows or suspicious behavior.
But we’ve only been out of the hospital for three days. We haven’t left the privacy and security of the island.
Time will tell.
When Monty returns, his eyes probe, searching for something in our expressions, trying to read us like he knows we were talking about him.
I keep my face neutral.
“How did the interviews go?” He reclines in the chair.
“As expected.” I roll my neck, ready to put the past few days behind me. “I stayed with the narrative. Didn’t give away anything that would cause suspicion.”
“Same.” Leo nods. “They had a lot of questions about our family dynamic. How happy we must be to have finally found each other.”
“Are you?” Monty smirks.
“Thrilled,” Leo deadpans.
“How did you handle those questions?” I ask.
“I played along.”
I make a noise in my throat. “So basically, you showed your teeth and said nothing.”
“Pretty much.” He props a boot on the coffee table. “Did you tell them how much you love your new big brother?”
“Kept that to myself.” I stare into Monty’s eyes, the depths as blue as a cold sea, reflecting no warmth or invitation. “They asked about the reunited couple. I didn’t comment, letting them believe the marriage is still intact.”
“Good.” His jaw twitches. “No one cares about a perfect marriage. It makes a boring news story. They won’t spend any time on it.”
“You know,” I say, my voice dropping, “all that will change when we start going out in public. I won’t hide my relationship with her, nor will Leo.”
“Discretion is the goal here. The story we created is delicate. We don’t want to give them anything to squawk about.”
“I understand the need for caution. But I won’t pretend forever.”
“We all want what’s best for Frankie.” Leo taps his fingers on his leg. “We just need to find a balance between protecting her and being honest about our relationships.”
“We need to stay united on this,” Monty says. “No surprises.”
The distrust lingers on both sides like a shadow that doesn’t fade. But we need to push through it. We have no choice.
I take a deep breath, forcing the next words. “Thanks for sending the message about her panic attack.”
Monty nods, his expression guarded. “How are you doing with the tech? Any trouble with the phones?”
“It’s been harder than I care to admit,” I say. “I never thought I’d be struggling with something as simple as making a call or sending a text.”
“Actually, I have a question.” Leo pulls out his device. “I was trying to look up something earlier but couldn’t figure out how to switch between the screens.”
“The browser tabs?” Monty scoots forward on the chair, gesturing at the empty spot on the couch. “May I?”
Leo makes room for him and hands over his phone.
After a few swipes on the screen, Monty passes it back. “See this icon here? Yeah. Tap that. Now you see all your open tabs. You can switch between them or close the ones you don’t need.”
That prompts a string of more questions, which leads to a full-on tutorial. I find myself pulling out my phone and following along.
Frankie showed us the basics of what these little electronic bricks can do, but we’ve only scratched the surface. I’m starving for more knowledge.
All I’ve ever known was a life of solitude and silence, broken only by the howl of the wind and the crunch of snow underfoot. Denver raised us to be tough, to rely on nothing and no one but ourselves.
Now I find myself on this lush, green island with comforts I never thought possible. The biggest change, the one that thrills me the most, is the technology. I went from no Internet or outside communication to holding all this power in a tiny computer that fits in the palm of my hand.
This phone opens up worlds I never knew existed. I can connect with Leo and Frankie anywhere, at any time.
The first time I browsed the Internet, it felt like magic. Information at my fingertips, answers to questions I didn’t even know I had. I can spend hours wending through the dark forest of videos about everything and nothing at all, diving into the endless sea of knowledge and entertainment.
Of course, I have my share of frustrations. The sheer volume of information overwhelms me quickly. When the constant connectivity is too much, I long for the simplicity of the tundra.
Then I remember the loneliness, the abuse, the endless hardship, and yeah…
Fuck that place.
The climate here is milder, the air saturated with the scent of saltwater and evergreen. Bustling towns wait nearby, with people and noise and activity. I can’t wait to explore them.
I also dread leaving the safety of the island. Without my crossbow or a grasp on the dangers out there, I don’t know how to protect her the way I could in the hills.
As the night wears on, the strain between Monty and us eases, if only for a short while. I find myself glancing at the time on my phone, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“I’m going to check on her.” I stand and stalk toward the stairs.
The need to see her, to reassure myself that she’s safe, is a physical ache.
Monty and Leo rise as well, pocketing their phones and trailing after me.
We head upstairs, the house quiet and still. I push open the door to the guest bedroom, my heart pounding.
The bedside lamp casts a gentle glow on her stunning features. Deep in sleep, she looks so peaceful and untroubled.
Relief settles over me.
“Beautiful,” Leo whispers.
I grunt, spellbound.
Monty hovers in the doorway, wearing the stony expression of an overlord as we get ready for bed. As we prepare to sleep beside the woman he still considers his wife.
I strip down to my underwear, Leo doing the same.
We can shut him out and lock the door, but that would only lead to a brawl and disturb her rest.
She’ll be safe, sleeping between Leo and me. We’ll wake if anyone intrudes.
Careful not to disturb her, we slip in on either side of her. The warmth of her body instantly grounds me, her presence a balm to my frayed nerves.
“I’ll be across the hall if you need anything.” Monty steps back, his gaze glued to her, shadowed and turbulent with longing.
Then he turns away.
I shut off the light, and the room settles into heavy, tranquil quiet. I lie there, listening to the rhythmic sound of her breathing, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest.
The tension in my body slowly ebbs, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
“You all right?” Leo shifts, his hand brushing my ribs.
“Yeah. You?”
“I really want to fuck with him.”
“No.”
“Hear me out.” He angles his face toward mine on the pillow above her head, whispering, “Let’s pretend we’re jerking off. I’ll grunt and make slapping sounds loud enough for him to hear while you moan my name.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“We need to test him. Expose his true nature.”
“He won’t come in here for Mississippi seconds, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s not Denver.”
“Mississippi seconds?”
“Redneck family bonding.”
“What filthy corner of the Internet have you been haunting?”
I sigh as the shadows of our past press me into the mattress. “Despite how we feel about Monty, he has no interest in fucking men or children or family members. That’s not his kink.”
Frankie’s his kink. She’s all he cares about, and it’s not a healthy obsession.
The same could be said about our obsession with her.
“Go to sleep, dumbass.” I shove his face away.
He tries to shove back, but I see better than him in the dark and dodge him easily.
She doesn’t even stir.
We lie there, the three of us tangled in the warmth and intimacy of skin on skin. If heaven exists, this is it.
We made it through all the interviews without a hitch. I’ve been eating my weight in delicious food. There isn’t a constant, soul-sucking chill in the air, and I don’t have to leave the bed to throw a log on the fire.
Here, we don’t even need a fire.
Closing my eyes, I let my gratitude and contentment sink into my limbs. My last conscious thought circles around Frankie and the psychiatrist she wholeheartedly trusts. Maybe he can help her.
If he doesn’t, I’ll make him wish he never met her.
Sleep doesn’t come easily, but it comes.
Sometime later, in the quiet moments of the night, my eyes jolt open, adjusting to the absence of light.
The instinctual need to sit up hardens my muscles. Propping on an elbow, I find Leo already braced on his, rubbing his eyes.
Frankie lies on her stomach between us, one leg butterflied, her face scrunched in sleep.
A soft sound jerks my head to the door.
On the floor, Monty sits with his back to the doorframe and his head lolling to the side. Snoring.
We should’ve locked him out. Though he probably has a key.
Leo catches my eyes in the gloom.
Should we wake him? Or let him sleep like a dog on the floor?
The latter is the more satisfying option and the one Leo decides on as he burrows in against her and goes back to sleep.
Guess I’m taking the first watch.