Chapter Thirty-Three
Addison
I groan, my eyes slowly blinking open into a dark room. The memories of what happened are murky, but bits and pieces assault me as my body adjusts to being drugged a second time.
I was searching for the file to give Alana when I heard something strange coming from one of the guest bedrooms. Thinking it was Rowan returning to come searching for me, I waited for him to find me.
Only, it wasn't him.
A tall, dark shadow dressed in all black lingered in the doorway, staring at me.
I remember fighting. I knocked everything off the desk in an attempt to get away from the man picking me up with strong arms wrapped around my torso. I kicked and thrashed wildly, eliciting a growl from the perpetrator, before something sharp stabbed my thigh, and I became too weak to move.
My last memories are of Rowan—begging and pleading for him to find me.
From there, everything goes dark.
I remember a bar, and some big dude with blonde hair trying to pry me from my captor, but I was too out of it to do anything while my kidnapper handled me like a ragdoll.
I’m in danger.
My mind races too quickly for my sluggish movements. The drug is wearing off slowly, but my brain is shunted into panic as I try to sit up in the bed I'm in. I feel weak, but it doesn't stop me as I take in my surroundings.
I'm in a room, but I know it isn't Rowan’s. The bed is smaller, and the fireplace I've come to cherish is missing. It’s pretty standard, with a massive wooden dresser stretching along the opposite wall and a tall window next to the end table beside me. There’s a gun cabinet made of dark wood and stocked with shotguns and rifles to the far left of me.
Even the sheets covering me are different.
They’re white and neatly tucked around me.
Something that makes my panic rev even higher as I attempt to throw my legs around.
I mentally curse my clumsy movements, the last dregs of the drug slowly dissipating from my veins as I force myself to stand on shaky limbs.
The cold floor beneath my feet causes my teeth to chatter as I shuffle forward.
I’m still dressed in the tights and t-shirt I was wearing when I was taken, and the chill in the air causes goosebumps to peddle along my arms.
The bedroom door is closed, and I pray it’s unlocked. I have no idea what scene I’m about to open it to, so I mentally prepare myself for anything.
There could be a gun-wielding psychopath on the other side.
Oh, god.
I don't even know where I am.
My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest as I grip the door’s handle. I turn it, the breath skating from my lungs when it gives and creeps open.
I’m in a cabin.
That becomes painstakingly clear by the wooden walls and flooring that make up the open kitchen and connected living room.
But what I'm not expecting is to see my captor standing at the stove in the small kitchen, his back turned to me as he flips pancakes.
He peers over his shoulder, familiar hazel eyes connecting with my own.
“Logan?” My voice is barely a whisper and rough with sleep.
My cousin smiles, the whole delusional situation lost on him. “Mornin'. Well, it isn't morning…”
He’s dressed in a dark Henley and jeans. Rugged hiking boots cover his feet as he shifts his weight to face me. His hair is shorter, and he’s far more filled out than he was when we were kids.
I blink in surprise, questions filtering through my head as I stare at him.
He cants his chin towards the stack of pancakes piled on a plate beside him. “Sorry for serving breakfast, but it’s all I had in the pantry—”
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask in outrage. “You drugged me! And kidnapped me!”
He frowns, his dark brows that mimic my own, pulling down. “I didn't kidnap you, A. I brought you home.”
My head rears. “Home? Where the fuck am I?”
“Montana,” Logan answers.
I press my fingers to my temples, everything feeling like too much. “What is going on? Why did you—”
“Dad got a call from your mom,” he sighs, cutting the burner off. “Sit and let’s talk.”
I don't want to eat fucking pancakes with my cousin, whom I haven't seen since I was ten. I want answers.
I make a sound of deep aggravation at the back of my throat, but my cousin ignores me as he pulls some plates down from a cabinet and sets the dining room table. He takes a seat at the far end before motioning to the chair across from him.
I plop down in it, snatching two pancakes off the plate before smacking them messily onto my own. “Your explanation had better be good.”
He chuckles. “I found you at Rowan Kingsley’s house, so I'm assuming you know about the syndicate.”
“More or less,” my eyes narrow on him.
He stares at me for a beat before sighing. “There are different branches. Dad is the leader of the Northwestern syndicate, and I'll take over his title once he retires.”
I stop, my hand tightening around the fork I'm holding. “What are you saying, Logan?”
I know the answer, but my mind can't process any of it. How could my family be a part of this? Did my dad know? Does my mom know?
