Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I hum to myself as I lounge in the chair next to the smaller fireplace on the upper landing, the knitting needles click-clacking in my hands. The cozy warmth of the fire glows against the snow outside, and I’ve almost finished what I’m making. It’s a deep crimson color, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of what it will be.
It’s peaceful here, despite the snowstorm still raging outside–with the wind battering against the walls of windows and the snow continuously falling in thick waves. Too peaceful, considering we’ve got a tied-up hostage a few rooms over currently being interrogated by the three dangerous, yet irresistible, men that have wormed their way into my heart. But you know what? I like to think of myself as a glass-half-full kind of girl.
Just as I’m getting into the groove of a new row, I hear footsteps behind me. I glance up, expecting to see Atlas coming to check on me for the twelfth time, but it’s Key. He’s got that familiar mischievous grin on his face, like he’s about to make some smart comment. There’s something else in his eyes today though, a seriousness I’m not used to seeing from him.
“What’s up?” I ask, keeping my tone light as I focus on my stitches.
Key stops short, his eyes locking on the knitting needles in my hands like he’s just discovered fire. His expression lights up, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head.
“Ohhh,” he breathes, pointing at the needle in my hand. “I’ve got an idea.”
I blink, my fingers stilling around the yarn. “An idea? Key, you’re not exactly giving me a lot of confidence here.”
He grins, that mischievous spark growing into a full-blown wildfire. “Sugar, can I borrow one of those knitting needles for a sec?”
“...Why?” My voice is wary. “You suddenly in the mood for a new hobby?”
Key steps closer, eyes never leaving the needle. “Nah, but I just realized...that could be really useful right about now.”
I squint at him, fully aware I should probably stop this before it goes any further, but I can’t help but be curious. “Useful for what exactly?”
His grin widens. “You know, for...encouragement.”
It takes a second for the meaning to click, and when it does, I groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope!” he says, bouncing on his heels like a kid at Christmas. “Come on, just let me borrow it for a minute. I promise I’ll bring it back good as new.”
I shake my head, but I’m already reaching for the needle, despite my better judgment. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Terrible? Nah,” he says with a wink. “It’s genius.”
I hand over the knitting needle, still feeling like this is going to end in some kind of disaster. Key takes it with a flourish, waving it around like a sword before giving me a mock salute.
“I’ll be right back!” he says and, with that, he disappears into the next room.
I sit there for a second, my hands suddenly very still in my lap. Should I...be concerned? Nah. He’ll give it back when he’s done.
A few moments later, a blood-curdling scream pierces the air from the other room, followed by a muffled shout. I sigh and shake my head, going back to my knitting. Luckily, I have a billion needles to continue my work, like any knitter worth their salt does.
“Shhh, shhh, calm down,” I hear Key say, far too casually. “This’ll be over in a second.”
There’s a pause, followed by an even louder scream. I cringe, biting my lip and gripping my knitting a little too tightly. Why did I let him borrow the needle again?
A few minutes later, Key comes strolling back into the room, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He spins the knitting needle between his fingers, completely unfazed by whatever chaos he’s just caused, and drops it into my lap.
“All done,” he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “And look–it’s in perfect condition.”
I raise an eyebrow, inspecting the needle for any signs of blood. “You didn’t break it?”
“Nope,” he says with a wink. “Told you I’d take care of it.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the little smile that tugs at my lips. “I’m never giving you sharp objects again.”
Key leans down, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before sauntering off toward the kitchen. “Never say never, Sugar.”
I shake my head as I go back to my knitting, the chaos settling for now. The whole scene is so absurd I can’t help but chuckle to myself. I wonder if this thing will ever get finished at this rate.
Just as I’m about to add another row to my knitting, I overhear Teddy and Atlas talking in low voices out in the hall.
“Still not talking,” Atlas rumbles, his deep voice carrying easily to my little perch overlooking the living room downstairs.
I don’t bother pretending not to eavesdrop. If they don’t want me to hear, they should talk quieter. I shift in my chair, leaning toward the hall.
“We’ll get him to talk,” Teddy says. “We just need more time.”
“Time we might not have. That she might not have.”
