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My cock pulses and Anastasia, my Ana, takes it all.
I wake up slowly when the morning light streams through the gaps between worn curtains. My sore arms broadcast bruises of various sizes. They’re the canvas of sloppy finger paint colored blue and purple and yellow, evidence of being hauled around by Nathaniel’s men.
Sitting up and groaning at the effort, I reach over to where Bryce had slept. After we made love, he uncuffed and kissed my wrists, pampered me with cooing words and gentle praise. His loving arms cradled me to slumber.
This morning, however, his side of the bed is cold.
I’m alerted to the harsh glare of reality: we are in an FBI safehouse with a small army of guards while my half brother and kidnapper awaits punishment. My chest constricts. Will Bryce heed my wish? Will he stop the bloodbath and spare Nathaniel Turner’s life?
While Nathaniel and I talked about his fatherless childhood and chronically depressed mother, something inside me clicked. Not understanding, exactly, but recognition.
I considered how painful it must have been for him to live with absence and to suspect but never confirm deception. He never fully believed his mother’s story of an unexpected pregnancy by a one-night stand.
It’s easy to judge Nathaniel’s dangerous choices from the comfortable perch of my privilege. I’m not affectionate with my parents, but at least I never had to guess the circumstances of my birth and upbringing.
Nathaniel’s obsession wedged its way into his soul. Until that fixation was pacified, he was tethered to a distant thing out of his reach, beyond his control. That is the very definition of desperate. I can’t ignore the factors that were years in the making. What did it feel like for Nathaniel to feel incomplete or deceived all his life? He made terrible choices in response to his obsession.
Employing intimidation and violence to get our father’s attention is wrong. It isn’t only me he’s holding hostage; he’s threatening the shipyard. That last part angers me the most. But refusing to acknowledge his point of view, and mindlessly retaliating with more anger, accomplishes nothing.
There has to be another way to approach this problem that doesn’t involve more violence and regret. Shoving my body into my tattered business suit, I gather composure and courage. A preliminary list forms in my head.
Need to find Bryce because he is my strength and I am his.
Must ensure Nathaniel is alive and uninjured.
Call Sergei who is probably inconsolably worried.
Confront Father when he arrives.
Take a long bath and sleep for three days.
There are likely missing steps between the last two items, but I’ll figure them out later.
I open the door to find Kina on a chair between my room and the stairs.
“Hi,” I greet her. “Do you know where Bryce is by any chance?”
“Your father landed at Norfolk and Bryce wanted to personally supervise the transport. He knew you would be safest here which is why he didn’t wake you. The farmhouse is basically an unbreachable fort.”
“Makes sense,” I say with a sigh. “And Nathaniel? Where is he?”
“Sorry, Ana, I can’t take you to him,” she says apologetically. “But how about coffee? Or breakfast.”
“I’ll grab myself some water.”
“Sorry again. Orders are to stay up here.”
“Am I in a fort or in another prison?” I ask with a raised brow.
She either doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore me.
“Bring up the tray. Ana’s awake,” Kina orders into a handheld radio.
“Can I at least have my phone? I need to talk to my brother.”
“Your phone isn’t secure, but you can use this one. Bryce gave Sergei this number. He’s been blowing it up, by the way.”
A man comes up with a breakfast tray. God, I feel ridiculous, taking room service in a freaking safe house. Being rescued is one thing; I’m not foolish enough to think I could have handled the last twenty-four hours by myself. However, grabbing water and food is within my abilities.
