The Hollow: Preacher Brothers, 4

by Snow, Jenika

  I’d wanted to protect Frankie, even if I could barely protect myself from my father and the bratva. I wanted to make sure none of the vile evilness touched the man I loved.

  I didn’t know how much time passed as the cab idled in front of the house, but the sound of the driver clearing his throat brought me back to the present.

  “Sorry,” I muttered and paid him before climbing out. I adjusted the strap of my backpack, my focus trained on the house ahead. The sun had already peeked over the horizon, and cast an orange glow along the property.

  Frankie told me about his childhood, the pain and abuse he dealt with, and how I was the light to that darkness. He’d been that for me too.

  He still was. It was the thought of him, the hope I’d be able to see him again one day that kept me going.

  I didn’t even realize the cab left until I no longer heard the engine idling behind me. I should have told him to stay, that this might be a dead end for me. Too late now.

  I took a couple tentative steps toward the gate. My mouth was so dry, my throat feeling like it was closing up. My nerves were like another person inside me, taking control, dominating me.

  I was so scared I found myself moving to the side, shrouding myself in the thick bushes that lined the gate, hiding. It was what I was good at.

  The sound of a car approaching had me looking over my shoulder. Thankfully, I was still hidden, but I moved deeper into the bushes. A big pick-up truck slowed to a stop just a few feet from the house, then the driver side window was being rolled down. I couldn’t see much from my angle, but I noticed the large muscular arm reach out to punch a code into the keypad. After a second of the gate not opening, the very clearly male driver cursed.

  His voice was deep as he punched in the number again. Still, nothing happened. I then heard a female voice come from the passenger side. I couldn’t hear what she said clearly, but the lilt of her voice was definitely feminine.

  “I swear this gate always gives out at the most inconvenient times.” The man climbed out, and my breath caught as I saw his profile.

  Frankie. My heart stopped as I watched him walk toward the gate to manually open it. Although he looked like the man I loved, there were slight differences that I didn’t recognize.

  The way he moved, the shape of his muscles. He wore a baseball cap, so I couldn’t get a good look at his face, but it didn’t matter anyway. This was still obviously his house.

  “You need help?” the woman called out.

  “I got it, baby.”

  “You sure? Because it looks like all those muscles aren’t working to get that gate open,” she said with amusement in her voice right before laughing as he struggled with the lock.

  I heard him growl before he unlatched it and pushed it open. He stalked back to the truck, his head downcast, so I still couldn’t get a good look at him. But I absolutely heard the kissing he did with the woman loud and clear.

  “You like to bust my balls,” he said, and she giggled.

  “It’s only because I love you.”

  He growled in pleasure. “Not as much as I love you.”

  My heart hurt, my chest aching so hard that I actually lifted my hand and placed it over my ribs. The air left me violently. I couldn’t think of anything else but how wrong this had been to come here. What was I thinking?

  My heart plummeted in my chest.

  I watched the truck pull up the driveway, and a second later, the gate closed automatically. He threw an arm out the window as if in a frustrated manner before shouting that the gate was a piece of shit.

  I stood there for a long minute just watching the truck pull to a stop by the side of the house. From this distance, I could still see them but couldn’t make out their facial features. The woman climbed out, this petite little thing. Frankie got out of the driver side and immediately walked over to her, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her so thoroughly I nearly felt it.

  I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears slid to my lips and I tasted their saltiness.

  They started grabbing grocery bags out from the back of the truck and took them inside. That was my cue to get the hell out of there.

  I didn’t bother calling a cab, didn’t even bother deciding where I was going to go or what I was going to do. I just started walking and let my tears be my company. The sooner I got them and this marrow-deep sadness and hopelessness out of my system, the sooner I could start focusing on my future.

  I’d been a fucking fool to think he hadn’t moved on. I’d been so wrapped up in what I wanted and my feelings for Frankie that I actually thought he’d still be waiting for me, pining after me.

  I was a damn idiot.

  Five years have passed. Of course he’s started a new life.

  But my future was Frankie. It always had been. So I was even more lost and alone than I’d ever been in my entire life.

  I felt dizzy, and I didn’t know if it was because of my lack of eating today, my nerves so consuming, my fear too real, or if it was seeing the man I was still madly in love with having moved on. I couldn’t blame him. What kind of person was I that I actually thought he’d wait for me? It was unrealistic, to say the least.

  I closed my eyes and continued to walk, feeling the world tilt figuratively and literally. Beads of sweat dotted my brow, salty tears continuing to track down my cheeks. My life was one continuous joke. I was quickly realizing that.

  The sooner I got over this hurdle, the sooner I could move on.

  Or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself, because “getting over” Frankie wasn’t something I thought I’d ever be able to do.

  16

  Frankie

  I brought the Styrofoam cup to my mouth and finished off the cheap, nasty-ass gas station coffee. I’d stopped and picked some up to stay awake for the ride home after leaving the laundromat. I’d go back at sunset and start the whole process over again. This had become an obsession.

