Bound (The Bachman Obsession #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Erin

Iceland looks like the end of the world.

No…

It feels like we’re at the end of the world. We’ve been pushed so far from our lives in New York that it feels a bit like this trip signifies the end of our world as well. We’ve been chased around the globe by the past.

And now, we’re here.

Black land. White sky. Gray ocean splitting itself open against volcanic rocks. The house rises from the cliff like someone with a lot of money wanted a haunted getaway by the sea.

I’m guessing it’s gorgeous in summer.

Right now, it’s all cold and stone and wind and fog and jagged cliffs. Huge panes of glass face the sea. Wide black frames hold those windows together. A low dark metal roof slopes against the wind.

Lights glow inside, the only warmth against the endless gray sky.

Beautiful. Hard. Cold. Remote. Isolated. Lonely. Dark.

It is exactly the place a man like Lucian Bachman would build to keep his dark heart cold after almost burning in that fire.

But we bring the party.

We’ve more than survived our first full day here.

We’re thriving.

Cass and I mostly because we must hold it together for Ryan. And his sweet, sticky hugs are getting us through the day.

He brings a levity to the place I’m not sure we could breathe without.

Currently, his favorite pastime is flying around the place with that Superman towel tied around his neck in a makeshift cape.

We’re making it work.

Still, with the round-the-clock security, it’s a little suffocating.

Sometimes, I need air.

Right now, I’m standing in the cold, a scarf covering the lower half of my face as I brace against the wind. Cass and I came out here to let Ryan play and hopefully burn off some of his energy before dinner.

And we’re in desperate need of a sister debrief — a private chat. To our disappointment, a tiny army came with us.

There is no such thing as privacy in Lucian Bachman’s world.

Under the floodlights, I stand beside the armored SUV with Lucian’s oversized wool coat pulled tight around me and try not to shiver.

Lucian has not only trapped us in a bubble of security but also wrapped us in layer upon layer of protection from the weather.

I’m wearing a couple grand worth of accessories from our shopping spree at Red Shutters: a tan-and-black Burberry checked scarf and glove set in a cashmere blend.

Soft tan fleece-lined Hermès Norte boots cover my calves, and a black Moncler beanie Lucian pulled onto my head on my way out the door.

Cass is bundled in a cream coat with a pale orange scarf looped around her neck and a white hat with the largest pom-pom I’ve ever seen perched on the top of her head. She sits beside me as we watch a bundled-up Ryan try to make a snowball in his thickly padded gloves.

I stare out at the snow-scattered Icelandic beach below the cliff. “It looks like another planet.”

“Feels like it too,” she mutters, then glances at me. “No offense to your boyfriend’s kidnapping-vacation aesthetic.”

“He did not kidnap us.”

Cass gives me a look.

I sigh. “This time.”

Lucian stands several feet away, exchanging hushed words with Rafe and Bayne.

His head turns anytime Cass or I speak. His eyes find mine across the space between us.

Dark. Possessive. Exhausted.

Mine, those eyes say.

Yours, but free, mine say back.

The exchange is silent. Brutal in its intimacy.

Lucian has barely let me out of his line of sight since we arrived.

When I fell asleep last night, exhausted from our travels, I woke up three times to find him watching me.

Not sleeping. Not resting. Watching.

As if he looked away, I would vanish.

The first time, it broke my heart.

The second time, it scared me.

The third time, I pretended to stay asleep because I didn’t know what to do. I can’t never leave his side, yet I’ll do anything in my power to save him from hurting any more than he already has.

Now he moves closer, standing between me and the house and every inch of him is in control.

Red Shutters was supposed to be impossible to find. A small place tucked into Scotland’s bones. Bayne’s land. Bayne’s men. Bayne’s rules.

Carlos found it anyway.

I feel his attention on the side of my face. I try to avoid his gaze.

“Erin.” One word. My name, spoken low enough that only I hear it.

A command, a warning, and a caress, all in one word.

The front door opens before I can say something that gets me carried over his shoulder in front of everyone.

Warm light spills down the steps.

A woman in a black coat with ice-blonde hair that falls to her waist, the air of a queen about her, strides down the front steps in high-heeled black leather boots.

Even her name is beautiful and strong. Freya. A powerful Scottish woman, a lawyer and member of Bayne’s clan.

A woman with a seat at the table. A decision-maker. She’s come here today to decide if she’ll approve of Bayne’s men staying longer to help guard us, or if the risk is too much and she’ll be pulling them today.

Two men in dark suits follow her; the first is her husband, Frederick. I watch as he follows her to their armored van.

Cass watches the back of Freya’s platinum hair as she goes. “Is this place haunted? Because I swear I’m seeing another blonde ghost.”

