by Addison Fox
“So’s mine,” Ilsa added. “Doesn’t mean we’re dead. That man is a serious piece of eye candy. Hot. Hot. Hot.”
“I thought he was nice.” Montana recalled their discussion in the kitchen. How Rogan had offered her the pastries and joked about coffee.
“Nice? The man is a royal ass kicker, of the highest order.” Ilsa pointed to Ava. “You’ve been here longer. You explain it.”
“I haven’t met him all that many times. He stays away from the brownstone most of the time.” Ava glanced down at her wedding band with a small smile and Montana wondered if she even realized the subconscious gesture. “And Brody and I’ve been traveling quite a bit as well.”
“It sounds like everyone’s in and out around here. But he told me what he does. Traveling on missions to hunt down rogue immortals.”
“He told you that?”
“Well, he didn’t. Quinn sort of mentioned it while going all jealous on his ass for talking to me.”
“Oooh, the bull’s jealous,” Ilsa taunted, shooting Ava a large grin.
“Quinn also got mad at him for missing the details on Arturo.”
“It’s a big mistake,” Ava added. “Which must be why Rogan’s sticking around here to help.”
Ava’s words doused whatever brief reprieve the women’s camaraderie offered and Montana refocused on the task at hand.
She could do this.
Before the women could say anything further, Callie hollered into the basement, “Can you guys come back up to the kitchen?”
“Want to port there?” Ilsa asked the question, a bright twinkle in her eye.
“I’d love to.”
“Remember. You have to think about it,” Ava said. “I’ll go on up ahead of you. Ilsa—you stay here. We’ll both keep an eye on you. And then once we’re up there, you’re eating something.”
Montana watched Ava simply disappear and turned toward Ilsa. “Does it get easier?”
“I wouldn’t use easier. But it does get less unexpected.”
On a nod, Montana acknowledged the thought. “Well, I guess that’s something.”
“So go on. You can do it. Picture the kitchen and you’re off.”
Montana closed her eyes and pictured the acre of counter, the table that even now likely held several oversized men ready to do battle in her honor.
Picture the kitchen.
Think. See. Know.
Picture the kitchen.
She felt the increasing pull of gravity, starting with her feet and working its way up her body.
Picture the kitchen.
A small memory of her and Jackson laughing in the kitchenette at work assailed her and she smiled with the memory.
The gravity took over fully, then the light rush of air and she was flying.
As she landed, Montana stumbled forward, but managed to keep her feet. “Well. That’s better than last time,” she muttered to herself.
With a satisfied smile, she focused on her surroundings.
And realized she was no longer in the brownstone.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Where’s Montana?” Ilsa’s voice rang across the kitchen.
Quinn glanced up from where he was busy settling Eirene into a mound of blankets on a deep armchair Drake had pulled in from the living room. “What do you mean, where’s Montana?”
“She just ported from downstairs. She did a good job of it, too. Where is she?”
The mere idea of Montana porting was startling enough. But why did the women think she’d been successful at it? “She’s not here.”
Ilsa’s jaunty smile fell immediately as Ava rushed over to her. “You saw her into the port?”
“Of course. I told her to picture the kitchen. And then she nodded and disappeared. She knew where she was going, Ava.”
“So why the hell isn’t she here?” Quinn barreled toward the women, a series of berating words halting on his lips when he caught sight of Ilsa’s stark gaze.
“I don’t know.”
He wanted to yell and rail at them. Needed to blame someone for the situation, but at the bleak look in Ilsa’s gaze, he couldn’t say another word.
Damn the gods, was he going soft?
“Okay.” He caught himself, rubbing a hand over the coarse stubble along his jaw. “Where could she have gone?”
“She knew the kitchen. I told her to picture it. I told her she had to see it in her mind,” Ilsa added. “Where else could she have ended up?”
“Her own kitchen?” Eirene offered in a quiet voice.
Quinn turned toward her. “Do you really think so?”
“It would be the only logical explanation. If she was going to accidentally picture somewhere else, wouldn’t it be her own home?”
Before anyone could offer another suggestion, Quinn was already into his own port to Montana’s.
Montana looked around, surprise warring with a satisfaction she’d managed her way through a second port, albeit accidentally, to her kitchen at work.
“Holy shit on toast,” she muttered to herself. She’d always thought the phrase—one of her father’s favorites—was an odd one, but somehow it fit. “I actually did it.”
Ava’s last words reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in a while and although she didn’t want to alarm Quinn by not showing up in the kitchen, eating something before trying another teleport was probably a good idea.
If only she knew the number to the brownstone. Or Quinn’s number.
At the thought of calling him to let him know where she was, Montana realized she did have his number, on a card he’d left her on his first visit. She headed toward her office, thinking she’d grab one of the granola bars she kept stashed in her desk drawer. She’d call him to let him know she was all right and then be on her way.
Damn, but this was the way to travel. Even if it was a bit disorienting.
Just as the entire week had been.
