The Drift: Preacher Brothers, 3

by Snow, Jenika

  I wasn’t alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Zoey

  I stopped and looked to my side, my pulse racing. I saw the end of a cigarette glowing brilliantly, but then I smelled it.

  It was a joint. I couldn’t see who smoked it, because they were leaning against the side of the house, shrouded in shadows. But it was a man, his form big, muscular.

  Although I couldn’t see his face, I could feel his eyes on me. I swallowed roughly, my throat tight. It was obviously one of the brothers. I wasn’t able to get oxygen into my lungs. I’d been caught leaving—what I’d been trying to avoid. I was afraid I’d get hurt despite everyone telling me I had nothing to fear. I had everything to fear. The world, the people who inhabited it. All of that was something to be afraid of.

  I said nothing, and neither did he, and the only thing I could hear was him inhaling from the joint. The only thing I could see clearly was the brightly lit red end as he took that smoke into his lungs. He exhaled slowly, and I saw the cloud of smoke fade away from him, the dim porch light a few feet from us allowing me to see that clearly as it dissipated into the air.

  “I’m surprised it took you this long to leave,” he said in a deep voice, husky and just low enough only I’d be able to hear it.

  Frankie.

  He was the last person I wanted to catch me, but he seemed so relaxed, as if me leaving wasn’t a threat at all.

  He took another hit, and then another. I should’ve just made a run for it, or maybe just ignored him and made my way leisurely to the front. He could try to stop me, but I’d fight. I’d fight back hard.

  But despite the fact that I should’ve just kept moving, told myself that, wanted to, I was stuck in place. I watched him. He watched me. And then he pushed away from the wall, and I found myself taking yet another step back, not sure what he planned on doing, if he planned on doing anything.

  Maybe he’d just let me walk away? Maybe he wanted me gone so I wouldn’t cause any problems between him and his brothers? Or maybe he really did just want me dead?

  I was on alert, ready to fight back if need be, but he didn’t come any closer to me, only enough that I could see him clearly under the muted glow of the porch light.

  He took another puff off his joint before offering it to me, lifting a brow in almost a challenge. I shook my head and took another step back. The way he watched me had my skin tightening. He brought the joint to his lips once more, took another drag from it, held the smoke for a few seconds, and then exhaled slowly, the cloud moving over my face.

  “I didn’t think anyone was here but Wilder and me.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. “I live here,” he said matter-of-factly.

  That was obvious, but everyone said they were heading out for the rest of the night, which was how Wilder and I had… yeah, how we’d crossed that line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

  He stared at me for a second, and then I watched him inhale, but he wasn’t smoking. He was taking in my scent.

  “You smell like my brother.” The smirk he gave me was void of any emotion.

  I didn’t bother responding, even though I could tell he knew exactly what Wilder and I had done. I felt no embarrassment, no shame. I actually felt pleasurable heat at the thought of giving myself over to Wilder.

  “Where do you plan on going?”

  I hadn’t expected him to ask me that, but maybe this was all part of the game? I didn’t know Frankie at all to know how he really was, although Wilder didn’t seem like his brother was a threat. He didn’t act like it anyway.

  I shrugged and tightened my hand over the strap of my purse as if it were a lifeline, something to ground me, to steady me.

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” I wasn’t going to tell him much more than that. I had a general state idea on where I was headed before he’d taken me, and I figured sticking with that was probably the least complicated route. I also didn’t tell him or try to show that leaving Wilder was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do thus far in my life.

  I kept telling myself the more distance I put between me and the man who claimed my heart would be easier, but I knew that was a lie.

  “You don’t strike me as the type of person who doesn’t have a plan.”

  He was right. I always had a plan, but I just shrugged and said, “Being kidnapped can put a wrench in someone’s plans.”

  He smirked again, but it was far from humorous. “Well, safe travels, Zoey.” He flicked the roach away and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His pose was non-threatening, but then again, I felt like that was probably a huge lie. None of the Preacher brothers seemed like they didn’t always have their strength right under the surface.

  “That’s it?” I was a bit shocked, to say the least. “It’s that easy?” I tried not to let my voice show I was still so nervous.

  He shrugged one wide shoulder. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, that once my brother was healed, I’d let you leave.”

  He had, but that hadn’t meant I believed him.

  He didn’t say anything else, just watched me. I slowly started to back away, nodding, although I didn’t know what I was agreeing with. I turned my back on him and made my way toward the front, but each step was so hard, harder than the last.

  “Zoey,” Frankie called out softly.

  I stopped and turned to look over my shoulder. This was it, the point he told me I couldn’t leave, that he lied. But as he stared at me, I didn’t see anything but… sympathy.

  “I know why you feel like you have to run, but I’m going to tell you something I know damn well you are aware of.”

  I swallowed roughly and turned to face him.

