Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
EVERS
His words ran on a loop in my head. "I'm keeping the girl. Consider her your incentive. Get me what I want, or she disappears."
Get me what I want, or she disappears.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stem my rising panic, to block the memory of his hands on her, her eyes, wide and terrified until they hooded her and dragged her from the room.
I knew what disappear meant, what he might be doing to her even now.
When I found Summer, when she was safe, I was going to rip him to fucking pieces. Fucking pieces.
"Oh, God. Oh, God, it hurts. It hurts. Oh, God, someone help me." Smokey moaned and cried, slumped in his chair, his body held up by the zip ties securing him.
When I got free, I was going to fucking kill him, too. He'd handed his only child over to a monster, served her up on a fucking platter.
"I'm dying. You have to help me," he sobbed.
Fuck him. He could bleed to death for all I cared. The second I got free of this goddamn chair I was going straight for Summer. Anything that got in my fucking way would burn to ash.
Only one thing mattered now.
Getting her back. Saving her from—
No.
I could not fucking think about what I'd be saving her from. Couldn't think about his hands on her and the fear in her eyes.
In all my life, I never imagined I would love anyone the way I love Summer.
I would have sold my soul to keep from failing her. And yet, I had. I'd failed her so completely she might be lost forever.
No.
I would get her back or die trying. That was it. Summer was all that mattered.
Ignoring Smokey's fading whimpers, I rocked the chair from side to side, trying to break it apart. Normally, getting out of zip ties wouldn't be that much of a problem.
If they'd just secured my hands together, I would have been fine, but they'd strapped my arms to the sides of the chair, forearm and bicep, preventing me from getting any leverage.
Ditto for my legs. Zip ties were pulled tight at my ankles and shins, and this goddamn fucking chair might as well have been made of iron.
Solid oak. Hand carved joints. The fucking thing weighed more than I did, and so far, nothing could break it apart. I could barely rock it from leg to leg it was so heavy. With my legs tied to the chair from ankle to knee, I was close to immobile. Immobile and unarmed. Trapped.
I needed help.
I needed my team. My brothers. Anyone.
Anyone but the useless, dying traitor beside me.
Sitting there, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to save the woman I loved… Every inch of me burned with rage and frustration, and determination to make this right. Whatever she needed to erase what he was—
I threw my head to the side as if I could fling the image from my brain. Her eyes. Her hands shaking as she tried so hard to be brave. Fuck that, she didn't try, she was brave. She'd saved my life.
Maybe I could have talked my way out of it. Or maybe I'd be like Smokey, slumped in my chair, counting the remains of my life to the tick of the clock on the mantle.
Summer had saved me. She hadn't just saved me, she'd looked me in the eyes and chosen me over her father. She knew what she was doing. She knew what would happen, and she'd chosen me.
All this time she'd never told me she loved me. Not until today. She hadn't said the words, but next to the sacrifice she'd made, how could I doubt? She'd chosen me, saved my life and sacrificed herself.
If she hadn’t drawn Tsepov's attention, if she’d stayed quiet, he wouldn’t have taken her. She’d jumped into the fray to get his gun off me and now she was gone.
I couldn't live with it. I wouldn't live with it. I would get free from this motherfucking chair, and I would find her, and I would fix—
Fucking stop thinking about it, I ordered myself.
I had to save my girl, not go off like a fucking loose cannon.
Easier said than done.
This wasn't a mission.
It wasn't a job.
I wasn't a Ranger or a Sinclair.
I was a man desperately in love with a woman in the hands of a monster.
My head throbbed from the drugs. A sour taste coated my tongue. Blood ran down my hands from the zip ties cutting into my wrists. They were too tight to slip off even with the lubrication of blood.
Fuck them for being smart enough to secure my arms. And fuck the owner of Rycroft for buying this goddamn indestructible chair. I rocked it again, trying to hop from the front legs to the back and only getting it a few inches off the floor. Not enough to tip over. The thing weighed a fucking ton.
