Seven+Four (Angels of Wrath Book 6)

They caught my stalker. They caught my stalker. They caught my stalker. The statement keeps echoing inside my head as I enter the restaurant on hesitant feet. Only one bodyguard outside today since I’m with the others, and life keeps going.

I stayed shut away in the lake house, too scared to go outside, for almost a week. I dove into my work. I took the cowardly way out again—so much for not being the weak link in this family. But the memory of those lifeless, innocent birds almost triggered other panic attacks while the sensation of feeling exposed hasn’t faded away.

It took only a day for Rami to find out who the stalker was. Two weeks prior to my lecture, new CCTV cameras were set up all over campus and also in the faculty lounge after two students from that university were found beaten and raped near Chicago. Nobody knew about the new security except for the dean of the university and his assistant, Dr. Dench. Rami found out about it when he hacked their emails to help Hunter who’s working on the case with the police.

Margaret Smith. That’s her name. My stalker was an intern working at Bear-Stone Labs, the same intern that Sandy kicked out of my lab more than a week ago. I shiver at the thought, now seeing that encounter in a completely different, dangerous, and creepy light.

Rami got her on the security footage entering the faculty lounge at the University of Illinois with that box in her hands thirty minutes before my lecture. After that, it was easy for Serena to locate her through facial recognition in the vicinity of all the places where the stalker left a package in the last month. After a very thorough background check, Rami discovered that she was also working as a volunteer in an emergency room. That is how she got a hold of the muscle relaxant that killed the guard, which is usually used in hospitals to relax the respiratory muscles before intubating patients.

She was at my lecture that day, and the timeline on the footage confirmed she left the box in the lounge before going to the lecture hall.

After that, she didn’t come to work again. The address she’d given Bear-Stone Labs HR was bogus, but my brothers managed to find her after four days. They got her outside my apartment building and took her to the base. I went too. I didn’t want to kill her, just maybe find out why she was so obsessed with me. That’s when I discovered my family kept crucial information from me.

I was sent another package before, which contained a ball gag with a hair that led them to Francis Moreland’s kidnapping. I finally comprehended why Uri didn’t like the idea of me going to the university alone that day and his strong insistence regarding the four bodyguards.

The fact that he, that all of them didn’t share such important information upsets me deeply. Lori, Michael, and Ollie wanted to tell me, but as usual, the rest decided to treat me like a kid. And Uri… Panic attacks or not, I deserved to know. We’ve been arguing for two days straight now. I’m tired of being kept in the dark. I’ll continue feeling pushed aside, defenseless, and powerless like this. Which I’m not. I can protect myself. There’s a reason I am part of this family. I might not be as bloodthirsty and ruthless as my brothers, but I’m strong and determined. And I have the highest IQ.

I was ready to show Uri how forceful I can be, but he didn’t try to stop me from seeing Margaret when I arrived at the base. Even though I quickly found out she suffers from obsessive love disorder, a condition in which one person feels an overwhelming desire to possess another—in this case me—and inability to accept rejection. Michael also talked about delusional and borderline personality disorders, while Raph called her a Fatal Attraction sicko bitch after Margaret expressed her desire to kill me and herself. Uri telling her he is my boyfriend only made it worse.

She had to die, I know that. She killed one man and kidnapped another—that we know of. But I just couldn’t watch as Uri took care of it. It’s still scary to think how easily she managed to get close to me and how, even though she made me feel slightly uneasy, I didn’t feel in danger near her.

This whole predicament left a permanent chill inside my bones. Like I have eyes on me everywhere I go. The fact that I’ve been arguing with Uri doesn’t help. Getting out of the lake house was my way of letting go of all those dark, clingy feelings.

I’ve just arrived at one of Uri’s restaurants to help prepare for Sully’s going away party which will coincide with his birthday. He’ll leave in two weeks for college, and Lori wants to celebrate both occasions. I don’t see Lori or Ollie anywhere, though. But the restaurant door is unlocked, and I can see boxes on the floor with party decorations. They must be somewhere. Maybe in the back.

“You shouldn’t be here! This was supposed to be a surprise,” I hear Lori whining a moment before the swinging kitchen doors part.

“You and my brother talked about it at home while I was there. Plus, I saw the balloons in Brad’s car when he picked me up the other day and my twentieth birthday is coming up soon,” Sully replies with a snorting laugh, showing his crooked incisor—I haven’t seen much of in the last months. His eyes, one brown, one light green, are shining with mirth. His glasses are a bit askew on his long nose, which reminds me of his clumsiness. I’ve never met a person more unaware of his body and his surroundings than Sully.

“You bloody eavesdropper, and your bestie, Brad is a himbo.” Lori lets go of the door, which swings back, hitting Sully in his lanky chest.

“Oomph!” he gasps.

“You okay?” I ask him.

He raises his hand in a placating gesture. “Yes.”

“He is okay, but I’m not!” Lori states, all bratty like. “Mr. Cake Face here wasn’t supposed to know about the surprise going away/birthday party for him. I’m so bloody pissed.”

