Captivated by Cutter (Twist Brothers Book 1)

by Bex Dane

  "You want me to take it up with him?" a deep voice asks from somewhere I can't see.

  "Nah, man. You don't need to," a higher, younger voice answers.

  "I don't mind taking anyone on for you. Risk or not," the deep voice says with intent and confidence. I like his voice.

  "Appreciate it, man."

  For a second, I'm jealous. I want someone to say that to me. Can I take it on for you?

  Who has ever said or done that for me? No one.

  Laith and Tash, my closest friends, would do it, but I'd never ask them to take on my mom and her foul mouth.

  Back to the voices in the next room. "What he did to me? It's buried deep. Even if we set it right in the real world, it won't fix the shit in my head."

  "I hear you. Believe me. I hear you." This guy with a deep voice is really nice. He's being so compassionate.

  "You have someone you want me to take on?" the younger voice asks.

  "That's cool, Marshawn. We don't pay it backward here. Only forward." The older guy is nice again! I want to see who it is and talk to him. Or do I?

  Time for me to figure out where the hell I am.

  I remember last night. Giselle said Neil Ainsman wanted to talk to me about a modeling job. She gave me a glass of champagne and sent me into a bedroom.

  I'd been watching Neil Ainsman from a distance. He's such a mystery because he's been a recluse for so long. When he walked into the room, my stomach flipped. He was so handsome in his suit, with big broad shoulders and pretty brown eyes. He looked more like a model than a producer.

  Then we had a nice conversation. I felt safe with him even though he was a total stranger. He talked about rain watering the trees. I remember the ground moving like an earthquake. I'm not sure what happened after that. I vaguely remember waking up in a car.

  The deep voice in the other room might be the voice from the car.

  So was it my drink that knocked me out? I'm not usually such a lightweight.

  "The girl wake up yet?" the younger voice asks. Marshawn, I think he called him.

  "Not yet." The older guy's voice sounds tight.

  "She gonna be okay?"

  "Looks like it."

  Yes, definitely tension in his tone. Is he worried about me?

  Oh God. What happened? I passed out, rode in a car, and now I'm here with two guys talking about me.

  I lift up the covers to see someone has changed my clothes. I'm wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt that says "Santa Cruz Banana Slugs," and a sports bra. Inside my sweats, my thong is gone, and I'm wearing regular pink cotton string bikini undies with little rhinestones on them in the shape of a heart. These are actually kind of cute.

  Wait. Where is my outfit from last night and who changed my clothes? My wig and wig cap are gone and someone brushed my hair out.

  "Go tell Mila she's awake." The urgency in the voice sparks fear in my chest. Someone knocked me out, changed my clothes, and took me to a cabin. Have I been kidnapped?

  Did he just call someone and tell them to come and knock me out again? God, how do I continually get myself into these situations?

  I only took a few sips of the drink Giselle gave me. Did Neil Ainsman slip me a roofie?

  I need to look for clues. Am I in danger or not? The walls of this place are made of thick dark rounded wood, like someone stacked tall trees horizontally. The polished knots in the wood look like eyes staring at me. It's clean and smells like pine. That's all good stuff.

  A column of hatchets adorns the wall behind the bed. That's not so good. The hatchets don't shine like the wood. The blades have scratches and the handles have black smudges. Someone uses those hatchets often.

  The other walls have family pictures with lots of people in them. One image shows a soaking-wet man wearing swim trunks and no shirt hugging another man with their fists gripped between them as they pat each other on the shoulder. Everyone is smiling. A crowd cheers in the background. It looks like a very happy moment.

  A man steps into the room through the open door. He's so tall he has to duck his head to avoid hitting the doorframe. My chest grows tight when I recognize Neil Ainsman. Darn! I knew he was dangerous. I should've never agreed to meet with him alone. He totally drugged and kidnapped me.

  "Stay back." I hold up my hand and crawl back till my spine hits the headboard.

  He keeps walking into the room. He looks really different. Like totally different, but I'm pretty sure it's Neil Ainsman. He's wearing faded jeans and a maroon waffle Henley instead of the suit he wore last night. Damn, he's hot. Too bad he's a creepy kidnapper druggie dude.