And if they did…
Why didn't anyone tell me anything?
My cousin’s eyes find mine, something serious settling on his features. “Our dads worked for the syndicate, A. They’ve always known about it, and so did your mom.”
My whole world tilts on its axis as everything slows around me. Is it possible for time itself to slow down? I feel like I'm frozen in place, and life around me has ceased to exist.
How is this possible?
Why?
Talking feels impossible, but as the question tumbles past my lips, I feel numb. “Where’s my mom?”
“She’s here,” Logan says gently. “She wanted to be here when you found out. She’s staying with my dad across the compound.”
Another compound.
How…
“I know this is a lot,” my cousin says softly. “But you deserved to know. I've wanted to tell you for years, but Dad wouldn't let me. Your mom wanted to keep you safe—”
I push my chair out, the wood sliding across the floor with a sickening scraping sound. “She wanted to keep me safe by not telling me about my own fucking father. I can't stomach this.”
“A—”
“Take me home, Logan.” I bite, anger boiling away inside of me.
He follows my lead, standing with me. “Addison, sit down.”
“No!” I shout, stomping my foot. I want to fucking throw something, or scream. “Take me home!”
He motions around him. “This is home!”
No, it isn't!
My home is…
Rowan’s face pops into my mind, his strong jaw and rugged features pulled into a small smile. His deep blue eyes are alight with amusement as he watches me.
He’s my home.
My therapist’s words circle my head again, cementing the lingering feelings that have been growing inside of me since the beginning.
Maybe it’s because you haven’t found a place that feels like home yet, Addison.
I have. With Rowan Kingsley and his crazy, beautiful family. Not only did he give me a place in his life, but he was truthful with me as well. He told me every nasty detail when I asked. He didn't sugarcoat anything, and he didn't fucking lie for my peace of mind.
There’s no telling how long we’ve been separated, but fierce longing grips me. I want to see him. I need to see him.
I hold my head high, rolling my shoulders back. “My home is in Columbus, Ohio. Take me back.”
Logan scoffs, shaking his head. “Kingsley is bad news. He isn’t your blood.”
My teeth grind. “No, he isn’t, but I’m choosing him.”
My cousin gives me a perplexed look. “Are you in love with him or something?” Logan’s expression crumbles into pity at my lack of response. “Addison, no. You can’t—”
“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do,” I snap. “Take. Me. Home!”
“You are home!” He hisses. “And I’m not going to stand here and listen to you sing praise over fucking Rowan Kingsley! He killed his own father, A!”
“I know that!” I shout, throwing my hands out at my sides. “He told me!”
Logan chuckles bitterly. “And who’s to say he won’t do the same to you, huh?”
My anger blisters, sending me into a rampage as I close in on my cousin. “He did what he had to survive! You have no idea what he or his siblings have been through!”
“Oh! I have no idea, huh?” He shakes his head. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. Be thankful your mom gave half a shit about you, and didn’t subject you to this lifestyle.”
My ire falters as my bottom lip bobs. I want to argue his point, but he’s right. I have no idea what he’s been through. If his life was half as bad as Rowan’s…
“This whole organization is fucked,” Logan tuts, motioning to the breakfast laid out on the table. “I don't even like pancakes.”
The chuckle that leaves me surprises my cousin. “I don't either.”
He lets his head roll back onto his shoulders in relief. “Thank god. No more pretending to tolerate these dense ass discs.”
“They do taste horrible,” I agree.
He throws his hands out. “I followed the recipe! I swear!”
I cross my arms, the mood between us lightening a fraction. “Followed the recipe, huh? Don't add so much flour next time.”
He cracks a smile before sighing deeply. “I’m sorry, A. I know this is all confusing…”
“I’m pissed,” I shrug. “But not at you. Well, I'm a little mad at you. Did you have to drug me?”
“Would you have come willingly?” He asks with a raised brow.
“Nope.”
He levels me with a look. “All I know is Dad told me to get you out here no matter what. Our parents are expecting us at the main house once you’ve settled down.”
I rub my hands along the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “Things can't get worse, can they?”
As if my prayers are being answered from the big man upstairs, a car door slams outside, and Logan’s head whips up. He stares at the front door, his eyes narrowing.
“Go to my room and lock the door, A.”
I glance toward the living room, taking in the bright headlights illuminating the windows. “Who is it?”
“Go to my room, Addison. Don't come out until I tell you to.”
My eyes never leave the windows. Even when my cousin pushes past me and braces his hand on the front door’s handle.