“I’m touched, really. But this wasn’t necessary.” Sully moves toward the bathroom, followed by an annoyed Lori. I go too, since I need to wash my hands.

“Exactly my point, Sully-doo. You wouldn’t have expected a party for both, and I wanted to see the elation, the joy, and gratefulness in your teary eyes when you saw us all gathered to surprise you.”

“Isn’t it the thought that counts?” I hazard, as we enter the large bathroom.

Sully’s untied shoe makes him trip, he stumbles and barely finds his balance again, gripping the teal counter near the sinks.

Lori crouches down to tie Sully’s shoe. “Please, that’s just something people say to be nice, like size doesn’t matter, or I’m on a diet, or you look fabulous in that speedo. Ugh!”

“Is this bitch act going to go on much longer? I thought the point was to make me elated.” Sully disappears inside one of the stalls, banging the door behind him, as I move toward the first sink on the right.

“Ungrateful imp!” Lori stops near me to fix the black eyeliner at the corner of his eye.

“Let’s just get started.” I dry my hands on the small champagne towel—this place is really posh. “Where’s Ollie?”

“In the kitchen with the chef. You should leave your coat at the entrance.” He waves at my white Chesterfield coat before letting out a high-pitched shriek. He frantically jumps behind me and yanks my body in front of him as a shield.

“What the hell is happening?” I hear Sully from inside the stall.

I can’t reply. Lori is acting like a drowning cat, trembling and clawing at my clothes. I wince when he jerks me back, almost making me lose my balance and topple over with his leg hooked around my waist and arms almost strangling me.

I’m not at my best. My body is stiff and exhausted. The fight with Uri over the last two days has intermittent, erotic pauses, in which he tried to affirm his dominance over me with his hands and mouth and dick. My body is covered in his marks, and my hole has been pummeled and filled and forced open more times than I can count. I did submit to him; it’s almost against my nature not to, but I didn’t let him win since we are still arguing. Now Lori’s crazy, manhandling maneuvers are not helping with the physical aches.

“A demon!” Lori screams in my left ear, turning it deaf. “Hideous creature, stay away!”

His polished green nail is pointing somewhere around the long, rectangular mirror hanging over the sinks. I narrow my eyes as I see something black moving along the sharp edge.

“You mean the spider?”

“Don’t kill it!” I hear Sully’s voice from the stall.

“Don’t care about your Steve Irwin oath!” Lori hisses, forming a cross with his index fingers to point them at the spider. “It’s a mutant creature. He’ll bite me, but instead of turning into Spider-Man, I’ll become an incubator for his slimy, rotten eggs.”

“I’m feeling sick,” I murmur, as Sully comes out, running an exasperated hand through his dark hair.

“It’s the size of a nickel,” Sully scolds him, lifting the piece of toilet paper he’s holding.

“I’ll just die of fright then. No biggie, you tosser!” Lori keeps complaining. “I’ve got goosebumps all over me.”

“It’s called horripilation, the bristling from fear or cold. The adrenaline stimulates your tiny muscles to pull on the roots of your hairs, making them stand out from your skin. That distorts the skin, causing bumps to form,” I try to distract him.

Sully nods as he finally catches the spider in the toilet paper. “Charles Darwin once investigated goose bumps by scaring zoo animals with a stuffed snake.”

“Don’t try to razzle-dazzle me with useless facts; action counts. Let’s put the fun in funeral and flush the eight-eyed monster down the toilet!”

“How is that fun?” Sully asks with a serious expression.

“And why do you always want to flush things?” He wanted to do the same to Albert E.

“Watching the alien drowning in filthy toilet water until it is sucked the fuck out of here…fun. Seeing the disapproval on your faces…boring.”

“It would be even more fun when he comes back up and bites your ass!” Sully takes the spider near the small window and gently shakes the toilet paper until it crawls outside.

“Your words flew inside my ear, my brain feigned processing, I let them go out of the other ear, and poof, forgotten.” He flips Sully off.

“Sari, you try telling him a little spider is not going to kill him.”

“It’s a phobia, Lori. I think you can overcome it if you try,” I gently explain. He dismounts me, making me wince again when his arm rubs over my inflamed nipple—Uri sucked on it until I screamed his name.

“Says the guy who left his apartment for a bunch of little mice.” Lori scoffs at me.

“They were rats,” I remind him, and technically Uri was the one who insisted on me moving out.

“I mean you have one as a pet, and your manipulative as fuck boyfriend released those rats in the first place, so I’m sure they didn’t carry any disea—” Lori abruptly stops talking as I spin my head his way.

“What did you just say?” I breathe out, while his face fills with an emotion I’ve never seen on him: guilt.

“Fuck!” Sully cusses, looking wide-eyed at Lori and then me.

“You said Uri infested my apartment with rats.” I grit my teeth as I spit the words out. It can’t be true, can it?

“The building…not the apartment,” Lori spills. Oh my God.

“Stop talking.” Sully moves a hand over his face.

