47 - Monty
47
Monty
—
The following week limps by, the days blurring into a relentless, torturous cadence.
I sent the dismembered eyes to my forensics team in New York, and they confirmed a match.
Sirena Fisher.
After hearing the news, Kody and Leo haven’t left Frankie’s side.
Until this afternoon.
The weight of their responsibilities pulled them back to Sitka. Kody’s distillery requires constant attention. He’s needed there more than he’s needed here.
Same with Leo. With his seaplane base taking shape, crucial decisions are hitting him at a breakneck pace.
But those aren’t the only reasons they’re gone tonight.
They’re following up on leads, re-interviewing witnesses from the night Sirena disappeared, and interrogating people on our suspect list.
They’re hunting.
When I told them I was going with them, they stared at me like I was speaking Russian. Then an argument ensued about who would stay with Frankie.
From everything I read in her journal, they had similar arguments in the hills each time they journeyed from the cabin.
But since they both have business to tend to in Sitka, it was an argument I couldn’t win.
So here I am.
Frankie curls beside me on the couch, her body a fragile ribbon of warmth against the constant chill of danger.
As she sleeps, my mind races, a torrent of crashing and colliding thoughts.
After everything she’s been through, who would do this? Who would go to such lengths to terrorize her?
Who knew about the flight logs in my father’s cellar? Someone from my past? Denver’s past?
Denver’s heart, Doyle’s hand, Sirena’s eyes—it’s a message. A gruesome, violent message. But from whom?
And who will be next?
The questions torment me, each one a blade carving into my sanity.
I haven’t heard from The Ghost since I contacted him. And I won’t. Not until the stalker is identified and exterminated.
The wait is another level of hell.
Only Frankie, Leo, and Kody know that I made that call. I told them in a hushed conversation in my office, away from guards and household staff, and reiterated the importance of discretion. I trust no one else with that information.
Even with The Ghost involved, I continue to work with Wilson, scour every piece of evidence, and pore over Pushkin’s poems with an analytical microscope, looking for hidden meanings.
I won’t give up.
Frankie stirs, her hand reaching for mine. She whimpers, caught in the throes of a dream, and I tighten my grip.
“Hey.” I bring her fingers to my mouth, kissing them. “You’re safe.”
Her lashes flutter as she wakes, and she looks up at me with a raw, unguarded expression of love. I want to haul her to my bed—our bed—and remind her why we used to make love morning, noon, and night.
At this point, I would settle for one of the three.
When I’m not thinking about the stalker, I think about my marriage.
The issue with us isn’t that she doesn’t love me. The issue is that she loves two other men.
My brothers.
They should never leave her alone with me. My hunger for her is dangerous.
I ache to taste her on my lips. I crave her hands on my body. I want to call out her name when I enter her with a fervor I haven’t felt in over a year. I long to look her in the eyes, pausing to savor the unwavering love and desire we share.
“I love you.” I hold her palm against my cheek.
“I know.” Her eyes dart between mine, and her breathing goes shallow. “I…”
“Don’t say it.” I let her slide her hand away. “Not until you’re ready.”
“I won’t.”
She’s a tough one to crack. The past year of hell has made her nearly impregnable. If I win her back, a life with her won’t be easy. Not with the trauma she carries. She has always talked back and stood up for herself. She’s always been hardheaded and independent. Now she’s all those things with anxiety and PTSD. After the shit she went through, she’s learning how to love herself again and requires more patience and effort than she did before.
I love her enough for both of us.
She pushes up to a sitting position, folding her legs beneath her.
“I had a dream.” She stares at her hands, then at me. “I dreamed they were still alive. Doyle, Sirena, Denver…” Her voice cracks. “Wolf.”
“Denver can’t live without his heart.”
“He never had a heart.” She releases a shaky breath. “I watched him die and felt his life leave his body. No coming back from that. But the others…what if Doyle and Sirena are being held somewhere? Tortured? Getting hands and eyes removed while they’re still alive?”
Another result of her trauma…She overthinks everything and believes the worst-case scenario.
I want to lie to her and tell her it’s not as bad as she thinks. But she needs me to be completely honest and straightforward with her at all times. She’s not a fragile flower, and I won’t treat her like one.
“Yeah.” Resolve hardens in my chest. “It’s possible, but we’re doing everything we can to find them.”
“I’m worried about Leo and Kody.”
“Their bodyguards are with them.” I point to my phone on the coffee table. “I’ll be notified immediately if anything happens.”
“Where are they now?”
I grab the phone and check the GPS tracker. “They both just returned to the distillery.”
She nods. “Tell me about Kodiak Island. What was it like growing up in a crime family?”
With a sigh, I settle into the couch and tell her all the things I kept from her before she was taken. The stories about my father’s assassins lurking around the estate, the closed-door meetings, and hushed phone calls. Then I tell her about Kody’s mother and all our adventures on the island, such as fishing in the bay, making ridiculous dance videos, and exploring the caves.
As I walk through my memories, she listens raptly and shares her own childhood stories.
