63 - Kodiak
63
Kodiak
—
I stalk into the cabin, holding up my hands, with Monty and Leo at my side. The familiar creak of the floors echoes in my ears, a sound I’ve heard a thousand times before.
But this time, it’s different.
Everything is different.
The stench of death swamps the air, buzzing with the memories that haunt this place.
This is where I grew up. Where I was abused by a madman. Where I met Frankie.
It’s changed since then.
I’ve changed…on the surface.
But my understructure remains the same. A feral animal still lives inside me. It helped me survive these hills, and those instincts guide me now.
As I follow Rhett’s voice to the kitchen, heat trickles from the vents. He fixed the generator, repaired the floors, and cleared away the dust.
The cabin may look brighter and cleaner than we left it, but I see the shadows of what used to be here. I see the bloodstains of my childhood on the floor, the scars on the walls, the bones in the fire pit, and the danger lurking in Denver’s bedroom down the hall.
And I see her.
Frankie, lying on the table, her robed body stock-still and her hair spread like a halo around her.
My heart stops, but I force myself to keep walking.
She’s not restrained.
She’s not moving, either.
An IV fluid bag sits on the table beside her hip. I follow the line to the opening in the sleeve of her robe, where her arm hangs on Wolf’s lap.
Wolf .
He’s here. Dead. And Frankie’s drugged.
Horror cleaves through me.
Rhett sits at the head of the table, like a king on his throne. He holds a gun to Frankie’s head, his finger resting on the trigger.
My blood turns to ice, my rage a cold, hard knot in my chest.
I’m going to eviscerate him. Remove his entrails with claws and teeth. But not yet. He has her, and as long as he holds that gun, I must wear my human skin and maintain my domesticated mask, the face I show in the civilized world.
No sudden moves. No growling or tensing. Nothing that might startle him into squeezing that trigger.
Beside me, Leo and Monty fight their own inner battles. They’ll get their pound of flesh. But only if we remain calm, stall as long as we can, and give our plan time to play out.
A plan we never discussed. Not with words. That alone is goddamn unnerving.
Entering the kitchen, I stumble as my eyes dart from one corpse to the next. The two bodies I don’t recognize must be Alvis Duncan and his wife. That would explain why they went missing.
Numb. I’m numb and frozen with rage at the sight of Frankie lying at the center of all this blood-chilling carnage.
Then my gaze lands on Wolf.
His lifeless body slumps against the rope that holds him in the chair. I knew this was a possibility. I knew I might see the remains of the man I loved, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.
My brother.
Monty’s son.
I can’t look at Monty and Leo. My own pain stabs too sharply, threatening to double me over as the knife of grief twists in my gut. I absorb it, bury the sorrow, and let it fuel my fury.
“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Leo’s lips curl into an arctic smile, a predator’s grin. “Nice touch with the Mad Tea Party. Or is this The Last Supper? Do you fuck the guests before you eat them? Asking for a friend.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Rhett gestures at the empty chairs. “After all, I saved a seat just for you.”
“Oh, joy. I’m famished.” Leo isn’t just ready for this. He’s fucking craving it.
Bloodlust inhabits every cell of his body, as much a part of him as his scars and his pain.
Nothing will stop us. Not the gun in Rhett’s hand. Not the ghosts that haunt us.
Our demons are meaner, scarier, and they’re fucking angry.
“They stink.” Monty scowls at Denver’s corpse.
“Impossible. I embalmed them.” Rhett stands, his expression cold and detached, as he holds the gun to the top of Frankie’s head. “There are bombs on both of those planes out there. I just activated them. Unless you know how to disarm a booby-trapped ignition bomb, it will detonate if you start either of those engines.” He gestures at his fancy satellite phone. “Password protected.”
Controlling those planes is his safety net, one we know too well. If we kill him, we’re not leaving Hoss.
Or so he thinks.
“What is that?” His glare narrows on Monty’s feet.
We’re naked, vulnerable, and exposed—precisely how he wants us. Except for the slippers Monty donned on his way out of the house.
“I watched you demolish your home when you received the photo I sent.” Rhett chews on his cheek, the gun unwavering on Frankie. “Those slippers came out of the box of mementos you hurled across the room. They mean something.”
“A year ago today, Denver raped my son and my wife.” Monty stands taller, an imposing pillar of confidence despite his nudity. “He raped them while wearing these slippers. The same slippers he stole from me the night he stole Frankie. If I die today, I thought it only fitting that I die wearing them.”
Dramatic.
And effective.