“Why? Why would Uri…? To force me to move in with him.” To keep a close eye on me. He even wanted me to sell it. An apartment he didn’t want me to buy in the first place.

“Come on, Angel. Didn’t you suspect anything?” Lori asks. “I mean, it wasn’t the first time Uri… Okay, those three glasses of margarita mixed with the spider assault might have broken my brain.”

Not the first time?

“It was broken already,” Sully mutters.

“What else did he do? Lori, tell me now!” I demand.

“Sheesh, you’re scary when you get all stern.” He takes a step back.

“What is going on?” Ollie walks into the bathroom with a frown on his face. Can he feel the heaviness in the room? “What the hell are you all doing in the bathroom?”

“The cat is out of the bag. I repeat, the cat is out of the bag,” Lori recites.

“You know too? About Uri’s maneuvers? Everybody knows?” This is getting worse by the second.

“I didn’t.” Sully raises his hand. One person.noveldrama

“I wanted to tell you,” Ollie utters, using a soothing tone, which doesn’t work on me. “But then the stalker appeared, and I didn’t want to add to the pile. I’m sorry.”

“If I may, I think that he sabotaged all your relationships and acted all twisted and sociopathic because he was desperate to not lose you.” I don’t know if Lori is trying to defend him or dig him a deeper grave.

I suddenly get the comprehensive meaning of his words, and all my hackles go up as the air hangs thick with nauseating uncertainty. Sabotaged my relationships? The way things happened to the men I tried to date, the disappearances, the sudden work transfers, the triggered fire alarm with no fire in the building…oh my God. Was that all Uri? Has he been meddling in my life? Did I step right into his meticulously prepared trap when I moved in with him? Like a fly in a spiderweb.

Looking back, I can see that the relationship between me and Uri has been more than a little unorthodox. His lack of boundaries and my dependency for both emotional and physical needs was a little odd by society’s standards, but I’ve never once looked at it with a critical eye. Nevertheless, undermining my fragile confidence, letting me feel inadequate and lacking, that hurts me deeply. He’s been scheming behind my back, regardless of the consequences, of how it would affect me, moving me like a chess piece, following his tunnel vision in order to get me. He treated me just like he does all the rest of the world. That’s a slap to the face that I don’t enjoy.

I dial Uri’s phone number under the worried gaze of my friends.

When he picks up I ask, “Is it true? Did you orchestrate my life…surreptitiously?”

There’s a heavy silence before he says in a low tone, “Does it matter?”

“Yes. Yes, it does,” I reply, squeezing my eyes shut.

“And if the answer is yes?”

“No.” Is the only word coming out of my mouth, riding a soft breath. I hoped, so much, to hear his denial. “You messed with my head and maneuvered me as you pleased. Made me think I wasn’t enough for my dates!”

“They weren’t enough for you,” he hisses.

“You manipulative bastard!” Conceited. Controlling. Conniving jerk! Wetting my dry lips with my tongue, I try to breathe shallowly.

“Is that my pet name?”

“Is this a joke to you?” I accuse him, my arm slipping to my side.

“A joke?” His voice gets even lower. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to keep you safe?”

“Safe? You meant to keep me for yourself!” I counter.

He chuckles arrogantly. “Yes! I’ve been pulling strings in the background. I threatened and bribed and sent those fuckers away. I changed and modified all my priorities so you’d feel at ease. I forced and pushed you onto the path I wanted. Everything I’ve done was for you.”

“Ngh.” A defeated sound leaves my lips. No matter how many times I tell my heart to stay still, I can’t help my feelings from overflowing. Betrayal, confusion, incredulity, sorrow. Why? What am I to him? A toy he can control, play with, and discard whenever he feels like it?

“Losing you is not an option, Baby Blue. Stop fighting this. You know who I am, better than anyone else.” But I thought I finally knew who I was for you, and now I found out I was wrong.

Even as I finally witness the ugly depths of his obsession, I feel the innate urge to yield to him. To crawl to him, into his arms—the profound need claws at my insides. I want to roll and rub all over his chest until I stink of him. The memory of his scent turns my head fuzzy. He smells like everything beautiful and safe in the world. But that same scent just soured into deceitfulness, insidiousness. Sadness.

“I pushed you away, but you kept me at distance all our lives. If I wasn’t into S&M, what would you have done? Kept me locked up, sabotaged all my relationships while still going to fuck your…men at Madame Claudette’s!” I cry out. “Our relationship has always been unbalanced. And now I discover you took over my life.” My cheeks are quickly turning wet as tears continue flowing. Why do I always cry?

“What do you want from me, Sari?” The lack of understanding and compassion in his tone makes my gut twist painfully.

Questions I can never bring myself to ask—too scared of his answers—well up inside my throat and then fade away like bubbles in the wind.

“What do I want?” I echo his words. “Apology comes from the Greek word apologia, which means to give a speech in defense, and contrite from the Latin word conterere, which means to feel crushed with guilt.”

“The only thing irrevocably mine in this world is you, Sari. Your love, your quirkiness, your cluelessness, your inner strength, your sexy body. All of you. I won’t apologize or feel contrite for making you mine. I can’t. It would be a lie,” he deadpans.