  My obsession was Nadja, and I felt for the first time in five long fucking years that I had a morsel of a hint that maybe she was back in my life.

  I didn’t care if logically it made no sense. I didn’t care if my brothers were probably right and I was losing my goddamn mind. If this was what my life was about—going crazy because of the woman I loved—then so be it.

  I drove for another twenty minutes before turning onto the road that led to my place. Houses became sparser, civilization fading away. That was the good thing about this place... it was far the fuck away from everyone, just the way we liked it.

  The concrete led way into the thickness of the woods, and I was about to turn onto the road that would lead to the driveway when I spotted a small figure walking in my direction. The closer I got, the more I took in the appearance.

  Female. Small and thin. Baseball cap. Shoulder-length dark-blonde hair. Bag slung over back.

  My heart immediately started racing, and I sat up straighter. I felt pain lance through my hands and race up my arms, realizing I was gripping the steering wheel with deadly force.

  It was her. The woman I’d been desperately trying to find again. If this wasn’t a mother fucking sign that it was Nadja, I don’t know how more obvious it could be.

  I slowed the SUV to a stop a few feet from her. She lifted her head and froze, and I noticed the way her hand tightened on the strap of her bag. She didn’t move for a second as she stared in my direction.

  She looked terrified.

  And then she started looking around frantically before going backward. She locked her eyes on the SUV once more, and I knew she was going to dart.

  I opened the driver side door, and that’s when she turned and started running in the opposite direction.

  “Nadja,” I roared out, feeling fear grip me at the thought of her leaving again.

  Her steps faltered, and she looked over her shoulder.

  “Nadja?” I yelled out again, pulling the baseball cap from my head and feeling my heart race in my chest as she slowed then stoppe
d. I was either certifiable, or she was here. She was right fucking here.

  She turned around and faced me once again, and I took a tentative step toward her. I was afraid she’d run again. The fear in her was strong, and I wanted to kill the person who made her feel that way.

  “It is you.” I hadn’t meant to say those words out loud, least of all let her hear it, but I was glad she had, because she took a step toward me. She looked different for sure, but I could be blindfolded and find her no matter what.

  My soul was hers.

  “Frankie?” She said my name so low I almost didn’t hear it. “Is it really you?”

  I nodded and felt my heart skip a beat. “Yeah, baby. It’s me.” Fuck, was I hallucinating? My step faltered as I took another one closer to her. “It’s really me,” I said again, trying to reassure her, to take away that fear-laced look on her face, to stop those tears from falling down her cheeks.

  I could have fallen to my fucking knees right then and there. And then the next sequence of events happened in slow motion. I knew she was going to go down before I saw the color drain from her face. I saw the moment her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back. I saw the sweat lacing her brow, felt the heat pound down on us from above.

  I saw all the signs of her about to pass out but barely made it to her in time before she hit the ground, her head connecting with a rock on the shoulder of the road.

  I cursed and picked her up, cradling her far too thin frame to my chest, inhaling her scent into my lungs. I’d missed it, the memory of strawberries and mint the only thing that had been able to bring me solace all these years.

  I tightened my hold on her as I strode to the SUV, gently set her in the back, and called Cullen. His woman needed to look at Nadja, to make sure she was okay, that hitting her head like she had didn’t cause any damage.

  And as I barked all that out into the receiver, my focus was trained right on Nadja’s face. I’d fallen down the fucking rabbit hole and never wanted to crawl back up to the light of day.

  I had my girl back in my life, and I didn’t care what I had to do to keep it that way.

  I wouldn't let her leave my side.

  17

  Nadja

  As soon as consciousness rolled into me, I remembered everything, like great waves rushing to the shore, crashing against rocks. My head hurt, and I groaned softly, shifting before opening my eyes and staring at a white ceiling.

  I could hear soft murmurs but couldn’t tell what was being said, the words muffled by walls and the door. I remembered looking up and seeing that dark SUV, the same one that I’d seen parked far too close to my apartment building. Instantly, I thought it was Maximillian. How could it not be? So I ran. But then I heard his voice… Frankie’s deep voice calling out my name, roaring out like he was a wounded animal.

  I closed my eyes and breathed out as I remembered how it felt to hear it again after so long, to hear my name uttered from his lips.

  I opened my eyes and turned my head to look in the direction of where the voices came from. I stared at a partially opened door, the crack wide enough to let me know people were out there, but not open enough to let me hear what was clearly being said.

  I inhaled, and a very familiar scent surrounded me. In fact, I felt doused in it, and instantly calmness settled over me. I closed my eyes once more and just inhaled again and again, deeper each time. It was this automatic reaction to taking in that smell, to letting it move through me and heal every single broken part of my body.

  Frankie.

  It was Frankie’s scent. I was in his room. It was this strong and masculine aroma that reminded me of how you smelled after coming in from the beach—the sun, salt, the powerful ocean covering you.

  I pushed myself up into a sitting position. The back of my head was sore, and I knew I passed out, assumed I probably hit my head as I’d gone down.