I bite my lip, the weight of their words sinking in. They’re talking about that poor girl who was kidnapped. If they’re having this much trouble with the hostage, things must be bad. I glance toward the hall that leads to the rooms, my hands stilling on my lap once more, my stomach tightening up with a buzz of adrenaline.
Teddy’s and Atlas’s voices have quieted, and now there’s just the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional gust of wind battering the cabin. They’ve been at it with the hostage for hours and, from the looks of it, they’re getting nowhere.
They’ve got their methods, sure. But people don’t just crack under pressure all the time. Sometimes you need to make them feel safe, like they’re talking to a friend. I glance out the window, watching the snow swirl around the cabin in thick, heavy waves. The guys will be busy with their perimeter checks soon.
Maybe there’s something I can do…
With that decided, I stand and head into the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of cooking soothing my nerves. The warmth of the stove and the rich smell of rosemary and garlic fill the air as I prepare a meal that’ll satisfy even these three giants. Steak, mashed potatoes, roasted broccoli: all hearty, simple comfort foods. Just what we all need after a long day of, well, everything.
I hum softly to myself, setting the table for four. It’s strange how quickly I’ve fallen into this routine, like having three dangerous hitmen around is normal. It’s not, obviously, but there’s something almost comforting about their presence. Maybe it’s because, for once, I feel like I’m not alone.
“Dinner’s ready!” I call out and, within seconds, the guys appear, drawn to the smell of food like hungry wolves. Teddy is first, his intense gaze softening just a fraction as he takes his seat. Atlas follows, grunting his approval as he sniffs the air, and Key swaggers in last, always with that mischievous grin on his face.
“You’ve outdone yourself again,” Key says, dropping into his chair next to me. “What did we do to deserve you, Sugar?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You haven’t done much yet, but you’re welcome.”
We sit down, the silence filled only with the clink of silverware as they dig in. For a moment, it almost feels normal–just four people sharing a meal. No snowstorm outside, no hostage tied up in the other room, and no tied up ex-boyfriend in the living room decorated like a christmas tree.
Teddy finally speaks up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “We’ll need to check the perimeter after dinner. The storm’s picking up, and we don’t want any surprises.”
Atlas nods in agreement, already halfway through his plate. “Yeah, can’t risk someone else sneaking up on us.”
I keep my expression neutral, nodding along. “Sounds like a good idea. You guys be careful out there.”
They finish their meal in silence, each one of them focused on the task ahead. I keep glancing at the door, waiting for the moment when they’ll leave me alone in the cabin. My heart pounds a little faster at the thought of what I’m planning, but I push it down. I’ve got this.
When they finally stand up to leave, Key pauses by my chair, giving me a sly grin. “Don’t go getting into any trouble while we’re gone, okay?”
I smile innocently. “Me? Trouble? Never.”
Teddy gives me a long look, his piercing blue eyes scanning my face like he’s searching for something. “Stay inside. We won’t be long.”
I nod, feeling his gaze linger for a second too long before he turns to follow Atlas and Key outside. The cold air rushes in as they open the door, a blast of wind and snow swirling in before the door clicks shut behind them.
And just like that, I’m alone.
The cabin feels suddenly quiet, the crackling fire the only sound besides the distant howling of the wind. I stand up slowly, my heart racing as I move to grab a plate. I load it up with the extra steak and potatoes, pre-cutting it and arranging it nicely–because presentation matters no matter the situation.
I grab a fork and my medical kit, taking a deep breath before heading toward the room where he’s tied up. The door looms in front of me and, for a second, I hesitate. What if he won’t talk to me either? What if the guys get angry at me? What if this is all a terrible idea?
But no. I can do this.
With a steadying breath, I push open the door and step inside. The room is dimly lit, the firelight casting shadows across the floor. The hostage lifts his head as I walk in, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He’s held in place, each wrist and ankle tied to the flimsy wooden chair, looking extremely rough but still defiant.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. I hold up the plate of food, offering him a small smile. “I brought you dinner. Figured you might be hungry.”
He blinks at me, clearly caught off guard. “You think I’m gonna talk because you brought me food?”
I shrug, setting my kit down next to the chair across from him. “Maybe. Or maybe I just think you could use a good meal. Either way, I thought I’d give it a shot.”