I know sociopaths can’t. That wasn’t what I needed to hear. Not even close to what I’d hoped to hear.

I end the call, not wanting to continue anymore. I throw my phone in one of the sinks with too much force.

“Blimey! Mummy just slapped daddy at the dinner table.” Lori’s loud whisper is followed by an “ouch.” “Sorry.” He massages the area on his forearm where Ollie pinched him as he looks at me. “Sometimes my mouth has a mouth of its own.”

I don’t say anything to him. I’m feeling too angry.

Ollie interjects, “Since I became part of this family I’ve seen how Uri is with you. Rague told me that he’s always been like that about you, damn everything and everyone else. He won’t change, Sari. You, on the other hand, need to decide if you can accept it, him just as he is.”

Am I really that different compared to all the other people he’s manipulated? The fact that I’m more hurt by the thought of being relegated to the masses than by the fact that he meddled in my life says a lot.

My phone starts ringing as I wipe my cheeks. I turn my back to it. I need the perspective of distance and time. I need some cold air inside my lungs.

“We’ll be here,” I hear Sully’s soft voice as I make my way to the emergency exit in the back and out into the parking lot.

Winter awaits me outside. It snowed yesterday. The sun has been shining since this morning, leaving Chicago in white, sparkly patches. It’s still chilly. I’m glad I didn’t take off my coat when I arrived, since I thoughtlessly left my phone and everything else inside.

I hear a laugh, and when I look up, I see two women strolling nearby. My heart feels like a candle flickering in the cold wind, but all around, the world keeps steadily moving. I’m the only one caught up in the storm while everybody else is busy living their lives.

My thoughts are scattered. I walk around the building, my mind focused on what Uri did, trying to discover what else he engineered to steer my life the way he wanted. Did he force that college professor of physics, Dr. Fassenberg, to revisit my paper the time I failed his exam? I’ve always found it odd how quickly the professor reconsidered after he vehemently turned down my plea. Did Uri have something to do with the cute neighbor who used to live in my building and his sudden move, two days after inviting me over for coffee? How about Trent? No, he barely recognized Uri when he saw him at the university. But maybe Uri worked his schemes behind the curtain. Trent, too, suddenly moved to another city. We did lose contact before that, though.

Holy hell! I can’t overanalyze every single event in my life, I’ll turn mad. I already knew quite well how controlling and determined Uri is. He held me steady when I was weak, unstable, and faltering. He reassured me when doubts overwhelmed me and stayed with me when I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve always felt that what I received from him was greater than what I gave him. But I was unaware how far overboard he went.

I’m such a doormat.

I suddenly lose my balance as a heavy body shoves me against a wall. I hit the side of my head hard, and for a moment, I only see a white light. The pain wakes up all my pleasure cells until I hear a growly male voice. It’s like a cold shower putting off all the flames.

“Don’t fucking move,” the stranger whispers in my ear.

I yell at the top of my lungs, but the hard slap I get from the man stops my screaming voice, forcing the side of my head against the wall again. My brain quickly processes the slap, and agonizing pain erupts over my cheek. The throb is somehow pleasant, but the fear overcomes any other sensation.

When I open my eyes again, I get my first sight of the guy. Bald, big, scarred. I stand no chance against him, a man twice my size pointing a gun at me. Still, a few bruises are nothing in comparison to what other horror surely awaits me as he drags me toward a black car. I survived all those years of imprisonment alone, and I promised myself that I’d never let anybody else cage me without a fight. He shoves me into the back seat as I keep screaming, kicking, clawing, and punching, twisting my body like an eel.

“Who are you?” I scream. “Let me go!”

“Make him shut up!” the driver yells as the bald guy presses the cold, hard muzzle of his gun against my aching cheek while grabbing my jaw in his massive hand.

“You little bitch, shut the fuck up!” he roars. Spits hits my face, and I clench my teeth, feeling my heart inside my throat.

What is going on? I don’t know these men. Who do they work for? What do they want with me? Kidnapping a person in daylight is risky and stupid. Were they waiting for me outside the restaurant? Why?

I let one of the questions slip out, “Where are you taking me?” I hate how my voice breaks.

“I told you to keep him quiet!” the driver barks at the bald guy, who removes the gun from my face as he replies to him. I take that moment to pull the handle on the car door, but it’s locked, the window as well. So I throw myself at the driver with all the ferocity of my fear…and without a concrete plan. The car swerves before a single punch to my jaw from the bald guy pushes me back against the seat. My world spins. My head smacks against the window, and tears stream down my cheeks.

The buildings on the side of the road pass by at alarming speed. I open my mouth to yell, but nothing comes out. My head rings from the hit, and pain pulses where I’ve been punched. I can taste blood inside my mouth—my masochistic side is smirking while the rest of me wants to give back double the pain. I close my eyes as a sudden sense of fatigue settles in, sinking deep into my limbs.

Uri’s face is the last thing I think about before blackness descends; I try hard to fight it and fail.