A surge of grief snatched away her sense of happiness and accomplishment. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she moved down the plush carpeting toward her office. How could it have been only yesterday she and Jackson had walked down this very hallway?
The sharp, bitter taste of guilt swamped her. He was dead because of her. No matter how many ways she looked at it—no matter how Quinn’s reasoned, rational argument that the responsibility lay solely with Arturo—she could not escape the simple fact Jackson was dead because he was a part of her life.
As Montana moved down the hall, the anger coalesced into something else. Something tangible.
Something she could use.
If the port was any indication, she really was becoming immortal. With all the abilities and power that came with it. The confusion and fear she’d carried since learning of her fate morphed into newfound understanding and strength. The disquieting uncertainty about the unknown gave way to the gentle calm of purpose.
Something vital and alive beat within her now.
She would have vengeance against Arturo.
The edge of awareness hit her first as Montana rounded the entryway to her office. But the realization she wasn’t alone wasn’t quite fast enough to stop her forward movement.
“Well, what have we here?”
Arturo Veron stood across the room, his arms crossed in a casual pose as he leaned back against the bank of windows that ran almost the entire width of her office.
Like a camper encountering a dangerous snake, her entire body went stock still as she assessed the threat.
He knew she was there.
But would he strike?
And even more important, could she get out of the line of fire before he did?
“How did you get in here?”
“I can get in lots of places. But”—he pushed himself off the wall and moved a few steps closer to her—“I’m sure you understand that.”
“But I’ve got security. You can’t just come and go as you please.”
“Actually, sweetheart, I can. The joys of having immort
al powers. But you’ve begun to learn all about that, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The slap that knocked her across the jaw—quick and brutal—happened so fast Montana didn’t even blink. One moment Arturo was halfway across the room, a shitty grin planted across his face and the next he was on top of her, the crack of his hand and the pain shooting through her cheek leaving a loud ringing in her ears.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What do you want with me? You’re an immortal. Why bother with me?”
Arturo stared down at her, satisfaction riding high in his gaze. She wanted nothing more than to slap the superior sneer off his face, but didn’t dare provoke him until she got some answers.
If she could get what she needed to know—what Quinn needed to know to do battle with Arturo—she might have a prayer of porting herself out of there.
Assuming she didn’t screw that up just as she did this one.
“You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Gods, you’re a dumb piece of goods. I thought so after that first meeting and you’ve done nothing to change my mind. You, my dear, are the heiress to a fortune made in illegal arms, the slave trade and diamond smuggling.”
When she said nothing, Arturo’s smile spread like an evil Cheshire cat’s. “And you sit there like a princess with no fucking clue.”
Montana listened to his words, like icy slaps to her consciousness.
She did know.
Or had at least suspected.
And for the last six months, she’d left things as they were, too unwilling to find out the truth. To see her only remaining parent as what he really was—damaged and flawed.
“You’ve done all this because of my father?”
“Your father’s hardly worth my time.”
“Then what do you want?”
Whatever Montana expected—whatever she imagined he could possibly say—none of it matched the reality.
“You mean your whore of a mother never told you?”
Icy fingers of fear clawed at her belly at his words. “My mother?”
“Do you know? Can you possibly understand? Do you know that I’ve slept with any number of women in my life and none—not one—can hold even a molecule of space in my mind. But your mother. She loved me—told me so—and then discarded me as if I were nothing.”
The sheer unreality of the last few days coalesced in that moment. “This is about my mother?”
“It’s all about your mother. It always has been. When your father was around, you were fucking untouchable. But no longer. Through you, I can have my revenge.” Harsh laughter spilled from him as he stared down at her, and with stark clarity, Montana knew she had to get out of there.
No waiting to find out information.
She couldn’t even wait to find out what he’d done with the hostages.
She needed to get help, as far away from this madman as possible.
Ilsa’s encouraging words rose up in her thoughts. Think. See. Know. Refusing to lose another moment, Montana concentrated on the words.
Thinkseeknow.
That oddly comforting tug of gravity pulled at her feet. Pulling at her…heavier…heavier.
And then nothing as Arturo’s arm snaked out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her toward him and into his arms.
“Nothing,” Quinn slammed a hand down on the countertop in frustration as he looked at the somber expressions across everyone’s faces. “She wasn’t there.”
“Quinn.” Kane’s voice broke the quiet. “Something was delivered at Equinox. Grey just called.”
“I wasn’t gone that long.”
“Yeah, but it was long enough.” Kane shoved a tablet at him and hit Play on a video already loaded up.
Quinn saw it immediately. Montana’s wide-eyed fear as she sat in a chair with Arturo’s hand on her shoulder. “What the fuck?”
Kane reached over and pressed the screen, the video coming to life. “Hello, gentlemen. And ladies. I hear there are a few of those now, too.”
Arturo laughed at his own joke, before adding, “Lucky for me, Montana doesn’t know a fucking thing about porting and landed here in her office by mistake.”
Quinn backed away from the smug byplay on the screen, his mind already halfway across town.