  “My twin, that man who I thought I’d lose just two weeks ago, has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.” My throat tightened even more. “He’s never defended anyone, wanted to protect someone the way he wants to do with you.” My heart raced. “He looks at you like he’s finally found what he’s been missing his entire life.” My chest hurt so bad, Frankie’s words ringing true, because I felt them too. “And there’s nothing more I want in this God-forsaken life than for my brothers to be happy.” He took a step closer, but I didn’t retreat. I felt no threat from him right now. “My brother cares for you the likes of which I’ve never seen, the likes of which he’s never experienced. I’d even go as far as to say he loves you, but that’s not my place.”

  I licked my lips, feeling tears prick the corners of my eyes. I’d been holding them back until now, but hearing Frankie say these things hit a chord deep within me.

  “And if you feel anything remotely close to what my brother feels for you…” He took another step. “If you see any of that, don’t do this. Don’t leave him. Don’t make me watch my twin’s heart break and darkness take over.”

  The emotion in Frankie’s voice told me one thing. He experienced this and didn’t want it for his brother.

  “You can lie to me. You can lie to Wilder. But you can’t lie to yourself on how you feel for my brother.” This darkness washed over his face, not toward me, but because I could see he already experienced this. “You can run a lifetime, but at the end of the day, you’ll think back on this, on what you feel, and know you made the biggest mistake of your life.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, and then without saying another word, he turned and left, leaving me standing there to think about what he said. I turned to start making my way toward the front again, knowing I had a plan, but my feet were cement pillars, refusing to take me farther. I glanced at where Frankie left then where the only thing stopping me from being with Wilder was a set of sliding glass doors.

  The tears were streaming down my cheeks, fat droplets like a spigot had been opened and couldn’t be turned off. I didn’t want to leave Wilder. I didn’t want to ignore how he made me feel.

  I didn’t want to run anymore.

  My heart was pounding as I turned back around and all but ran to those sliding glass do
ors. My pulse jumped into my throat as I rounded the corner of the house, to slip through those doors that would take me to Wilder. It was as if a light switch had been turned on in me, this glow washing over my darkest fears and wiping them away.

  This wasn’t about falling for Wilder. This wasn’t about caring so deeply for another soul; something else, someone else mattered more than you did. This was about so much more. This was about finding something just for me, finding happiness for the first time in my life. I wanted to utter the words that would link us together, that I wanted to be his the same way I wanted him to be mine.

  Was this love? I didn’t know. I’d never loved anyone. I’d never felt love from anyone. Not even my own mother had given me love, an emotion that should have been so natural, being a mother and child.

  But I’d finally found something worth more to myself than the need to run, to start over countless times. I’d been running from happiness for far too long, afraid of the possibilities. I didn’t have to run anymore. Maybe Wilder didn’t want me in the bone-deep way I did him, but he cared for me, and that was enough. But I had to tell him I wanted more for us, that I’d fallen hard for the Preacher boy who stole to survive and lived life on the edge.

  And so I stepped around the corner of that house and came to an abrupt stop as I watched Wilder all but tear out the back door. He looked frantic, wild as he looked around the yard. He had on no shirt, his sweats were pulled up to right below his hips, that cut V of muscle showing in startling clarity, and his car keys hung from his fingers. He had on a pair of running shoes, and just looking at him, the way he trembled, the haphazard attire he had on, told me he realized I wasn’t beside him, had probably literally jumped out of bed, and had come looking for me.

  And then his eyes landed on me, and I sucked in a breath at the wild energy I saw reflected back at me. I lowered my gaze to his chest wound, saw a darkness start to spread from the center of his bandage and seep outward, and my chest ached horribly. He was hurting but still had come looking for me.

  I felt like a worthless asshole. I’d been about to leave him without so much as a goodbye, a letter explaining anything.

  He was by me before I comprehended it, had his hands wrapped around my shoulders and stared down at me with that same feral and intense focus. He slid his palms up the sides of my neck to cup my face and then smoothed his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears that still fell.

  “Where were you going?” I heard the fear in his voice, the very real fear that I now felt myself.

  The air left me violently as I let all these emotions crash into me like water against the ocean shore. I shook, cried harder, and finally Wilder pulled me not the hard embrace of his chest. I felt his warmth, sensed the soothing aura that always came from him when we were near. I let him hold me, stroke my back, whisper things I’d wanted someone to whisper to me my entire life.

  “Why were you leaving?” he asked softly against the crown of my head. “I know I’m not a good man, Zoey. Shit, I’m a professional fucking thief.” He pulled back and cupped my cheeks in his big, strong hands again, his thumbs still moving back and forth, wiping away my tears.

  I couldn’t stop no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much I wanted to be strong. He stared into my eyes, the raw emotion on his face so startling it took my breath.

  “I know all of that, know that scares the shit out of you, but I want to be a better man. I want to be better for you.” He seemed so earnest, so damn desperate. “I just need a chance to prove that. I need a chance to prove I’m worthy of you.”

  I cried harder, hating how weak I felt, but at the same time, I felt liberated, stronger than ever. He didn’t have to prove anything to me. He was a good man. I felt that in my heart. We may have been thrown together in the most fucked up of ways, and it may have only been fourteen days we were locked in this limbo of... whatever it was we felt for each other. But it was real and raw and so good.

