Chapter 25
ASH
I t’s a thousand degrees, and I’m trapped in a blanket cocoon.
Or so I think as I fight to regain consciousness.
Lifting ten-pound eyelids, my eyes struggle to open. A hunter green weighted blanket covers my entire body and half my face. Where am I? Ireland? Visiting the cousins?
Knotty pine paneling. Snowy tree branches outside the window. No, not Ireland… A cabin. I try to move, but the hundred-pound blanket prevents it.
Thick brain fog fades slowly.
A night at the Wolfram. With War. And then— Jesus .
“War?” Too soft. “War!” Still too quiet.
“Yeah?” the familiar voice responds.
Turning my head, I spot him sitting on a couch with a knotty pine frame and majestic-deer-print fabric. There’s a thick, hardcover book open on his lap and a computer tablet sitting next to him.
What the fuck?
“Did you drug me? ”
He flips a page and reads. Or pretends to.
“I’m hot. It’s a million degrees!”
Setting the book aside, he rises and walks over. “Your idea.”
He drags the blanket down to my ankles, revealing two things. I’m wearing his sweatshirt over my own and still have my jeans and socks on. Also, my wrist is imprisoned in a fleece-lined black restraint cuff that’s chained to the goddamned wall.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” My voice comes out as a furious rasp.
“Apparently, yeah.” His tone is resigned as his fingers push sweat-dampened hair off my temple. He turns and starts to walk away.
I rattle the chain, like a ghost out of Dickens. “I need to take off one of these sweatshirts.
“So take it off.” Not bothering to look back, he walks to the couch and drops onto it, making the heavy frame creak.
Speechless, I fight my way out of his sweatshirt, which ends up a tangled wad of fabric hanging from the chain. Holding the top of the chain for leverage, I drag myself upright before collapsing against the wall into a sitting position. Blowing the hair from my eyes, I puff out a panting breath.
“It’s Stanislav.” His pronunciation is Russian, which makes what he’s saying even more impenetrable.
“What? This place?”
“My first name. Stanislav.” The pronunciation is about ten-percent less Russian.
Bewildered, I stare at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Clearly, not a Stan. War suits me best, but some people use Stas.” He pronounces the nickname as Stah-ss.
“And you’re telling me this now because…?” My voice trails off. “Are you KGB? Bratva?”
“The KGB hasn’t existed since December of 1991. And no, not Bratva. Just figured it was time you knew my first name.”
“Sure, of course.” Blowing hair from my face again because my arm still feels too heavy to lift, I try to unravel things. “So, you were in on the kidnapping plot?”
“Which? The catacomb clusterfuck? No.”
“Then… What is this that’s happening right now?”
“As you see.”
“You kidnapped me? Just you, yourself?”
He nods.
“Because?”
“I’m not dealing with all that outside interference. Your brother. My uncle and Stroviak. Bergmann. Fuck that noise.”
Blinking, I slowly adjust my position as my brain recovers enough for my limbs to work.
He folds his arms across his chest as he stares at me with a terse expression.
“I figure the Beta House assholes took me so I could be a scapegoat. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
Bergmann’s smart enough to know they need a fall guy.
He might’ve even been planning to break in and play your rescuer at some point. ”
“Whatever they planned or manufactured, my brother will unravel.”
“With time. And as he does, he might find some things.” He shrugs. “I covered myself pretty well. That phone he’s got? I reset it to factory settings a couple times a month. Might be some fragmented images and spyware he doesn’t like, but other than that… Nothing.”
“What images?”
“Pictures of a certain blond.” He stares at me.
“Of me? Doing what?”
“Living life.”
“Not naked, right? Like in the shower or something? Taken by sketch spyware?”
“No. If I’m gonna look at you naked, that’s going to be in a setting where I can do something about it. Like the Wolfram. Or here.”
Sighing heavily, I shake my head. “You were free and clear until you did this, War. Why the hell would you make yourself guilty when you’d just gotten past the Crue’s worst suspicions?”
“I wasn’t clear of anything. I said my phone doesn’t have anything. I didn’t say there were no other trails. The world is one big fucking digital graveyard. I’m careful now, but there are things from before. Depends how far Trick digs.”
“Look, if you want me to help you, you have to tell me what the fuck is really going on.”
“Did I say I want your help?”
“No, but you clearly need it. You need me to pretend this, right now, never happened. And if there’s something else that they’re going to find that will get you in trouble, you have to tell me, and maybe Jamie, so we can try to cover it up. Not that I’m promising we will. It depends what it is.”