He watches me warily as I sit down and hold the plate on my lap. I keep my posture relaxed, casual–like this is just two friends sharing a quiet meal together.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice low, almost conversational, “I know you don’t trust them. They’re...a lot to deal with. But me? I just want to understand what’s going on. I want to help.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re with them.”
“Sort of,” I admit. “But I’m not like them. I don’t hurt people. I help people.”
His eyes flicker with something–maybe doubt, maybe curiosity. I can’t tell yet. “So why are you helping them?”
“Because sometimes people get stuck in bad situations, and they need a way out. That’s all this is. You’re stuck. I want to help you find a way out.”
For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze dropping to the plate of food. I can see the wheels turning in his head, but he’s still not convinced. That’s okay. I’m not in a hurry.
I lean forward, slightly adjusting the plate on my knees. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just...talk to me. What’s your name?”
He hesitates, his jaw clenching. “Why do you care?”
“Because it’s hard to help someone when you don’t even know their name.”
There’s a long pause, and I hold my breath, waiting for his response. Finally, he lets out a low sigh, his shoulders slumping just a little. “It’s Marcus.”
I smile softly, the tension in my chest easing just a little. “Nice to meet you, Marcus.”
It’s a small step, but it’s something. I stab a piece of steak with the fork and hold it out for him. After only a moment's hesitation, he actually takes it, his hunger overriding his mistrust in me.
Now, all I have to do is wait. Patience, Grace. This is just the beginning.
Marcus doesn’t speak much as he eats bite after bite, but that’s okay. I’m not expecting him to pour his heart out right away. I let the silence stretch between us, only broken by the soft clink of the fork against the plate as I feed him.
Once he’s polished off the steak and potatoes, I set the plate aside on the floor and nod toward the first aid kit I brought in with me. “You’ve been through a lot. Let me help with those injuries. You look like you could use some TLC.”
His eyes narrow again, but there’s a flicker of something softer behind the suspicion–maybe relief, or maybe exhaustion. He doesn’t protest, though, just watches as I pull out gauze, antiseptic, and a few bandages.
“Let’s start with your shoulder,” I say, gesturing for him to lean forward slightly. His shirt is torn in several places, and there’s a nasty cut running across his upper arm.
“Look, I know this situation sucks,” I say as I dab antiseptic on the wound, my touch as gentle as possible. “But it doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it alone. You might not believe it, but I’m not your enemy here.”
Marcus grunts, wincing slightly as I clean the wound, but he stays still, allowing me to work. “You’re patching me up to get me to talk.”
I meet his eyes for a brief moment before going back to bandaging his arm. “I’m patching you up because you’re hurt. Whether you talk or not, I’m still going to help you. I don’t like seeing anyone or anything in pain.”
He stays quiet after that, watching me through swollen, bruised eyes as I finish wrapping the bandage around his shoulder. There’s a long pause, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me as I rummage through the first aid kit for more supplies. I can tell he’s still trying to figure me out.
“Why are you with them?” he asks after a long moment, his voice rough.
I stop, considering the question. “It’s complicated,” I say honestly. “They’re not bad guys, really. But they’re not saints either. They’re…protective.”
“Protective?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re killers.”
I nod, applying some ointment to another cut on his arm. “They are. But they don’t hurt people without a reason. And trust me, if you’re here, you’re mixed up in something dangerous.”
“I’m not the one hurting people,” Marcus mutters, his eyes darkening.
I sigh softly. “Maybe not. But you’re part of something bigger that is, aren’t you? Something that’s putting other people at risk.” I meet his gaze again, trying to convey understanding rather than judgment. “I just want to know the truth, Marcus. I want to help.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s okay. I’m not in a rush. Instead, I gently tilt his head to check a bruise forming on his temple, probably from a rough blow earlier. “This one’s going to hurt,” I warn as I dab the ointment on, earning a wince.
“I’ve had worse,” he mutters, though his face tightens in discomfort.
I smile softly. “I’m sure you have. Still, it doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it. You’d be surprised how much better you can feel after a little care.”