  “I was afraid, but not of you,” I whispered, forcing the tears to slow, forcing myself to be strong. “I was afraid of what I felt, that my emotions were the first real thing I’ve ever felt. My first instance was to run from it, because it terrified me.” He stared into my eyes, that rawness still covering his face. “I’m sorry I was just going to leave without so much as a word, without telling you how I felt. What we shared, experiences together... it’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my life, Wilder.” He closed his eyes and shuddered, as if my words destroyed him in the best of ways.

  When he opened them again, I sucked in a breath at all the unspoken words I saw in his eyes. And then he leaned in and claimed my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him hold me tightly, so tightly the pain coalesced with the pleasure I felt. I never felt so complete in my life than I did when I was with Wilder. I don’t ever want to let the feeling go.

  He pulled back, and we both breathed the same erratic tempo. He rested his forehead against mine, and I felt his body trembling.

  “You don’t have to change for me,” I said and pulled back, and now I was the one cupping his cheeks. “I want you just the way you are.” I swallowed roughly, could hear the emotion in my voice. “As long as you want me just the same as I am.” He groaned softly and kissed me. “I don’t know what the future holds for us; that scares the hell out of me, but if you’re willing to take that chance, Wilder, I want to be by your side.”

  He pulled me in for a tighter embrace, and I rested my head on his chest, right over his heart, hearing the strong, steady beat.

  “Let’s go back inside so we can change your bandage.” I hated that he was hurting again because of me, not just emotionally but physically too.

  He took my hand and led us inside, and it felt like this was exactly how things should be.

  I’d known from the moment I looked into his too pale face in the back of that SUV that there was something between us. It had just taken me breaking down and reality slapping me in the face to realize this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Frankie

  Two months later

  Hollowness.

  That’s what I felt.

  That’s what my life was. It was an endless cycle of back alley fighting, being a professional fucking thief, and watching each one of my brothers drop like flies in the name of falling in love.

  I sat on the couch with nothing but a layer of sweats on, staring at the TV that wasn’t even on, my sixth beer nearly empty. I brought it to my mouth and finished it off. The buzz I had going on was the only thing making anything fucking bearable.

  My brothers and their women. Fuck, they had something that I’d had once.

  Once upon a long fucking time ago.

  I reached for another beer and cracked it open.

  I thought about my brothers and how they were happy now. I was glad for them. They deserved to have a strong, good woman by their side.

  Dom had been gone for a good while as soon as he found “the one”—aka the one he kidnapped, and they fell in love and lived happily ever after. Cullen too, although I was sure his story was a lot more fucked up, because, well, it was Cullen.

  And after the two eldest Preacher brothers found the women they were going to spend the rest of their lives with, of course they wanted their own space to do just that.

  It had just been Wilder and me living in the house we’d grown up in since then. For months, we’d been on our own, an adjustment since it had always been the four of us, but it hadn’t been bad. I had my twin, and life had been good. The four of us were still a unit, still pulled jobs, made bank, and were good at being the bad guys who probably weren’t so bad at all in the grand fucking scheme of things.

  But now, that had all changed.

  Wilder had gotten his own place with Zoey. And I understood that’s how life worked, but it didn’t make it less shitty. Just because I understood didn’t mean I liked it.

  Because being alone meant that hollowness came up
full force.

  So here I was, alone in the house we’d grown up in for the first time in my life. But this wasn’t the first time I felt bone-deep loneliness. I always felt a type of emptiness despite having my brothers around, that heartbreaking void that always stayed with you, that refused to let up. It was a bitch, a motherfucking soul sucking demon.

  And no matter how much I pushed it aside, no matter how many beers I drank to numb it, no matter how many random fucking fights I picked, or how reckless I was during a job... nothing really ever worked.

  And it was all because of one thing. One woman.

  God… one woman who owned every single part of me even all this time later.

  That was the sum of why everything changed.

  Fuck.

  I drank more and more and more.

  But change wasn’t a bad thing. It was the natural order of things.

  So here I sat, on the couch in the darkened living, the TV dark, and getting drunk by myself once again. I was a sorry, sad piece of shit; that was for sure.

  I tipped the beer bottle back and finished off the dark ale. My plan was to get good and shitfaced, so drunk I couldn’t even walk straight to my bedroom after it was all said and done. And although I knew better than to drink while in this foul mood, it was the only thing I could do, the only thing I had control over. The drinking always led to me thinking about what I was trying desperately to ignore... to forget.

  Her.

  Nadja Romonoff.

  The only girl I ever loved. The one who broke my heart, because she left—because her hardcore criminal father who was involved in the Bratva—the Russian mafia—said we could never be together. She was promised to another, already given away to strengthen the mafia alliances he had.

  She was her father’s pawn.

  He made no secret that he’d kill me slowly, painfully. And he’d enjoy it.