“Quinn! Where are you going?” Brody grabbed hold of his forearm.
“To Grant Shipping.” He shook off Brody’s hand, but the Leo was quicker and grabbed him again, tightening his grip.
“She’s not there. I checked the security cameras. As soon as we started the video.”
“But I have to go there. The cameras don’t mean shit.”
Brody wouldn’t let up and all Quinn could see—all he could feel—were the precious, priceless seconds passing by.
As the bottom fell out of his existence, Quinn was forced to acknowledge the truth.
Arturo had Montana.
“We watched the tape, Quinn. We wound it back and watched it. They’re not there. He’s taken her. You need to watch the rest of the video and see for yourself.”
On a deep, ragged breath, Quinn turned back to the oversized screen and hit Play. Arturo’s mocking words began again, and then came the moment he was waiting for.
The demand.
“I think there’s no more fitting place to have our little rendezvous than at the place where it all began. The Grant yacht, Dreamtime.”
“The yacht?”
Quinn couldn’t wrap his head around it. Was it the panic, weighing him down like an anchor? Or was it Arturo’s depraved ramblings that seemed to say something, yet said nothing at all.
Where it all began? Where what began?
“Kane, play it again. Just the end. That jumble in the middle we’ll shoot to the security team at Emerald—he doesn’t mention anything about Themis or immortality so my staff won’t be any wiser. I’ve already given instructions and they’ll know how to handle the hostages. I want to hear the last part again.”
Arturo’s words floated into the air, filling the kitchen once again.
“I think there’s no more fitting place to have our little rendezvous than on the place where it all began. The Grant yacht, Dreamtime.”
“Yeah, motherfucker, we get it,” Quinn grumbled. “But I still don’t get what started there.”
“My romance with Jack.”
“What?” Quinn whirled around to see Eirene, who stood next to him. Her slender frame wobbled slightly, but she gripped the edge of the counter for balance.
“My first date with Jack. He took me out on the Dreamtime. I don’t know how Arturo knows that, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. My romance with him is what began there.”
Quinn turned toward the team and saw the faces of his fellow Warriors—his brothers, and now his sisters as well—staring back at him. All ready to do battle.
All prepared to help him save Montana.
“Let’s get the weapons we need and we’ll leave in fifteen minutes. There’s no way he’s just letting us board the boat. And no way it’ll be easy, so pack well and arm yourselves to the teeth.”
“I’m going with you.” Eirene’s voice was quiet and oh so tired, but firm with purpose.
Quinn reached for her arm to lead her back to the chair, but she pulled it away. The movement clearly cost her a lot, by the sharp intake of breath, but she stood her ground.
“Eirene, come on. You need to stay here and rest.”
“She is my daughter. You can’t expect me to stay here and wait here while you try to save her.”
“But I can’t take you into this. Arturo has something planned. He’s not going to make this easy.”
“Then it will be hard.” The blue of her gaze, so like Montana’s, bore into his own.
So like the woman he loved.
Oh gods, was it really that easy? He loved Montana. Such a simple concept when it was with the
right person.
So all consuming.
So life affirming.
So real.
And as he looked into the eyes so reminiscent of the woman he loved, he knew he couldn’t deny her anything.
“I’ve nothing left, Quinn. Nothing left to give her but myself. I am the reason this started. I’m the reason she’s trapped with a madman. I will see this through.”
Quinn nodded and stretched out his hand to her. “All right. We’ll see this through together.”
Montana opened her eyes to darkness. She lay on her side, and despite a stiff ache that gripped her entire body, she offered a silent prayer of thanks she wasn’t bound. From what she could tell, she was on some sort of makeshift bed—a cot, most likely, from the feel of it. She couldn’t see a thing, but she could hear water in the background.
Water?
Were they still in New York? Or had Arturo taken her somewhere else?
How long had she been out?
And did she even have enough energy to port?
She hoped.
“I heard you stirring.” Lights slammed on and Montana immediately closed her eyes against the stark, almost painful shot to her eyes.
“Where are we?”
“You certainly are impatient for death, aren’t you? Must be all those motherless years. Makes you feel worthless and meaningless. Sort of how you felt when I took care of your friends, eh?”
Montana fought down a wave of nausea as his eyes filled with an odd, manic glee at the taunt.
Don’t show a reaction. Don’t show a reaction. Don’t show…
The cot tilted wildly as Arturo grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her to her feet. Montana stumbled forward, off balance from the stiffness that still suffused her body.
“They were cowards, you know. Jackson sniveled for his life, the little loser.”
Montana stood to her full height and looked him in the eye. She couldn’t change what had happened, but she could defend Jackson’s memory. “No, he didn’t. I saw it. Every bit of it. He was smart enough to get you on the house video cameras. You and your bull.”
Arturo’s dark gaze went wide at her words and Montana felt a momentary shot of victory until he shoved her away. The ground rushed up to meet her and she landed in an awkward heap on her left side.