The first thing I feel is that my mind is here, but my body isn’t. Weird. Then the sensation in my legs registers. My torso. Crap, my head hurts. It takes me a little longer to swim back to the surface. I blink my eyes open; it’s dark outside the window. A floor lamp on the opposite side of the room illuminates my surroundings.

Colors start to pop out at me now that my vision has adjusted to the artificial light. Wooden walls, a bed, a glass table. I’m in a bedroom. I blink again. I’m sitting on a chair, my hands bound behind my back with a thick rope. Given the complete lack of feeling in them, I suspect I’ve been like this for a while. I try to twitch my fingers, which feels damn painful as blood starts flowing again.

My feet are similarly numb, I can’t feel the boots on them, but they aren’t tied.

I attempt to remember what happened, but my mind comes up blank. I twist my hands, testing the ropes. I might need to dislocate a wrist to get out of them—a trick I was forced to learn when I was imprisoned. The pain will be indescribably intense, but I need to get out of here.

A few details I’d missed start to seep into my consciousness. The silky sheets on the bed, the bottle of lube on the table, and the bloody bat leaning on the wall in the corner. The room smells sweet, vanilla sweet, which is pleasant, considering the situation.

Memories of the bald guy and the driver abruptly sneak up inside my head. I must have passed out in the car. They are not here, but that doesn’t mean they’re far away. Whoever they are. Why did they bring me here? Where is here? And what’s with the creepy porno set?

I’m not wearing my coat—they must have taken it—and I don’t have my phone. No! I left it at the restaurant. It’s okay. The tracker implanted behind my ear will tell my family my location and the bracelet on my wrist that I’m still alive. Rami must have alerted Uri to my disappearance by now. I know he’ll come for me.

The ache in my head increases. I still need to do something. I can’t just wait for my brothers to find me. I’m strong and capable—I’m the son of Linda and Meg, the bravest and most badass women I’ve ever met.

Taking a deep breath, I count to three and twist. A crack and then searing pain envelops my left wrist. I stifle a piercing scream by gritting my teeth, letting a few seconds go by before I slide my hand out the rope. Now for the worst part. I need to reset the joint. A sharp tug, and this time, I’m unable to keep a low whimper inside.

The cold shiver down my body is replaced by a blazing, scorchingly, agonizing sensation. Sweat beads over my lip as I gasp, and my eyes roll back. My fingers tighten around the rope until I feel it biting into my palm, praying that it will keep me focused and prevent me from passing out again.

I don’t know how much time passes. My wrist throbs, but I’m free. I have the rope in one hand as I touch the side of my neck behind my ear with the other. I feel the little bump where the tracker is, unscathed. Thank Goddess. Still, I better prepare myself for the worst.

Voices reach the room, distant, barely audible over the pounding of my heart and jarring breaths.

I slowly stand up, shaking my weak legs before going to the door, I place an ear on the wooden surface and listen. Men’s voices again, footsteps moving away and then a door closing. As I expected the handle doesn’t move, the door is locked, the window as well. I could use the bat to break the glass, but the strong noise could attract undesired attention. Same thing for the door. Now I regret not letting Ren teach me how to pick locks.

I look around the room for something to use as a weapon. I find a pair of scissors in the small nightstand drawer among condoms, huge dildos, and other disturbing sex implements. I grab the scissors and hurriedly go back to the chair. I push my hands behind my back to hide the weapon and the loose rope, waiting for my kidnappers to show.

I’m not defenseless anymore, but my muscles ache from the unnatural position, and the acrid, bitter scent of fear is heavy inside my nostrils.

I feel the warning of a panic attack just before the drowning sensation hits me. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I start shivering. My sight turns blurry as terror constricts my chest and worms its way into me, clawing at my insides. My body is frozen as I fight to get some air in. Am I really going to die here?

Uri’s face is again in front of my eyes. His soothing whispers, confident gaze, and warm lips. I whimper, desperate to move, but my body doesn’t want to cooperate. Stay with me, Uri’s baritone voice echoes inside my mind. You know this feeling. It’s terrifying. It feels like death but not. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself…be. You can’t give up; it’s not your choice to make. I won’t let you.

Tears run free as a strange sense of calm overcomes me, washing away the suffocating panic. I suck in air, feeling it fill my lungs to maximum capacity. My eyes open as the sun starts peaking on the horizon. I curl my fingers around the scissors and the rope, relieved to feel them still in my hands. I hear voices again; they sound a little closer now but they are coming from my left now. There’s multiple people out there, what if they come in here all together?

A loud bang, bang followed by two heavy thuds and another bang makes me jump in the chair. Gun shots.

The following silence rings in my ears until a door nearby screeches open. My stomach tightens with dread. The unknown of it all is killing me. I hear the click of a lock, and then the bedroom door slowly moves until I can clearly see the person walking inside.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Surprised to see me, darling?”

My lips part, but nothing comes out. Trent. As in my ex-fling, Trent is standing in front of me. He doesn’t seem to be here to save me, judging by the crazy, excited look in his eyes and the relaxed way he slowly prowls inside the room.