“Haunted?” Ryan’s eyes widen. “Really?”

We never think he’s listening. He’s always listening.

“Probably,” Blaze snorts.

“Blaze,” I warn.

“What?” Blaze shrugs, kicking a boot toe against an icicle hanging from the tire well of the SUV. “It’s Iceland. Everything looks like a ghost threw up on it.”

“He’s right,” Ryan giggles. “The sand is black.”

“Ryan,” Cass adds, looking at me.

We share an amused look, remembering Ryan demanding that the three of us get into the same bed in the apartment when something scared him.

Cass whispers. “The last thing we need is Lucian towering over the three of us like a sleep-deprived Ghostbuster.”

Bayne moves to say farewell to Freya. Lucian walks toward me.

The wind lifts the edge of his black coat. He looks impossible here, carved from the same dark rock as the cliffs. Wealth, violence, grief, and power arranged in the shape of one dangerously controlling, beautiful man.

He stops in front of me. “Inside.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you ever get tired of saying that?”

“No.”

“Do you ever consider asking?”

“No.”

Cass coughs. “And they say romance is dead.”

Lucian does not look away from me.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

For one hot, stupid second, I forget we are standing in front of armed men, my sister, my nephew, and enough unresolved trauma to fill this ocean.

Then Ryan tugs at my sleeve. “Aunt Rin, I’m cold. Can I play in my room?”

The spell breaks.

I look down at him, and my heart twists.

He smiles up at me, oblivious to the fact that this situation is anything but normal. He tugs down his new favorite hat, the red one Lucian picked because apparently mafia kings can also be extremely aggressive personal shoppers.

“Of course you can,” I say. Lucian answers at the same time. “After security clears the family wing.”

Ryan sighs dramatically.

Cass pats his shoulder. “Uncle Lucian was born like that, sweetheart. We have to be kind.”

Lucian’s mouth almost moves. Then his attention shifts back to the second SUV.

The air tightens. I notice the way Lucian’s shoulders go slightly harder. The way his hand flexes at his side. The way they don’t look at one another feels almost more intimate than if they did.

History has its own language. I hate that I am learning to understand theirs.

Isobel and Lucian’s.

Now, the beautiful ghost from Lucian’s past who found us at Red Shutters has traveled with us to the end of the world.

A constant reminder that at one time, someone meant as much to Lucian as I do.

Her long blonde hair hangs down her back. She wears an elegant cream-colored down coat, leather gloves, and tall black boots that are far too stylish for the iceberg we’re standing on.

Cass sees her and immediately retreats.

She can’t stand Isobel.

I thought I’d hate her. I probably should. Instead, I find myself feeling sorry for her more often than not.

Empathy doesn’t mean that I’m not ready for her to leave.

I am.

“Come on, Ryan,” Cass says brightly, too brightly. “Let’s go see if your new billionaire Iceland prison cell comes with heated floors.”

“It does,” Bayne says.

Cass turns her chair toward him. “Of course it does.”

“And geothermal baths,” he adds.

She pauses. “Fine, I’ll allow us to enjoy ourselves.”

We move toward the house as a group. Not family exactly. Not yet. Not completely.

Something messier.

Isobel moves into the shadows before we get close. She’s gone by the time we reach the foyer.

We all seem to breathe a little easier in her absence.

The new floors are hardwood with a honey-colored stain.

They’ve laid brightly colored rugs over the wood to add warmth.

Knowing Lucian? They’re here for traction. To avoid falls.

The house swallows us in warmth.

The main room is all stone and light. Pale wood floors—black iron fixtures. A massive fire is already burning. Tall windows showing the ocean beyond, waves crashing under a low sky.

The house is beautiful. I’ve learned that beauty can’t be trusted.

Cass wheels forward slowly, taking it in. “Well. This is cozy for haunted.”

Gregory steps inside, his glasses fogging slightly. His sandy hair is flattened on one side from the wind. He looks like a man who accidentally wandered in from an international criminal drama.

Cass catches his eye. “Your hair is doing something very interesting.”

“Thank you.” He runs a hand through it. “Interesting is very on brand here.”

Cass laughs. “Anything less would be underdressed.”

Gregory smiles back.

Cass confuses me.

At one time, I thought she might be interested in her massive bodyguard, Mack.

Cass is bold, sarcastic, and generally pretty fearless.

Gregory is, awkward, nerdy, less traditionally alpha…

But genuinely brave.

Staying even when he’s scared. Even when it’s terrifying.

Even when he could walk away unscathed at any moment and never look back.

And no one would fault him for it.

But he doesn’t leave.

He stays and does the hard things.