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as I continue patching him up. Marcus watches me carefully, his suspicion slowly giving way to something else–maybe confusion or curiosity. It’s clear he’s not used to someone treating him like a person, not just a problem to solve.
When I’m done, I step back, wiping my hands on a towel. “There,” I say, nodding at the now-clean bandages covering his numerous injuries. “That should help. You’ll need to take it easy for a bit, though.”
He eyes me for a long time, then finally sighs, his shoulders slumping a little. “You really think this is going to work? Playing nurse? You think I’m just going to spill everything because you patched me up?”
I tilt my head, a small smile on my lips. “Honestly? I don’t know. But what I do know is that you’re in a tough spot, and I’d like to make it a little easier for you. Talking to me? It might not fix everything, but it could help.”
For a long moment, Marcus says nothing, his eyes locked on mine. I can see the gears turning in his head, the struggle between trust and fear playing out across his face. He’s wavering. That’s good.
I sit back in my chair as I meet Marcus’s eyes. I already know why he’s here. Teddy, Atlas, and Key didn’t keep it a secret from me. They’re after a young girl–someone important to them, their friend’s daughter. She’s missing, and these men took her.
But Marcus? He’s not the mastermind. He’s just one of the guys who got mixed up in something way bigger than him. I can see it in the way he looks at me–like he’s trying to put up a front, but underneath it all, he’s scared. Guilt-ridden.
“You’re part of a group that took a girl.” I say softly, watching his reaction.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it. His eyes flicker with something–a mix of fear and regret–but he stays quiet. I take that as a good sign.
“She’s important to the men I’m with,” I continue, my voice gentle but firm. “They’re not going to stop until they find her. You know that, right?”
Marcus shifts in his chair, looking away, the guilt thick on his face. “I didn’t want to take her,” he mutters after a moment, his voice rough. “But I don’t get to make those calls. I was just following orders. I don’t get a choice.”
I let out a slow breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Where is she, Marcus? You have to know something.”
He shakes his head, but it’s more of a reflex than anything else. “I don’t know where she is. They kept me out of it. I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this, I got roped into this at the last second.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, keeping my voice calm. “You know what’ll happen if they don’t find her. Just give me something and I’ll help you.”
Marcus winces, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They won’t kill me?”
“I don’t know,” I say softly, unable to lie even in the face of a kidnapper. “But I will do my best to ensure they don’t. Tell me what you know, Marcus. Every little bit helps.”
He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flicking toward the door as if he expects Teddy, Atlas, or Key to burst in at any second.
“They’ve got my wife. That’s why I work for them.”
“Oh, Marcus…” My hand flies to my mouth and I feel my heart ache at the pain in his voice.
“They can’t know I told you,” he says, his voice barely a whisper now. “But I know they’ve got the girl stashed somewhere nearby. There’s a cabin–it’s hidden, hard to find, off the main roads, kinda like this one, but smaller.”
I bite my lip, hope fluttering in my chest. A cabin. That’s more than we’ve had so far.
“Listen, I–” He’s about to say something important– I can feel it –but, before he can get a single word out, the door slams open with a force that makes the walls tremble.
My heart leaps into my throat as Atlas storms in, his massive frame taking up the entire doorway. The rush of air swirls in behind him from the force of his entry, whipping my hair across my face. His eyes, dark and intense, immediately lock on me.
“What the fuck, Grace?!” he growls, his voice a low rumble of barely contained anger.
I barely manage to open my mouth to respond before he’s crossing the room in two long, powerful strides. I stumble back, startled, but it’s too late–his arms are around me, pulling me close as if I might disappear at any second. There’s something almost frantic in the way he grips me, his hand pressing firmly against the small of my back, holding me to his chest. I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as the tension radiates off him in waves.
“Atlas, I-” I start, but he’s not listening. His gaze flickers past me, landing on the hostage, who’s frozen in his chair, wide-eyed.
Before I can answer, he lashes out with a swift kick, sending the chair–and Marcus–crashing to the floor with a loud crash. Marcus yells out in pain, but Atlas doesn’t even look back. He shifts, turning me gently in his grip, his body shielding mine from the hostage as though the man poses some kind of threat, even tied up and helpless.
Well, Christmas cookies . I guess I’m in trouble.