  His hair is spiked up and floppy, not combed forward like last night. As he walks closer, I see his eyes are different too. They're light blue instead of last-night's dark brown.

  "How you feeling?" his deep voice raps. He was the older guy I heard talking before.

  "Where the hell am I?" I shoot back.

  His brows draw together. "You're in my cabin in the mountains."

  "What mountains?"

  He blinks and leans in to squint at my forehead. "How's your head?"

  "It hurts like I inhaled a mega-sized ICEE and now my entire brain is frozen. What mountains?"

  "California mountains, all right? Why does it matter?" He throws his hands up like my questions are annoying him.

  "Because you're a stranger and I just woke up feeling like shit and I have no idea where I am!" I'm trying to control my anger, but this man is infuriating. My head spins when I swing my legs off the bed and try to stand. I have to hold the headboard to steady me.

  "You're here. Get over it." He turns around and looks through the door like he's waiting for someone. "Mila can bring you something for your head."

  "Who's Mila?"

  "She's my mom. Stop asking so many questions." He runs his flat palm over his hair and it ripples back into an organized mess.

  "Stop asking? I have no fucking idea what's going on. Did you kidnap me?"

  "No." He answers like I've insulted him.

  "Then why am I here?"

  "I brought you here."

  "That's kidnapping."

  A vein pops in his neck and his lips thin. "No, it's not."

  "Did you drug me?"

  His eyes flare and he stomps back to the bed, towering over me. "No, I didn't. I would never do anything that shitty to a woman. Arthur Morganstein slipped you are roofie and I brought you to my cabin in Boulder Creek, just outside Big Basin Redwoods. Now, does that answer your questions?"

  "Oh." So he rescued me?

  Just then a woman walks in, who is much too young to be his mother. "Hi. I'm Mila." She's older than me but not that much older. How could she possibly be his mom?

  "Uh, hi."

  She steps over to me and drops her hand and her chin, motioning for me to get back in the bed. I follow her lead because I'm really dizzy and need to lie down.

  "Listen, I know you must be scared, but can you tell me how you're feeling?"

  I instantly like her gentle voice and caring eyes. She's really pretty too, even without a lot of makeup and her hair pulled back in a pony.

  "My head hurts. My legs are tingly. I don't know. I'm scared and disoriented." I tell her the truth.

  She nods like she expected that answer. "All right. So what we think happened is someone slipped rohypnol in your drink last night. You passed out and Cut—"

  "Neil." He interrupts her and she turns and scowls at him.

  "Neil?"

  "Neil Ainsman," he says.

  "All right. Neil Ainsman brought you here." She looks to the ceiling.

  She checks my pulse and shines a light into my eyes. "Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?"

  "No."

  "I think you're going to be okay." She pats me on the shoulder.

  "Thanks."

  "I'll be right back to bring you some food and some ibuprofen. Can you eat?"

  "I can always eat." I smile at her and she smiles back.

  "I have water, coffee, black
tea, green tea?"

  "Black tea please. Thank you."

  "Good. I'll be back."

  As she leaves, I catch a glimpse of a younger, thinner guy in the kitchen. He's milling around like he's pretending not to listen, but his ear is turned in the ideal direction to hear us.

  Neil leans his back against the wall and stares down at the floor. His hands are in his pockets and he looks like a guilty child.

  "What did she call you?" I ask him.

  "Nothing."

  "Why didn't she call you Neil?"

  He pushes off the wall and stares at me like I should know the answer, but I don't. His cold blue eyes remind me of lapis lazuli, but they don't transmit whatever message he's sending.

  "I told you to watch over yourself." He speaks through gritted teeth, but I just don't see what I did wrong. He's the one lying about his name.

  "You did?" My brain is slow to catch up with the splitting pain distracting me.

  "I told you to stop doing stupid shit, and you show up at a party filled with vultures." His voice deepens and cuts with disdain.

  I don't remember him telling me to watch over anything.

  "They aren't vultures. They're Hollywood and I need connections."