It’s late when she finally announces, “I’m going to bed.”
I grab our phones and follow her upstairs.
“What favor will The Ghost demand of you?” She pauses in the doorway of the guest bedroom. “Coach his son’s little league team? Babysit his pet tiger? Maybe send him some feet pics?”
“Maybe.” A smirk hitches the corner of my mouth as I set our phones in the room. “It will likely be along the lines of laundering large sums of money, providing a temporary safe haven, or marrying the virgin daughter of an enemy Russian mobster.”
“What?” She chokes. “You’re already married.”
“I am.” I step into her. “Say it again.”
“You’re married.” She swallows, eyes fixed on mine.
“That’s right, and my wife is ferocious. Strong. Gorgeous. Fearsome. She would never share me with another.” I dust the backs of my fingers across her snowy white cheek. “I can’t take my eyes off her. Every soft curve, every little dip and arch. I want to eat her.”
I draw closer, backing her against the doorframe and gripping the jamb above her head. Then I trail my fingers down her breastbone oh-so softly.
“Monty.” She shrinks back, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Those sharp little fangs nibbling on your lip…the sight makes me rock hard.” Resting my thumb against her mouth, I tug the plump flesh free. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”
A small sound escapes her throat, part whimper, part gasp.
“Put your hands on me.” I bend in, dragging my nose through her hair. “Feel what you do to me.”
A second passes. Then she lowers her gaze—we both do—to the jutting, swollen erection in my gray sweatpants.
The thin material doesn’t confine or restrain my ravenous hunger. Instead, it reveals every stiff inch, every angry ridge, every twitch. My goddamn cock isn’t idle. It throbs and drools and jumps like a rabid animal under her scrutiny.
Touch me. Put me out of my fucking misery.
Her chest rises and falls as she shifts her hand. Not to wrangle my dick. No, she hooks a finger under the hem of my T-shirt, gathers it, and tugs it upward.
I reach behind my shoulders, yank the garment over my head, and drop it.
“Damn.” She swallows a breathy inhale. “You’ve always had the body of a thirty-year-old athlete. I miss looking at you. Touching you.”
My lungs seize. My heart strokes out. I grip the doorframe above her head, angling closer, lower, until we’re at eye level.
Fucking touch me.
Her gaze dips to my lips. Then she does. She puts those tiny, delicate hands on my chest and begins an exploration that draws up my balls, lengthens my hard-on, clenches my ass, and has my fingers gouging the wood doorframe.
She caresses the slab of my chest, traces each individual stomach muscle, and follows the trail of hair down, down, down…
And stops.
“Fuck!” I kick my hips, unable to control myself. “I need inside you.”
Like a bomb, the moment shatters.
“Oh, God.” She drops her hands, her eyes round with horror. “What have I done?”
“Frankie.” Panic spikes as I cup her face and bring our foreheads together. “We’ve done nothing wrong. I’m your husband. I love you.”
“Monty.” She shakes her head. “We have to stop. You know why.”
“I can’t, darling.” I kiss her pretty mouth, coaxing her to kiss me back. “I’ll never stop loving you.”
Why won’t she kiss me back?
Something stirs in my periphery. Predatory movement without sound. Not the creak of a floorboard. Not the rustle of a breath. But feral energy singes my skin.
I pull my lips from hers, and we turn our heads toward the stairs.
My gaze locks with the two men I consider my brothers.
Their eyes blaze with primal, untamed fury. Their broad, taut postures promise pain. Their fists flex with pure, unadulterated destruction.
A noise reaches my ears. The low, lethal, guttural growl of something that isn’t human reverberates through the hall, sending Frankie into a frenzy.
Shoving and twisting, she jolts out of my embrace and scrambles into the path of war.
“No!” Arms stretched out at her sides, she tries to make herself bigger, taller, a barrier between them and me.
Protecting me.
From them.
Leo prowls forward, jaw clamped, muscles bunched and ready to kill.
“Stop! Listen to me.” She swings her hands forward, smacking her palms against his heaving chest. “Don’t blame Monty. Blame me. Hate me.”
“Move, woman.” Kody advances, an animal on the hunt.
“Let them by.” Adrenaline pumping, I push back my shoulders, prepared to face their wrath.
Every instinct urges me to go to her, to set her out of the way. But if I take one step forward, they’ll attack, and she’ll be caught in the fray.
So I keep my feet planted, my stance wide, and I wait.
“No!” She stands her ground. “I won’t let you hurt him. I put myself in that situation. Me! I did this!”
“You chose him.” Kody’s black eyes turn blacker, pulsing with pain. “You chose him over us.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice shatters. “I’ll never choose. I can’t. I want all of you. I love all of you. I’m the problem.” She pounds her chest. “I’m the monster. The toxic red flag.”
Leo flinches, his eyes flickering with confusion and anger before he turns that battle back on me. “I’ll kill you for this.”
“I won’t apologize for loving my wife.” Engulfed in the flames of their territorial fury, I crack my neck. “Do your worst.”