“Trent, what’s going on?”

He walks toward me, stopping near the table. He drops a gun and a bloody knife on the glass surface. Then he takes out a napkin from his jacket and starts wiping off his fingers. He must have been the one shooting. Did he kill someone?

“I saved you,” he finally replies.

Saved me? I’d believe that if he had tried to untie me. He’s sporting a disturbing smirk I’ve never seen before on his face. His leery gaze doesn’t leave me for a second as he keeps wiping the blood from his hands.

“You can’t hide your resplendence, not even bruised and bound to a chair.” The amazement dripping from his words makes me sweat with anxiety and uneasiness. A lot of uneasiness.

“Why am I here, Trent?”

“If you want to find something, you have to stop looking,” he recites a Zen koan. “Well I cheated a little, but who cares!” He curls the corners of his lips up in what I can only describe as a hungry smile. He takes another step toward me—still too far for me to do anything. My muscles stiffen and I brace myself. My fingers turn sweaty around the scissors’ handle.

He doesn’t advance further. “We are mentally and spiritually bonded, darling.”

Oh God, can this be possible? To have another obsessed freak in my life.? I could do the math but I know the possibilities are scarce. Trent seems a little unstable. He was good at hiding this side of him from me when we briefly dated. Otherwise, how did I not see it when we went out?

I am strangely calm, given the situation. My blood feels like ice, and I refuse to flinch as he comes closer. I faced death head on many times as a kid and have witnessed many lives come to an end in the last seven years. I thought I felt kind of indifferent toward death. But my breath is coming in sharp pants, and I might pee myself very soon.

“My brothers will find me,” I state. My voice is trembling…with confidence.

I clearly see the change on his face. Fury possesses his features, making his eyes blaze with it. “Your faith is misplaced, darling.”

“Faith is an irrational belief in something that is impossible. I know what my family can do. They’ll come.” My tracker will lead them right to me.

“Are you expecting that perverted brother of yours? Oh, dear.” His face morphs into an evil expression. “You see, I paid him a visit.” His hand suddenly brushes my aching jaw, right where I was punched.

I force my body to stay still, even though his touch feels revolting. He’s close enough now for the scissors to do some damage, but I need to know what happened to Uri. I have an ominous feeling about it; Trent looks too pleased with himself.

“After the way he treated me, I needed to tell him how rude he’d conducted himself—I’m a professor after all, teaching is what I do. I needed to get it through his thick head, and I surely did…with my baseball bat. Did you know I played some ball in college?”

My eyes fall to the bloody wooden bat lying against the wall, and I gasp as I put the pieces together.

“No,” I let out on a breath.

“It was incredibly easy, and the crack I heard when I hit him…ahhh.”

It can’t be. Everything turns dark for a moment, like my brain, body, and heart are suffering a temporary blackout.

“I’ll never forget that sweet sound.” His blackhearted words and those predatory, lecherous eyes make me want to run and shut him up at the same time. “So much blood, though.”

“I don’t believe you!” I suddenly scream. Tears well up, but I don’t let them fall. All I’m doing is crying lately. I’m sick of it. Anger is a much better way to vent. Because Uri is alive. I won’t believe otherwise, I can’t. I’ll break down if…

His hand suddenly swings down. The smack resounds in the room as my face snaps to the side from the force of the slap. “Your disgusting brother is dead. Now there’s only me, and you’ll do as I say, or you will end up like the others.”

The others?

His finger rubs the side of my mouth before he sucks on the drop of blood on the tip. I hear a whimper, and soon realize it’s coming from me. The pain makes my body tingle and stokes the fire inside me…ready to scorch the crazy bastard in front of me.

“I’m going to eat you up from head to toe, darling.” His hand moves to his belt, and he starts to unbuckle it. A nauseating feeling forms inside my stomach.

“You’ll forget about him in no time. You’ll scream my name when⁠—”

A loud bang from outside cuts him off mid-sentence, like something hitting the roof. He turns his attention to the door, and that’s the distraction I need. I raise the scissors over my head and stab him with them as I swing the rope in the air, watching the thick knot at the end hit him right in the face.

He grunts in pain and takes a step backward. I jump up and slap both my hands on his ears to disorient him—Linda’s training is still vivid in my mind. Then I hold his head and knee him in the guts—Lori taught me something too.

I’ve never considered myself bloodthirsty, but I want to see the man who hurt Uri pay for what he’s done. I want to crush him, pulverize him, make him cry like a baby.

As traitorous tears spill out, I grab the scissors still poking out of his shoulder and yank them out as my booted foot pushes against his groin. Trent yells as he loses his balance and falls back on the glass table. His weight and gravity do the rest; pieces of shattered glasses fly in every direction as he drops on the floor. The gun that was on top of the table rolls near my feet, and I grab it as I let go of the rope.

Taking the safety off, I point it at his face, and I’m on him again before he can move. I start kicking him on his sides, his chest, his dick. “Uri is not my brother! He’s the love of my life, you sicko bastard!” I growl, letting out all my pent-up wrath and fear and sorrow.