  "Not like that. The man drugged you!" He's yelling now, and my brain wants to hide under the covers from the razor sharp words.

  "Wait. When did you tell me to watch over myself?"

  "Never mind." He turns and walks away from me, resignation in his voice.

  God, this man is so bewildering. "Why do you have hatchets?"

  "I throw them." He looks back at me over his shoulder, answering distractedly.

  He throws hatchets? "Mila called you Cut."

  He turns around and drills his angry gaze into mine.

  Turbulent blue eyes finally penetrate the haze.

  Watch over yourself.

  You wanna get some food?

  Cutter.

  Oy vey. This is the guy from the bar?

  The biker dude? But he looks so different. No beard. No long hair.

  "You had brown eyes last night." I point an accusing index finger at him.

  "And now I don't." He props his hands on his hips. "You had red hair."

  "Are you Cutter?"

  He smacks his forehead with his palm. "Finally she figures it out. You're not the brightest, are you?"

  Oh, I remember Cutter. How could I forget his insults? "You said your name was Neil. You looked completely different, but I remember you now. You called me stupid then too. Don't do that. You don't know anything about me." I hate his arrogant attitude and his prejudging.

  "I know you left a bar with a stranger, got drugged at a party, and you asked me if I had a spaceship. What about that is supposed to convince me of your intelligence?"

  I remember the pain of his cutting words. Because of him, I swore off dating. I haven't been with a man since. It's sad to think Dayton was the last guy I slept with.

  "Spaceship?"

  "You asked me if my car was a spaceship." He smirks at me.

  "I did? Huh. Well, I'm from Roswell. Aliens are normal there. Doesn't make me stupid."

  "I'm from Los Angeles. Doesn't mean I believe in angels," he shoots back.

  "Not the same thing at all. Are you so vain to assume you know there isn't life outside this atmosphere?"

  He narrows his eyes, trying to figure me out and judging me again. He shouldn't draw conclusions without knowing who I am on the inside. I'm not liking what I've seen of his inside right now at all. His outside is gorgeous, but that only goes so far. He's cruel and rude, just like the first time I met him.

  "I need to get out of here." I climb off the bed again and stand up, fighting the dizziness that threatens to embarrass me with a tumble to the floor. His eyes scan my clothes, and he smirks at me. I didn't even pick these clothes. I just woke up in them. "Where's my purse?" I don't bother to hide my annoyance. He's bugging me.

  "It's safe somewhere."

  "Give me my purse. I need my phone." I hold out my hand, palm up. He better produce it fast.

  "It's safe where it is."

  What? He's holding my private property ransom? "Give me my phone so I can call someone to get me the hell out of here."

  He shakes his head and frowns. "You're not leaving."

  "Of course I am. I'm fine. Give me my purse and my phone now." I take a step closer to him, but there's no way I could physically intimidate him. He's so much taller than me, and I'm wearing a banana slugs T-shirt.

  "No." His patronizing tone pounds against the walls of my head.

  "Don't tell me no." I grab my head to try to keep it from exploding.

  A clumping sound like thunder rattles outside the cabin. The front door bursts open and in walks one, two, three, gargantuan men. They walk up to the bedroom doorway, but don't enter.

  The first guy looks like a barbarian. His distressed leather jacket reminds me of Indiana Jones. Dark wiry hair that fades to gold covers most of his face. His pointy beard covers the rest. He's intimidating in his height and looks, but his wide grin makes him less scary.

  "This the girl?" the barbarian asks in a deep, gravelly voice.

  Cutter crosses his arms and looks down at his feet, ignoring the question because it's obvious I am the girl.

  "How're you doing?" When he steps into the bedroom doorway, my gaze locks on his wide forehead. He's a very interesting person.

  "I'm, uh, fine?" I'm confused about where I am and who you all are, but I'm technically fine. I think.

  "This asshole giving you trouble?" He swipes the top of Cutter's head. "What's with the haircut?"

  "Cass, these are my brothers," Cutter says reluctantly.

  "Hi." Heat rises in my cheeks as I raise one hand and wiggle some fingers. I'm on the spot and I'm out of my element.

