Chapter 29
ASH
I f it was up to War, we’d stay holed up in the woods together for days with no internet access, just chilling out and having sex. Since this is the most he’s ever talked to me, under different circumstances, I might have let it go on longer and enjoyed myself.
But it’s been more than twenty-four hours since I last made contact with my family and friends. By now, my brother is probably looking for me. So, if I want to cover up that War kidnapped me, I need to get back to my phone and respond to my messages as soon as possible.
Once War realizes I’m too wound up about leaving to be good company, he relents. After packing our stuff in the truck, we get on the road, which is when I realize we’re in New Hampshire.
We listen to music on an ancient tablet with a crack in the upper right side of the screen.
Some of the heavy metal bands are Russian, so I wouldn’t have been able to understand the lyrics even if they weren’t obscured by screaming guitars.
I tap to end the foreign playlist and search for anything that’s less of an assault on my ears.
I find American speed metal from the 1980s that I don’t like any better and roll my eyes. “Your taste in music sucks.”
“What do you want? Some moldy Van Morrison? Girlie pop?”
“Yeah,” I say looking up unashamedly. “Got some?”
“Fuck no.”
I flick on the radio station as he pulls into a bus terminal about forty-five minutes from the cabin. “What are we doing here?”
Fishing a small key from his pocket, he holds it aloft before getting out. He left the phones in a bus station locker? Smart.
As he walks away from the car, I poke around the tablet and find some old folders of images and video clips.
Some are of his mom, looking much younger, in various apartments with various guys.
War is right. Big and dark-haired is definitely her type.
Also obvious is that this device was hers before she gave it to War.
Or until he took it. Jesus, she went through a lot of men.
I cycle through video clips. His mom at a wedding.
At different bars. There’s one at home where there’s a tall, dark-haired guy with a Russian accent who’s calling out to a child with buzzed dark hair.
The man tosses a small ball, and it hits the boy in the back between the shoulder blades.
In one motion, the child does a jumping pivot and lands in a wide-legged stance with fists raised and a snarl.
I freeze because the motion of popping around and bringing small fists up to chin level is one I’ve seen dozens of times before.
War’s young face, which is three or four years old, is also shockingly familiar in its expression.
I replay the clip and pause it, getting the same jolt.
Except for his hazel McCann eyes and fuller lips, he could be Makayla Stroviak’s twin brother.
The man in the video laughs and holds up a palm that War pummels with blows, throwing punches like he was born to do it. Just like my little Makayla. No one ever taught her to fight. With her, it’s instinctive. Like a cat pouncing on prey .
Tilting my head, I listen to the man say something in Russian and touch War’s head affectionately before pushing him away. Was that War’s dad? And if so, is he somehow related to Sasha Stroviak?
I rewind the clip. Yes, the guy must be War’s dad, but aside from the dark hair, he really doesn’t look anything like War or the Stroviaks.
A tap on my window causes me to jump.
Turning my head, I expect to see War. Instead, I’m confronted by the wide face of Crosby Bergmann. His thinning hair is plastered to his skull from the drizzling sky, and his features look ruddy and agitated. Shock and confusion course through me. What’s he doing here?
“Get out,” he says, taking a step back and beckoning me toward him.
No way am I getting out of the truck.
I glance toward the station but don’t see War emerging yet.
As I turn back toward the window, I spot a dark sedan with tinted windows a few feet behind Crosby. That’s not his car.
Crosby raises his fist, giving me a view of his gold ring right before it smashes against the glass. The window shatters from the blow but doesn’t completely cave in.
I scramble to unbuckle my seatbelt and launch myself out of the passenger seat to the driver’s side as his fist splinters the window, causing bits of glass to rain down.
Jesus Christ!
He steps onto the running board to reach in and open the passenger door. As he does, I fling the driver’s door open. Throwing myself out, I stumble to the ground and then launch myself forward.
War is just outside the station doors and spots me. My look must tell him plenty because he breaks into a run before I even hear Crosby’s footfalls pursuing me.
Crosby grabs me and hauls me against him. “Wait. They’ve got her. I need to tell you.” As War closes in, Crosby addresses him, “Stop, McCann. Listen?—”
A booming voice from behind us calls something out in Russian.
War keeps coming and grabs Crosby’s arm and jerks it off me. Once War pushes me out of the way, he doesn’t hesitate before slamming a fist into Crosby’s side.