That’s Cass.

I watch them now, the way Gregory puts his hand on her shoulder. The way she looks up at him and laughs.

He always makes her laugh.

And while we’re being hunted by a psychopath?

Humor is a wonderful trait to have.

Could romantic chaos be happening out here in our snow globe?

I call her name, ready to set a gentle tease out in the world, to say something witty about the way the two of them get along so well, just to see their reaction. “Hey Cass—”

Lucian leans close to my ear. “No.”

I stiffen. “No what?”

“No matchmaking,” he says. “Things are complicated enough.”

I turn my head, staring up at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You had a look.” He stares down, heat in his gaze.

I say, “I have many looks.”

“That one means trouble,” he says.

“Every look on your face means trouble, Lucian.”

“Everything about you is trouble.” His hand presses more firmly against my lower back.

Possessive. Warning. My body, a traitorous thing, responds. Wet and warm and wanting.

“You’re exhausted,” he says.

“So are you,” I counter.

“You need to go rest,” he growls.

“So do you.”

He lowers his voice. “Do not start with me in this hallway, Erin.”

Heat curls through me, sharp and immediate. But I hear the fear at the edge of his voice as well.

That is what stops me from pushing too hard.

I see it in the tightness around his mouth. In the way he has placed himself between me and every exterior door since we walked in. In the way his eyes keep returning to my body, my face, my hands, checking for injuries that aren’t there.

He’s fraying. I grab his hand in mine. “I’m here,” I say. His eyes close for half a second.

Rafe approaches before either of us can say more. He’s reporting back after Freya’s visit.

“The house is secure,” he says. “Isobel is contained in the east guest suite under watch.”

I can’t help but stiffen at the sound of her name.

Lucian notices.

Again. Always. “Erin.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not.”

“No one here is fine.” I use Gregory’s words. ‘Not fine’ is kind of on brand here.

Bayne moves to the fireplace and holds his hands out toward the warmth as if he owns the place.

He probably could if he wanted to.

I’m not sure Lucian will be summering in Iceland after this.

Now, his voice shakes as he looks at Rafe. “And the outer perimeter?”

“There’s only one main access road,” Rafe says. “Two service tracks, both monitored. The weather is closing in by midnight. After that, unless Carlos has learned to ride storms, no one approaches unseen.”

“Comforting,” Cass says. “Nothing says relaxing family getaway like weather as a security measure.”

Rafe’s tablet chimes.

Everyone stops.

One sound, and every room becomes a battlefield.

Rafe looks down.

His face gives away nothing.

Then he says, “It’s clean. Confirmation from the second perimeter team.”

The pressure valve releases, only a bit.

Gregory looks at Cass. “Can we eat now?”

“Hell yes.” Cass starts toward the kitchen. “Come on, Oxford. You can chop veggies.”

Gregory blinks. “Can’t I watch and taste-test your biscuits instead?”

“Too late,” my bossy older sister says. “You’re hired.”

He follows. Happily.

Definitely interesting.

I turn back and find Lucian watching me with a look that makes my breath catch.

“What?” I ask.

He gives me ‘the look.’ “You need sleep, baby.”

“Then come with me to bed.”

His eyes darken.

A stupid, hot thrill goes through me. I should not be flirting when all our lives are in danger.

Sadly, I appear to lack survival instinct.

Rafe clears his throat. “Before anyone disappears into a room and makes the rest of us single people jealous—”

“Or humans living off nothing but sexy texts while I’m away from my beautiful wife.” Blaze lets out a heavy sigh. He’s lounging against the wall in that panther-casual way of his, staring down at a phone that’s been dead for two days.

His hands on my shoulders, Lucian turns me toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

“Before you leave, Lucian, we need to discuss Marina.”

Marina Vale—the woman tied to messages and old Bachman routes and the no-longer-existing Village.

Lucian goes still. “What about Marina?”

“Her courier pattern stopped, which means she no longer needs to hide,” Rafe looks up from his tablet. “Or she is no longer moving.”

Blaze snaps his burner flip-phone closed. “Marina always moves.”

Rafe nods once. “That’s the reason that her silence matters.”

The fire snaps in the hearth. A chill runs through me. Lucian’s hands tighten around my shoulders.

This time, I let him hold on too tightly. Maybe Iceland is the end of the world. But Carlos is still somewhere beyond it.

Watching. Waiting.

“We didn’t come here to hide,” Lucian says. “We came here because the board has gotten smaller.”

“Marina disappearing. Another pawn bites the dust,” Blaze says.

“Which most likely means Carlos is preparing his final move,” Rafe agrees.

Lucian’s voice is ice. “We need to make ours first.”