The silence in the house was deafening, the tick of the clock on the mantle loud as a church bell.
Where the fuck was everyone? Were they still unconscious? Or dead?
Tsepov's men had strolled into the house like they owned it. Had they found the control room and taken out the guards?
There was no way Smokey could have drugged everyone. The team guarding the wall hadn't eaten dinner in the house. Unless they'd hit the control room for coffee when they checked in with Griffen during the shift change. Hopefully, that was it. Drugged was better than dead.
It didn't matter. There wasn't a fucking thing I could do for them strapped to this fucking chair. I could only sit there, yanking on my bonds, rocking the chair, my ears straining for any movement in the house.
An eternity passed. Smokey's whimpers had died down to vague intermittent moans. He was alive. For now. He had three bullets in him, one in the leg and two in the chest.
I was surprised he wasn't dead yet. He should have been. If someone didn't get here soon, he would be.
Lights flashed through the room, sweeping past the windows as a car—thank fucking God, a car—pulled up in front of the house. Doors slammed, feet pounded, and a voice called my name.
Cooper.
Tears of sheer relief welled in my eyes.
Thank fuck.
I blinked them away and called his name from behind the duct tape, doing my best to make some noise. He must have heard me because he came tearing through the doorway before skidding to a stop.
"Fucking hell," he said, taking in the scene in a glance. Over his shoulder, he said, "Smokey's been shot. Call an ambulance. And call Whitmore. Get him here."
Cooper strode into the room, pulling a knife from his pocket and flicking it open. Crouching in front of me, he said, "This is going to hurt."
Scraping a fingernail across my cheek, he pulled up the edge of the duct tape, then ripped his hand down, taking off the tape and more than a few layers of skin.
"Tsepov has Summer," I said in a rush. "Get me off this fucking chair. We have to go. Now."
Cooper stared at me for a long moment before standing and closing the knife.
"What the fuck are you doing? Cut me loose. Did you hear me? Tsepov has Summer. He's got her and he's going to—"
I couldn't force words past the lump in my throat. I couldn't say it out loud. I jerked against my bonds, dragging the chair inches off the ground before it slammed back down.
"Tell me what happened first," Cooper said.
"Cut me loose, you fucking bastard."
"No. You're an inch from completely losing it, and you know it. I cut you off that chair, you're out the door, and we still have no fucking clue what's going on. Sit there for a fucking minute and get your shit together. We'll find Summer. I swear it, but I need to understand what happened."
I knew my brother. Knew that tone in his voice. He meant what he said. He was leaving me exactly where I was until I brought him up to speed.
And he knew me. One look and he knew exactly how close I was to the edge. He had no idea how willing I was to dive over the side.
Anything. I would do anything to get her back. To see her safe. Nothing else mattered. Not anymore.
Sucking in a quick breath, I forced my scattered thoughts into order.
"Evers. SITREP. Now."
My mouth opened, and I spoke. "Smokey drugged us. I don't know how yet, probably the wine."
"Griffen? The team?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. I can only assume they're down. Tsepov wants account numbers. Dad stole money, transferred it into accounts, and Tsepov wants the numbers."
"Then why the fuck didn't he just tell us that?" Cooper asked, shaking his head in exasperation.
"He thought we were working with Dad. Thought we knew. Were in on it."
"I'm going to fucking kill Dad when we find him."
"He'd better hope someone else gets there first," I said. The moment Tsepov's hands had touched Summer, the moment that bag dropped over her head and Tsepov's goon dragged her from the room, I said goodbye to the last shred of love I had for my father.
Smokey sold us out, but my father was the one who put us here in the first place. My father opened the door to darkness and let it infect our lives. He was the reason Tsepov had Summer.
"He took Summer as incentive," I said, struggling to keep my voice flat and emotionless. I needed Cooper to believe I had my shit together or he'd never let me off this fucking chair. "The longer we leave her with him—"
"I know, Evers. I know who we're dealing with."
"Then let me off this goddamn chair," I roared, my control snapping.