A brutal exchange of blows ensues until my voice cuts through things because I see the source of the Russian voice. It’s the driver of the sedan.
“War, there’s another guy.”
War shoves Crosby with his longer reach and knocks him to the asphalt. Then he reaches under his coat and comes up with a pistol.
War says something in Russian to the approaching man, then hands the gun to me and says, “If he gets within eight feet, shoot him.”
Crosby regains his feet and watches me warily.
In heavily accented English, the Russian guy, who has stopped walking, says to me, “You will do this here? With camera there?” He nods to a streetlight with an attached white dome security camera. “Come, lower gun. We only want to talk.”
“Talk,” I say, not lowering the gun.
“Let me come closer. So camera will not read my words. Also, I have something on phone you wish to see.”
“Move back,” War says, touching my arm and cocking his head to motion me farther away. With his dark gaze on the man, he says, “Show me.”
I back away, preserving the distance so I’ll have time to kill the Russian before he can reach me.
The Russian approaches, speaks in Russian, and then shows War something. I keep my focus trained on him and Crosby and reposition myself slightly, so I could shoot either in the head instantly if they try anything .
With his fists clenched at his sides, War says something in Russian with such venom that my muscles tighten.
Crosby looks defeated as he turns and heads back to the car.
The Russian, who looks about fifty, smiles at me, revealing a gold front tooth and crooked smile. “We hear much about you, little minx. More beauty in person. I tell to Ilya. For meeting, he comes, too.” The man turns then and walks back to the sedan.
He’s smug. I think about Crosby’s words. They have her.
“Who?” I whisper, lowering the gun. “Who did they take?”
If it’s Makayla, I’m not as worried. She’s fearless and will be okay until we get her back. But Irina would be terrified. And that trauma might stay with her forever. Worry causes me to break out into a sweat. My little ones…
“Sawyer,” War says.
My mouth goes dry, and my stomach lurches. My immediate thought is that to take her from the Crue riverfront house, they would’ve had to kill my cousin.
“Jamie?”
“No, he and Killian were at rowing practice.” War opens the passenger door and sweeps the glass off the seat. “Sawyer went to the grocery store and never made it home.”
Glaring at the sedan as it pulls away, I murmur, “They want the jump drive in exchange for Sawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” After engaging the gun’s safety, I climb into my seat and put the gun in the glove box. “We’ll get it from Scott and give it to them.”
“Not we,” War says. “You’re going nowhere near that meeting.”
I’m silent, thinking that over. It’s not like I’m anxious to go.
But they seem to expect it. Shivering from the cold air that blows in through the broken window, I shrug.
“I don’t care who goes. As long as the exchange happens right away.
” I power my phone on, and it explodes to life with text and call alerts.
The first one I listen to is from Sawyer, and she sounds so scared that it makes my blood run cold. “Hi, Ash. I need help.” The message is from seven the previous night. When I try her phone, it goes straight to voicemail. Of course, they powered it off or dumped it.
I sift through messages to find the ones from Jamie and my brother, both of which mention a family emergency but don’t go into details.
Knowing Jamie must be going out of his mind, I call him first. As soon as he answers, he tells me Sawyer’s missing. That shocks me since I would’ve thought he would know by now what happened and who has her.
“I know, Jamie. The kidnappers just contacted me. We have what they want. Don’t worry. She’ll be okay. Let me call Scott.”
“They called you? What is this?”
“They want Madelyn Hearn’s jump drive. Scott has it in Coynston. Let me call him, so we can set up the exchange.”
There’s a moment of tense silence.
“I’m sure she’s okay, Jamie. They just want the drive, not a gang war. And if they knew to take her, they know how much she means to all of us. It would not make sense to hurt her when what they want is to get us to hand over the evidence they’re so worried about.”
“Tell Trick I’m getting on the road. If he wants me to meet him in Boston rather than Coynston, tell him to text me. Have you talked to War?”
“Yes, I’m with him. I’m putting you on speaker, Jamie.”
“War?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Can I count on you to come as backup?”
“Definitely. But you’re not gonna have a shortage, man. Taking the wife of a Crue guy? Pretty sure C will see this as an act of war.”
“I want her back,” Jamie says. “Afterward, we can do anything C wants. But first, my wife needs to be safely out of it. ”