  "Mace." Cutter points to the barbarian who waves a giant paw at me. "Remy." He motions to a good-looking guy with thick dirty-blonde hair styled away from his face. He nods at me. Lord, his jawline is incredibly angled like someone chiseled it out of quartz. "Blaine." The third man raises a tattooed arm full of bracelets to pull his messy black hair from his eyes. He doesn't smile, but I notice he's wearing some cool black-cord necklaces with gems and metal bits hanging from them.

  Each of his brothers has his own style and all of them are staring at me with their gorgeous, intense eyes.

  When they entered the cabin, it became like a party. They didn't pick up on the tension between us at all. The frown on Cutter's face faded a little when they arrived. It's the closest thing to happiness I've seen come from Cutter. He clearly loves these guys.

  "Sweet car out front," Remy says to Cutter.

  Cutter's scowl is back.

  "You coming to the fight tonight?" Mace asks me.

  "Uh… I really have to head home."

  "It's Marshawn's first fight. Should be fun watching him get his ass kicked."

  The younger kid is still in the kitchen, but I can't see him with four giant men blocking the doorway. "I'm not gonna lose," he calls from behind them. From his voice, I can tell he was the one talking to Cutter earlier about taking things on for him.

  "You're staying," Cutter announces again, like it's his decision.

  "I have some things to do."

  "Stay for the fight. Then we'll talk."

  Before I can continue this idiotic conversation with Cutter, Mila walks in the door, crowding the already crowded cabin.

  "You guys get out of the way. She needs to eat." Mila uses a mom tone that seems to work on them and they file out into the kitchen area that is connected to a small living room with a fireplace.

  As I step into the doorway, Mace reaches for the food on the tray that Mila had set on the kitchen table, but Mila swats his hand away. "It's not for you."

  I feel self-conscious walking out into a room of five fully-dressed men, but sitting down behind the table helps hide my embarrassing banana slugs T-shirt.

  The tray has orange juice
, a bagel with cream cheese, some strawberries and a cup of black tea. Oh, and two white tablets that must be ibuprofen. Thank God for Mila. This headache is killing me. "This looks fabulous."

  "You guys get out now," Cutter says.

  "I want to hear more about your friend. Where are you from?" Mace turns a chair backwards and spreads his legs around it as he sits opposite me at the small kitchen table. Cutter watches him with guarded eyes.

  "Roswell, New Mexico."

  His head jerks back. "Really? You ever seen an alien?"

  "Lots of them." I smile and nod as I take a bite of the bagel and a sip of the tea. All the alns in Roswell are residents dressed as aliens to entertain the tourists, but I've noticed tourists get disappointed when I tell the truth, so I just make stuff up.

  "Like what kind of alien did you see?" He's fully staring at me, waiting for me to entertain him with alien stories. I do have a tale I told visitors back home.

  "So… I lived on a pecan farm," I begin.

  Mace leans in and I notice I have Cutter's attention too. The other guys are chatting and don't seem interested in my story, but Mace and Cutter are riveted.

  I swallow a big bite of bagel and try to make it sound interesting. "And out in the groves one night… I was eleven. The sun had just gone down so the trees were in shadows but the sky was still light gray and the clouds were bright white. This form, he was transparent at first, then he solidified. It was a freakishly tall man wearing a brown jumpsuit kind of thing. His jaw and head were distended and his eyes… His eyes protruded out of his head much too far to be human. He floated up into the sky, turned his back on me, and disappeared. It was only a few seconds, but I swear I saw it. I registered it with the official alien sighting society."

  Mace stares at me for a long time. "No shit?"

  "Scout's honor." I cross my fingers and hold them up in the air. "Other people have seen the same thing. They call them Space Brothers."

  "Like they're all brothers?"

  "Who knows? My dad always said he saw UFOs when he was out in the orchard on the farm. There was a famous UFO sighting here in the Big Basin Redwoods. You heard of it?"

  "No." He sounds really interested.

  "You should look it up. The same craft has been reported in several different locations. All close to NASA bases. It's too frequent to be a coincidence."