  I lifted my hand and touched the tender spot, hissing under my breath as I came in contact with the pain. I was embarrassed that I fainted, but it had been a mixture of shock after seeing Frankie, the heat, total exhaustion from constantly running and never fully resting, and then my lack of nutrition.

  And to top it off, I felt like an idiot, because I hadn’t even remembered Frankie had a twin, should’ve assumed that’s who it could have been at the house. But I’d been so consumed with grief, those raw feelings making any kind of rational, coherent, and logical thought leave my brain, so I only let emotion control me.

  Maybe I should’ve been humiliated about my appearance and the situation leading up to right now, but after five years of being estranged from Frankie, I didn’t feel anything but this bone-deep need for him.

  I’d never honestly thought this day would come. Although I always hoped, prayed, and asked for a miracle to be able to see him again, the life I led, the people who surrounded me, would’ve made it impossible.

  I was clearly in his room, surrounded by his things, and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. But even if that had been Wilder and his woman in the driveway, I still didn’t know the kind of life Frankie led. For all I knew, he was married, had children.

  And that made my stomach cramp and my heart ache.

  But then I thought about him calling me baby, that endearment meaning so much to me, more than maybe it should, and I felt more tears slide down my cheeks. It could’ve been habit, nothing more than a gesture, a single word spilled from his lips, but I wanted to think he still loved me.

  God. Get your head on straight.

  Love was the last thing I needed.

  I sat up fully and hung my legs over the edge of the bed, letting the tips of my toes move along the hardwood floor. It was then I realized my shoes were off, my socks too. I looked at my legs, my jeans worn, and although clean, they had stains on them. I trailed my gaze up to my shirt, picked at the dark material. It was cheap and had come in a three-pack of equally plain cotton tees.

  I lifted my head and looked at the dresser then at the mirror that hung above it, staring at my reflection, at the pathetic-looking woman who gazed back. I felt shame in that moment, embarrassment. No longer was I the girl Frankie had known and loved.

  I was someone very different now, and not just in namesake and appearance.

  I stared at my face, felt that depression wash through me that I changed so much. From my hair, to the fact that I’d lost weight. Then there was my sense of style, or lack thereof. I felt dirty and pathetic, and looking around his room, seeing everything meticulously in place, the cleanliness, the scent of him surrounding me, I wished I could go back in time.

  But we can’t change the past.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled.

  No matter what, a part of me knew he’d help, even if he couldn’t be mine any longer. He cared for me at one time, and he was a good man, had a good heart. He’d give a beggar the shirt off his back if need be. He never thought he was good enough for anything, for anyone, but he’d been so wrong.

  I opened my eyes and looked around the room once more, and a small picture on the nightstand behind me caught my attention. I turned on the bed and leaned forward, trying to get a better look. And then my heart stopped, and my throat tightened.

  Standing and making my way over to the table on shaky legs, I leaned down and picked up the frame. It was small, fit in the palm of my hand.

  It was a picture of Frankie and me, the only one we’d taken as a couple. I remembered that night so vividly, could even still smell the fresh lake air when the breeze had kicked up.

  The picture was taken just a few weeks before my father moved us back to Russia. I wish I’d had this picture then, something physical of Frankie to hold on to, something to keep close to my heart during those nights I cried myself to sleep.

  I blinked back the tears, not wanting to make this even more awkward than it was when he came back in the room.

  But surely it meant something that he kept a picture of us by his bed?

  I set it back down, the hus
hed voices still coming through the cracked doorway. I contemplated just opening the door and making it known that I was awake, just wanting to get this over with. I certainly wanted to. Instead, I walked toward the bathroom that was attached to the room. I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment just breathing out, trying to stabilize myself, trying to center my mind and body.

  Focus.

  I’d come here for help, help in the case Maximillian was actually looking for me. I hadn’t sensed anyone following me—not counting Frankie’s SUV, which reminded me I’d need to ask what he’d been doing there and why. But not sensing anyone didn’t mean I wasn’t being watched.

  That meant I had to call Marina on the burner phone. It was a one-shot deal, but now that I was with Frankie, I felt safer, like I could make that risk. Frankie was skilled in keeping his identity secret, in staying hidden. He had to because of his profession.

  After using the bathroom, washing my hands, and then splashing some water on my face to wake up a little bit more, to not look so “rough around the edges,” I left the bathroom and turned the light off.

  And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Frankie. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at him. His big body seemed to dwarf the king-sized mattress, but it was his stare he had leveled at me that had everything in me slowing to a stop then racing to the surface. It was like my blood was running a marathon, each cell seeing which could get ahead of the next, which could be the fastest.

  I didn’t know how long I stood there, or how long we just stared at each other, but it seemed like an eternity. Yet it also seemed like it hadn’t been enough time.

  “It really is you,” he said so softly I knew he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. His brows pulled down low as if in deep thought. I saw the way he raked his eyes over me curiously. “You’re the same, but you’re all different.” He looked into my eyes. “The hair, the eye coloring.” He paused a moment before stating, “And you’re thinner.”