“Sit at the table.” Rhett directs his eyes at the empty seats. “Use the rope and tie yourselves to the chairs.”
I’m already moving, a beast in human form, muscles tensed and focused. The time for bloodshedding is almost here.
I take a seat beside Wolf, and Leo sits on his other side, closest to Rhett. Monty lowers into the chair on my left near Frankie’s feet.
We all stare at Frankie’s motionless figure as we wrap the nylon restraints around our chests. Nothing within view indicates he intends to shackle our hands and feet.
A single rope around our torsos won’t stop us from attacking him.
But the gun will.
Rhett holds all the cards right now, but that will change soon. We’ll make sure he pays for every hair he harmed on Frankie’s head.
We can’t act yet. Not until she’s safe, not until we can take him down without risking her life.
“Why isn’t she moving?” Monty knots the rope around him. “What are you giving her?”
“The drug affects skeletal muscles. She can’t move her mouth, but she’s fully awake. It’s safe. I’m a surgeon, after all.”
“I know what and who you are, Renat Moroz.” Monty cocks his head. “The hush money your family received from my father paid for your medical school and then some. You would’ve had millions left over. Is that how you funded this sick quest?”
We didn’t have time to confirm that detail, but given Rhett’s wide eyes, Monty’s assumption is correct.
“At age twelve, you were assaulted by a pedophile.” Monty directs his eyes at Denver’s corpse. “My father moved you and your family to a location Denver couldn’t find, changed your names, and paid you enough money to keep you quiet. You never forgave your parents for accepting that payoff. So you killed them years later. How am I doing so far?”
That part about his parents’ murders is another assumption.
“How did you know that?” Rhett’s brows pinch together. “No one knows that.”
“I know the devastation that Denver left behind. Unfortunately, I learned about it too late.” Monty hardens his voice. “Why is my son here? His body doesn’t belong among these… things. ”
“Oh, Wolfson isn’t dead.”
My head snaps toward Wolf, my heart exploding in my chest. He doesn’t move. His torso doesn’t lift with breath. Or does it? The bulky coat hides those subtle signs of life.
I start to reach for him.
“Don’t touch him.” Rhett stands, bringing my focus back to the gun trained on Frankie. “He’s sedated. Unconscious.”
As Rhett leans over her, her glare follows him, narrowing in determination. My throat tightens as she directs those green eyes at Wolf, then at me.
She blinks twice.
Blink once for yes, twice for no.
Why is she saying no? Wolf isn’t unconscious?
“I wanted to surprise you,” Rhett says. “He’s been alive all these months.”
He let us believe he was dead because he’s a psychopath who thrives on breaking people, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. It satisfies his deep-rooted need for dominance and control.
I know because I was raised by a monster just like him.
This isn’t just about killing us. He wants to flaunt his sense of superiority.
Denver abused him as a child, twisted him into this monster. Denver abused us in the same way, but we weren’t alone. Leo, Wolf, and I had one another. We kept each other sane.
Somewhat.
I don’t feel sane at the moment.
Rhett studies us as if probing for vulnerabilities. He’s so focused on our faces, he doesn’t notice Frankie’s lips moving.
Ensnaring my gaze, she mouths, Red flag , and flicks her eyes to Wolf.
Red flag?
I glance at Leo. He saw it, too.
Didn’t Rhett say she couldn’t move her lips?
She must be fighting the drug. Unless…
I peek down at her hand on Wolf’s lap. Their arms are hidden beneath their sleeves. But if Wolf is conscious, he could’ve discreetly removed her IV.
Leo and I exchange a knowing look as I recall a long-ago conversation with Wolf.
My red flag is I can tell you my red flag with a blank face.
He never clarified what he meant, but I assumed it was his way of saying he’s self-aware and recognizes his problematic behaviors— red flags —without showing emotion— a blank face —which could itself be a red flag in relationships.
Is Frankie trying to tell us he’s awake and faking it?
Only one way to find out.
As Rhett returns to his seat, I place my foot directly over Wolf’s. He’s also barefooted, and the cold toes beneath mine lift, responding to my touch.
Holy fucking shit.
It takes every ounce of strength to keep my face empty and my eyes on Rhett.
Wolf is alive.
He’s alive and awake, and the only thing holding him in that chair is a measly rope around his chest and a gun leveled at Frankie’s head.
He must’ve dislodged the IV line in her arm. How long ago? Does she have full mobility? I don’t know how long it takes the drug to leave her system.
My nerves riot, flooding my body with adrenaline.
One wrong move, and Frankie’s dead.
What’s Wolf’s plan?