Uri is fine. Uri is fine. I keep repeating it to myself as I continue beating the fucker up. I impale his hand with the scissors and hear him wail. Before he can cover his face, I press the sole of my boot to his cheek and twist it in a way that would make a person choke with nausea.

“Pray he’s fine, or I’ll kill you like the piece of shit you are,” I pant, giving his face a last stomp with the heel of my boot.

After knocking him out, I give myself a moment to breathe, then I check his pockets. No phone. No car keys. I turn to the door and rush out of the bedroom into the living room. I glance quickly around: a small kitchen, a sofa, and a TV. I don’t want to stay inside this cottage a moment longer; I need to get out of here and find a way to contact Uri, to make sure he’s okay.

I bolt outside. All I can see are white trees. I can’t feel the cold with all the adrenaline rushing through my veins. The sun is rising, and there’s no visible trail I can follow. Damn it! I need to get to Uri. I need to see he’s okay. The sound of water makes me turn to my left. It’s a stream. If I follow it downhill, my chances of finding a road or a trail might increase.

Hearing a noise behind me, I start running, tripping over branches, pine needles whipping at my eyes. I nearly fall face-first onto the snowy ground and catch myself at the last moment on a branch—the rough bark scratches my palm, and my wrist screams in agony. I’m panting, my breaths raspy. The air is cold, but the breaths I’m swallowing are hot.

“Sariel,” someone calls my name from behind me. I grit my teeth and fight against the terror invading my body. The bald guy and the driver are still out there.

I spin around, lift the gun, and aim it at the figure walking slowly toward me. For a second, I think it is Uri, and my heart stops beating. But the more I look, the more I sense that there’s something wrong. The way he walks is too stiff. His shoulders are too wide. And there’s not even a single flap of butterfly wings in my belly as he comes closer. There’s only one explanation: the man approaching me is Ezra.

“Take some deep breaths, you’re running out of oxygen.” His voice is deeper and raspier than Uri’s. His eyes slightly darker and colder as he halts a few feet away from me.

The resemblance is uncanny. But I can easily see all the little differences in the wider nose, rounder lips, mole-less cheek. A fine stubble travels the ridge of his too angular jaw. His expression is unreadable, his demeanor calm and collected.

I keep my gun up as I utter his name. “What are you doing here?” He can’t have been in cahoots with Trent. Could he?

“I was outside the restaurant when you were kidnapped. I followed you here.”

That’s plausible since Ezra likes to watch us for some weird reason. But I’m still suspicious. “Then why didn’t you come to help me?”

Was he the one who helped me escape by throwing something on the cottage’s roof?

“You didn’t need it. You were more than capable of getting out of the situation by yourself.” Situation? Does he mean my kidnapping? His blatant statement is actually a breath of fresh air, but at the same time, so annoying.

“The guy in the cottage is out of it, and the other two are dead,” he adds.

He must have gone inside after I left.

“I couldn’t understand why my brother wanted to own a person so…fragile. Now I know that’s just appearances.”

“You were testing me?” I feel strangely pleased and deeply pissed. I was manhandled, kidnapped, and tied to a very uncomfortable chair by a crazy ex, and instead of helping me, Ezra just decided to see how the situation would develop.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” I mutter, reminding myself what that entails. “Give me your phone.”

Of course, he doesn’t oblige. “I already contacted Uri. He should be here soon.”

I frown at him. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t.” He shrugs.

My foot suddenly slips as I take a step back. Ezra instantly appears a couple of inches from me and grabs my arm, holding me up. The gun’s muzzle is against his chest now, but he doesn’t seem disturbed by it. Instead he smirks.

“You are as clumsy as a baby with no motor skills.”

“I just escaped from a kidnapping!” I retort with irritation.

“Who hasn’t in this…family?” It reminds me he was once imprisoned as well, just like the rest of us—much longer than us.

He lets me go to reach his hand inside the pocket of his dark green hoodie.

“Slowly!” I order him, pushing the gun against his body more firmly.

He does as I say—still smirking like a lunatic—and pulls out a box of…Band-Aids. “You know I can take that weapon out of your hand in less than a second,” he deadpans, opening the box.

Can he? He’s an assassin for hire, so he probably can. I hesitantly lower the pistol, still keeping it in my hand.

“How did you know I wasn’t Uriel?” he asks as he removes the backing papers from the Band-Aid’s adhesive side.

I look into his eyes again, and I don’t see any kind of murderous intention in them, only emptiness. It makes me shudder.

“You have a whole different aura. And Uri would never wear these clothes.” I look at the red bandana around his forehead half covered by the hoodie with a snake on the sleeve and his beige cargo pants.

Distracted by my survey, I let him place the red Band-Aid with a black heart carefully drawn on it over my cheek. I’ve been jealous of him since Uri told us about his existence. I hated the fact that he kept Ezra as a secret, or the idea of Uri having another special person in his life, a brother bonded to him by blood. But I understand now how petty of me that was.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask suddenly. Psychopaths don’t do anything unless there’s something to gain from it.

