Page 14 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

Drugged.

I turn my head an inch and regret it immediately. My stomach rolls. I swallow hard and breathe through my nose until the nausea backs off.

I’m in a cabin. It’s quiet unlike the city buzz I’m used to. The lack of noise and the evergreen forest outside the window clue me into the fact I must have been out of it awhile for him to drive me this far.

Why are we isolated, though? For my safety, or because they don’t trust me not to do something completely unhinged? It should be the latter, if they know me at all.

My fingers curl into the mattress. I push up slowly. This time, I make it. I give myself a mental fist pump.

The door swings open before I can decide whether to stand.

Julian steps in. A furry black-and-white tail twitches over his arm while one hand balances a mug. Jasper’s safe even if he is in the arms of the traitor. It’s not his fault he is easily manipulated by treats and scratches. Plus, his father left us. He’s a product of a messy separation, so I can’t blame him.

Julian’s in gray sweats and a plain black T-shirt that clings to his broad chest. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, a few droplets tracing down the side of his neck. He just looks at me, like this is normal.

Ugh, my traitorous pulse picks up the pace. Why is he so handsome? It would make killing him so much easier if he wasn’t.

“You’re awake,” he says softly.

I don’t answer.

He sets the mug down on the nightstand, careful not to clink it against the wood. Steam curls up from it, the smell is my aphrodisiac. Coffee. It is the one thing that can briefly overpower my rage.

He unfolds the blanket and drapes it over the foot of the bed like he’s expecting me to get cold. I hate how well he knows me. I’m always cold at night but still need the ceiling fan on or I can’t sleep.

“What did you give me?” I ask.

His blue eyes flick to the spot on my neck where the needle went in. “Short-acting sedative,” he says. “And fluids. You were dehydrated.”

“You drugged me.”

“Yes.”

No apology. Not even a hint of regret on his stupidly attractive face. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood so I don’t hurl something at his head.

“You didn’t have to do that. Jesus, Julian, I was already going with you. That was a dick move.”

His jaw tightens hard enough his muscle ticks. “We didn’t have time. You were about to start arguing with me in the street while the feds were on the way.”

A bitter laugh scrapes out of me.

“I would have figured it out, Julian. I always do.”

He steps closer, stopping just out of reach. The space between us feels huge though.

“I wasn’t going to let you be taken,” he says.

“So you took me?”

Hypocrite.

His gaze doesn’t flinch. His gaze doesn’t waver, steady and unapologetic. In a confident way that used to comfort me and now just pisses me off.

“I moved you. You just slept through it.”

I swing my legs off the bed and push to my feet. My knees wobble, but I lock them. I refuse to sit back down like some loser who can’t stomp properly when throwing a tantrum. And there is a hell of one coming for both of them.

“Where is he?” I ask.