“After Rurik died…” Rhett’s finger twitches against the trigger. “I returned to Kodiak Island, to that massive, ostentatious mansion on the cliff. I found the flight logs, the blueprints for this cabin, and those photos stuffed in a leather-bound copy of Pushkin’s poems on his bookshelf.” He looks at Monty. “You hadn’t arrived yet to clean out the place. I took the book with the documents inside and followed the trail to Alvis Duncan.”
My pulse sprints as I bump my foot against Monty’s slipper. He’s so engrossed in Rhett’s story that he doesn’t respond.
“I told Alvis I worked for Rurik Strakh.” Rhett sighs. “It was so easy. He thought I was one of Rurik’s henchmen and handed over the flight logs that tracked Denver’s movements. And so it went. Over the years, I collected the logs, learned Denver’s pattern, and tracked him when he flew in to gather supplies.”
Keep talking, you crazy fuck. We need more time, and you’re playing right into our hands.
I nudge Monty’s slipper again, and this time, he nudges back. His gaze remains fixed on Rhett, narrowed on that fucking gun, as he slides his foot from his shoe and inches the slipper toward me.
“I don’t remember you on Kodiak Island.” Monty clears his throat, trying to hide any noise I might make.
It’s not necessary. Silence and stealth are second nature to me.
“My father was Rurik’s accountant for a short time.” Rhett taps his thumb on the butt of the pistol. “He brought me to the estate only once. You weren’t there. But Denver was.”
“You were twelve, and Denver was…” Monty releases a breath. “Seventeen.”
“Yes. While our fathers were holed up in Rurik’s office all night, Denver took me to the wine cellar, let me drink wine with him, and…”
“He raped you,” Monty says bluntly. “And when you were old enough, you hunted him down to exact your revenge.”
“At first, yes. I wanted to kill him. But as I watched him, I became…enamored. I wasn’t that weak twelve-year-old boy anymore. Watching Denver hunt, stalk, and take Kaya and Kodiak without getting caught…” Rhett shakes his head. “He was brilliant. I wanted to be him. I guess you can say I developed a bit of hero worship.”
And look at his hero now.
A pint-sized redhead with a ferocious heart took him down with a lead pipe.
Frankie stares at the ceiling, absorbing the information without moving a muscle. If she has full motion in her face, it would require incredible concentration to keep her expression slack.
I’m so fucking proud of her.
And terrified for her.
We need to keep Rhett talking.
Monty stares at our woman, his jaw grinding. “What’s the meaning behind the Pushkin quotes?”
“When your father paid off my family and moved us out of state, he sent me a gift. An entire collection of books by Pushkin.”
“Rurik was obsessed with the poet.” Monty frowns.
“Yes. The book collection came with a handwritten note. Not signed. Just a quote. He filled a shelf with a small army of books and read and read; but none of it made sense. They were all subject to various cramping limitations: those of the past were outdated. ”
“ And those of the present were obsessed with the past. ” Monty finishes.
“I guess Rurik knew I would become obsessed with the past.”
“Whose handwriting is on the notes you sent?”
“I approached a homeless kid in San Francisco and paid him twenty bucks to write the words I gave him.”
Jesus Christ. To what lengths will this whack job go?
“Did Denver know you were tracking him?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Rhett inhales. “I don’t know how, but he sensed me following him and showed up at my apartment in Anchorage one night. This was around the time I met Frankie.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?” Monty narrows his eyes.
“Same reason I didn’t kill him. Mutual respect. I asked him to mentor me, and in exchange, he asked me to track down Gretchen Stolz. It was a test. One I passed.”
Wolf doesn’t respond to the mention of his mother. Not even the tiniest puff of air passes his lips.
Without moving a single muscle above my ankle, I slowly prod my foot into the slipper Monty passed to me. Size twelve. Same as me. Long enough to conceal a nine-inch fillet knife.
I don’t know how Monty snatched it from the doorframe without Rhett spotting the movement through our cameras. Monty angled his body just right, slipped it beneath his clothes, and kept it hidden until we destroyed our phones.
Walking in here with it tucked inside his slipper was a risk.
But it paid off.
Curling my toes around the knife’s handle, I carefully ease it out of the shoe and lower it to the floor beside Wolf’s foot.
He feels it there, his toes twitching against mine.
My chest constricts, the tension unbearable, as I step down on the blade.
I hold the knife in place, my eyes on Rhett, as Wolf maneuvers the handle between his toes and grips it.
Transferring it from his foot to his hand will be the impossible part.
But he has it. The knife. The element of surprise.
Whatever his plan is, he’s armed.