“Why Uriel?” He answers with another question not pertinent to what happened in the slightest. “Of all the other foster brothers, why him?”

I stare at his face. That’s a peculiar question. Is he testing me again?

Movement from behind Ezra makes me suddenly freeze. Then I do a double take when I see him. All my fear and anger drain away at the mere sight of him.

He’s alive. Uri. Uri. Uri. Dear God, he’s here and so beautiful, the rising sun is dancing along his figure as he stalks through the woods toward us, like flames shimmering all round him. The dry blood on his forehead and in his hair trailing down his beige sweater makes me gasp with dread, but his steps are steady and forceful.

He’s alive.

“Uri!” I sob. Relief crashes into me, making me shudder. I want to run to him, but my arms and legs don’t seem to work. Our eyes lock, then he lets his trail down my body. I feel like I’m being touched all over by his gaze.

I know the answer to Ezra’s question. Not loving Uri would have been impossible. He is me, as I am him. Seven plus Four equals one.

I can see his face more clearly now. His features are twisted in fury and what I think is…fear. For me. He’s come for me. My teeth are chattering now. I’m probably in shock or dealing with an adrenaline crash. I feel shaky and cold and a little out of it.

“I thought you were… Trent said he…” I can’t even finish a single phrase. I feel the gun slipping through my fingers as my body abruptly lets go.

His strong, soothing scent envelopes me first, then his warmth, making my toes curl. He moves until we collide. My face is against his chest as he buries his nose in my hair. It’s not a dream. I breathe in, my senses going into overdrive. I’m swallowing huge gulps of his scent, pushing them deep down inside my lungs, never wanting to let anything about him go. It’s olfactory bliss. A moan leaves my lips when strong, unforgiving arms wrap around me and squeeze me tightly.

Uri, Uri, Uri. Whatever we were arguing about before loses all meaning.

“Baby Blue.” The sheer relief in those two words sends a shiver through me.

“Shh,” Uri whispers into my ear, stroking my back soothingly. Possessively. “I’m here.”

I nearly purr, leaning into his touch. But then with a strangled growl, he suddenly drops to his knees. His face sinks into my chest. His arms pulls me in close, the hold shy of painful. In this position, I see more clearly the blood covering his head and dreads, and I can’t hold back a sob.

He is safe. He is alive.

“I’m ok,” I whisper, as he groans menacingly against my pec. He nods his head against me and holds me for…I have no idea how long.

Reality soon comes rushing back in when I hear a tsk, and I remember Ezra’s presence behind us. I try to turn to look at him, but Uri only holds me tighter.

His head tilts back, and our eyes lock again like two universes crashing and blending into one. My whole life has led up to this moment.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you so much, forever,” I brokenly whisper.

He just stares. My gut burns with adoration for him.

“Don’t scare me like you did today ever again. I’ll leave this earth and follow you into the afterlife if I have to.” The hissed promise penetrates my heart, finding its eternal place.

I squeeze my eyes, emotion heavy in my throat. I can’t stop smiling as I bring our mouths together. As soon as our lips touch, the desperation lifts off my shoulders. His tongue teases inside my mouth and twines with mine as he straightens up, towering over me, gathering me so close that not an inch of space is left between us. He kisses me until I can’t breathe, my lungs turn hot. All the pain and fear a faraway memory.

He finally tears his mouth away and pushes his head back, leaving my lips deliciously throbbing.

His fingers brush against the Band-Aid on my cheek. “It’s just a graze,” I try to reassure him, although it doesn’t seem to work.

“What else?” he asks with a grim look in his eyes.

“Nothing else,” I sort of lie. My boyfriend is bellicose as it is; I don’t want to fuel him.

“You have a bruise on your jaw and blood caked on your forehead.” He stops and growls. “Your tracker didn’t work. We couldn’t find you.” He turns my head to the side to inspect the area behind my ear.

Shit! Thank God Ezra followed me.

I choose my words carefully, not wanting Uri to turn berserk. “My head hit a wall and a car window, but the tracker should be fine.”

He roars, “Motherfucker!”

“Uri.” I grab his face with both hands, using my most soothing tone. But I’m angry too as I see the blood on his dreads. “How about your⁠—?”

Uri interrupts me by hauling me into another kiss, rough and passionate, claiming me with his mouth. When he pulls back, my bruised lips burn in the cold air, and my head falls to the side against his hand. I can only huddle into him. Because everything about him is perfect, from his caramel dreads and large hands to his tattooed body and the faint lines at the corners of his piercing eyes.

“I’m fine, Baby Blue, since I won’t let you out of my sight ever again.” That sounds like a sweet threat. The sweetest I’ve ever heard.

Which reminds me… “My being kidnapped by a mentally unstable ex is not going to stop us from talking about your lies and over-the-top controlling behavior,” I state. My voice is weak, but my resolution is strong.

He grits his teeth. “Don’t mention that fucker ever again if you want me to stay sane,” he hisses.

This is going to be a toughie.