Cocking his head, he studies me for a moment.
My tone is impatient and confused. “What?”
“Did you really tell Bergmann all the shit he said?”
“Can we stay on point!” I snap. “We are on a clock. Scott expects me back at his place or my mom’s. How long ago did we leave The Wolfram?”
“Hours ago.”
“How many?”
“Eight? Maybe nine.”
“Jesus,” I whisper. “Come un-cuff me. We need to?—”
“No.”
“We need to go.”
“I had a two-hour head-start. Dropped the phones where they won’t be found. Swapped vehicles. Brought you off grid. This is the best case scenario for an abduction. I give myself about a thirty-percent chance of success.”
“And success is what?”
“My keeping you until I decide not to.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“I know.” He draws in a breath and licks his lips. “But that’s your fault in more ways than one. ”
My jaw drops as my brows shoot up. “My fault? How exactly?”
“You kept at me. While I was fighting to leave you the fuck alone. Exactly how much energy do you expect a man to expend to ignore you?” He shakes his head.
“You think I couldn’t tell you were picking fights to get my attention?
” War scowls, cracking his knuckles. “And then, you went totally off the rails. So, fuck it. You wanted this, and now you have it.”
“How did I go off the rails?”
“I kidnapped you, Ashling. Carried your unconscious body to a cabin in the woods and chained you to a wall. And when you wake up, what do you do? Plot my demise? Try to play me, so I’ll free you? No. You start planning to help me cover up what I’ve done.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. “I mean… You’re C Crue. And C’s nephew. I don’t want to be the cause of an issue between C and Scott.”
“Right,” War says, rolling his eyes as he rises. He walks over and stands next to the bed, towering over me. “Family loyalty? That the best you can do?”
“It’s complicated. And yes, family loyalty is important. It’s the most important thing in C Crue. You’re Jamie’s best friend, too. Next to me, I mean. He and I are pretty close.” I’m rambling now, trying to distract him from his point. Which is a really good one.
Why the hell was I just offering to help him?
Why have I been trying to protect him all along?
Never mentioning to anyone his rough way of dealing with me and the kids?
And that I wouldn’t have trusted him alone with them for a second because his temper seemed dangerous and volatile?
I should’ve said something sooner. And I should’ve avoided him.
Not that I’m as worried as I was about his temper.
War’s never shown anything but complete control when he’s handling me or play-fighting with Makayla.
And there were times when he protected me, put his body in front of mine to shield me.
Those aren’t the actions of a violent sociopath who only cares about himself and needs to unleash his frustrations on people who are weaker than he is.
Still, this—what he’s doing now—is dangerously reckless. I need to make him see he has to course-correct before it’s too late.
“You could go too far, and no one could stop the fallout.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “I’ll take my chances.”
“But why?”
War takes a handful of my hair and pulls it so my head tips back. “I already told you. When it comes to you, I’m not gonna ask permission or negotiate to see you. Not with Trick. Or C. Or Stroviak. I already got permission from the one person that matters. I got it from you.”
“I did not give you permission to chain me to a fucking wall!”
“I’m not gonna argue details,” he says dismissively.
Insane and unbelievable. Is he kidding right now? No, that’s something I might do in his place, but he wouldn’t.
“The devil—” The words die in my throat as he leans down.
I try to turn my head in time but can’t. The tight hold he has on my hair is fierce, so when his lips come down on mine in a rough kiss, there’s nothing to do but take it. And paradoxically, my nipples bead at the same time my anger explodes.
Licking my swollen lips afterward, I stare up at him. “You are out of your mind.”
“Agreed. So are you.”
“Where did you even get the drugs from? Is that something you keep on hand?”
“No. It’s part of the Crue’s munitions stash.
We’ve got it for the op we’re working on.
And I didn’t bring it for you. Wanted it in case I got the opportunity to give the Beta guys a taste of their own medicine.
To loosen them up during an interrogation.
Then, things went sideways with you and me, and it seemed if I dropped you off at Trick’s, it would be a big fucking hassle to retrieve you. Easier to just hold on to you. ”
“Easier, at first,” I counter.
For that, he’s got no response, and I can’t help but think he made a split-second decision he now understands was crazy.
I know better than to expect he’ll admit that though.
War McCann is as stubborn as he is massive. Which means it might be up to me to figure out a way to untangle the mess he’s made.
Not that I should.
I could just wait things out, since I’m sure C Crue will be along any time now.