Three is a War(4)

“How’s that going for you?” Cole tilts his head, giving me the full brunt of his gaze.

“What?”

“Your life.” His jaw sets. “Moving on. Without me.”

It’s only been five weeks, and I feel like a severed, broken sliver of the person I was. I’ve lost weight, lost energy, lost the will to do anything. The move to Florida is supposed to be a change of scenery, a way out of this miserable goddamn rut. But I’m not telling him any of that.

“Which one of you drugged me?” My throat scratches, my eyes gummy with hot tears.

Trace regards me for a moment, his brows pulling in and expression pained. Then he lowers the gun and releases the magazine into his hand.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” The muscles in my neck strain to the point of pain. “I woke alone, in a strange room, thinking the worst. I didn’t know who took me, why I was here, or what would happen to me.”

“I know my apology has no weight under the circumstances.” Trace empties the chamber on the gun and sets the pieces on the sofa table before him. Then his blue eyes lift to mine. “But I’m sorry. We stepped out of your room to settle a dispute.”

“It was a lapse in judgment.” Cole bends forward, elbows on his knees, and regards me with shadows in his gaze. “We’re both at fault. I’m sorry, too.”

They’re apologizing for leaving me unattended? What about the whole damn kidnapping thing? Maybe it’s the drugs, but I’m having a really hard time understanding what the living fuck is going on.

“Why did you do this?” I hug my waist, working to keep my blubbering emotions under control. “Why am I here?”

“You haven’t danced since you left,” Trace says softly.

I look away and grind my teeth. “You were watching me?”

“Always.”

“My house is still bugged?”

My old house. The reminder that I sold it makes my chest hurt.

“I reinstalled the cameras the day I moved out.” Cole studies me intently.

“It was all an illusion then.” My voice rasps, thick with resentment. “I was never free of you.” A hollow laugh bubbles up, choked by a sob. “You let me walk out of the penthouse that day, with every intention of monitoring me? That’s so fucking ironic, because your cameras and listening devices and constant invasion of my privacy were big reasons why I left.”

If they’ve been watching me, they know just how wretched I’ve been without them. I haven’t been eating, dancing, or living. I haven’t done anything but miss them with every goddamn pang in my chest.

How fucked up is that? To ache for not one but two men who lie and cheat and manipulate at every turn? Oh, and now I can add drugs and kidnapping to the list of reasons why I should be looking for a phone and reporting their asses to the authorities.

Is this Trace’s estate? I don’t even know where I am. “What is this place?”

Cole meets Trace’s eyes and shifts his unblinking glare to me. “This is where we finish this.”





“Finish what?” I gape at Cole, my pulse thrashing at the base of my throat. “No, never mind. I quit this shit five weeks ago, which means I’m done. It’s over.”

I whirl toward the front entry and take off at a sprint. Maybe there’s a car outside or neighbors who can help me. Or maybe there’s not. I just need to get the fuck out of here.

When I reach the door, I find it locked with another keypad.

“Let me out, dammit.” I yank frantically on the handle, heaving with desperation. “You can’t keep me here.”

Their silence heats my blood, and I pivot to face them.

“Are you holding me hostage?” I glare at Trace’s irritatingly composed expression.

“We didn’t kidnap you.” Cole stands from the couch. “And we’re not holding you here.”

“You’re a liar, Cole.” I release the door and storm back toward them. “One of you drugged me and brought me here. Or was it both of you? Are you working together now?”

Trace scowls at Cole. Neither of them speak.

Two seconds ago, I walked in on a standoff with a gun. It’s safe to assume that whatever arrangement they’ve cooked up is unstable at best.

I veer past them and check the patio doors. All locked with keypads. Circling the kitchen island, I search for another way out. “What was your disagreement about?”

“You’ve made some poor choices.” Trace clasps his hands behind his back and follows me at a distance. “Specifically, your decision to move halfway across the country.”

“It was the smartest decision I’ve made since I met you.” I swing open a door in the kitchen, revealing a massive pantry. Damn. “Where’s the garage?”