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I’m terrified.
The nightmare is here, sitting beside me, flying me toward an unimaginable fate, and all I want to do is curl up and die.
Staring at the untouched land below, I lose myself in crippling terror.
Until I glimpse a break in the emptiness, a trail cutting through the hills. It snakes and zigzags, going somewhere.
Without being obvious, I follow it with my gaze, desperate to see where it ends. Twenty miles. Thirty. Maybe more. I squint, not trusting my eyes when a small hunting cabin takes shape along that narrow, beaten path.
My pulse soars.
At this height and distance, I can’t tell if the shack is occupied. But it doesn’t look abandoned or overrun by nature. Someone maintains it. Someone who may be willing to help me.
How far away is it from Hoss? The stretch of land looks deceiving from up here. Without landmarks, it’s impossible to guess. But it’s not one hundred miles. Not even half that distance.
It’s my best chance.
I wrap my arms around my stomach, cradling the life I so badly want to protect. “Who’s waiting for you at Hoss?”
“My boys.”
“Boys?” Shock steals my breath, and it takes me a moment to recover. “As in…sons?”
“Yes.” His expression softens in a way I haven’t seen before.
Jesus fuck, this man is a father? Is he even capable of love?
“Where’s their mother?” I gape at him. “Is she there with them?”
“Not anymore.”
“She left?”
He sucks on a tooth. “No one leaves Hoss.”
Ice forms in my chest. “What happened to her?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Oh, God,” I whisper. “You killed her.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“You kidnapped me, drugged me, and went through a lot of effort to bring me to a place I can’t escape. A place no one escapes by your admission. So yeah, it’s safe to assume you killed her.”
“What happened to that coveted rule in your society? Innocent until proven guilty?”
My society? That’s a strange way of putting it. Or maybe not, given where and how he lives.
I’ve entered a completely different world where the laws I live by can’t be enforced. They’re useless to me here.
Don’t go to someone else’s monastery with your own rules.
That’s what Monty always says. It’s an old Russian proverb.
He’s a first-generation immigrant. His parents were Russian oligarchs who moved to Alaska the year he was born. They died before I met him, and he never talks about them. But I know their culture has a deep influence on him.
God, I miss him. I don’t know if he’s frantic to find me or infuriated with me beyond the point of forgiveness. That’s the worst part. The inability to explain what happened. He may never learn the truth about my disappearance.
I may never see him again.
Before Denver showed up, I’d prepared myself for the separation. On my terms. But this…This is different.
It’s so much worse.
Learning that Denver has kids further muddies my thoughts. Was their mother kidnapped like me? Does he know I’m pregnant? Is that why he took me? Because he wants another child?
Except I didn’t find out I was pregnant until the morning of my abduction. With his cameras and carefully orchestrated transportation, he planned this far in advance. Besides, if he wants another child, he can kidnap any fertile woman and impregnate her.
Unless he’s shooting blanks. Or maybe his dick doesn’t work.
One can only hope.
“Did you kidnap their mother?” I swallow around the ache in my throat.
“Would you believe me if I said no?”
“No.” I don’t believe a word he says, yet I can’t stop the questions from spilling out. “Is she dead?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“How does anyone die out here? Bear attack, wolf attack, moose stampede, starvation, hypothermia, infection, childbirth…Take your pick. The how doesn’t matter. The result’s the same.”
Murder. That’s where my mind goes, but he doesn’t list that option. Is that deliberate? Maybe she died in childbirth. Maybe she got pneumonia. The inflection in his voice gives nothing away. It seems the only thing he wants me to hear is his warning.
In this desolate land, death dwells.
How can anyone raise children here?
My hand falls to my tummy, and I quickly remove it. “How many boys do you have? How old are they?”
“See for yourself.” He nods at the windshield and begins a descent.
As the cabin grows closer, a figure emerges from within and stands at the railing of the front porch. Two more follow.
I hold my breath, my eyes straining to make out their silhouettes. I don’t know what I expected. Not toddlers, certainly. If he left them alone, they must be old enough to fend for themselves.
But as their forms take shape with our approach, I’m stunned to see broad shoulders, towering frames, muscled arms, and…Is that facial hair?
Fuck me.
They’re not boys. I’m staring at three grown-ass men.
8
Frankie
—
“They’re not kids.” My heart crashes against my ribs, shaking my voice.
“They were once.”
“You said boys.”
“They’ll always be my boys.”
