Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox)

The look on Dad's face is almost indescribable. Shock, definitely. But there's something more. If my father were an emotional man, he'd be screaming. Or crying. Or both.

He just stands there instead.

"Wow," he says finally. "Are you on something? Crack? Are you using, Sloane?"

I roll my eyes and take a shaky breath. “I'm done talking about this."

"Mom," he says, voice rising as he turns toward Grandma June, who's still perched on the couch, legs crossed, wine glass in hand, eyes fixed on the television. "Are you not going to chip in here?"

"And say what, Daniel?" she replies without looking away from the screen. "You've not seen her with that boyfriend of hers. She's happy. He buys her designers, a lot of them. Let the kid make her own damn choice."

"And become you, right?"

That makes her turn around. "Oh, you better watch that mouth of yours."

You do realize that however you turned out has everything to do with you choosing the wrong man in the first place, right? He made you so vindictive that you made it your lifelong mission to steal from men."

She sets the wineglass down and straightens, gaze sharp as steel. "And look what my thieving life got you, Daniel. Ivy League school. A fancy house. Fancy- ass job. You think Daphne-a beautiful lifestyle blogger with over a million followers on Instagram-would have married your sorry ass if you didn't have a trust fund?" She pauses, waiting, daring him to speak.

"Would you like to return the trust fund becausé I stole the money, huh?" He doesn't say a word.

"I didn't think so. Instead of worrying about things that don't concern you, call your wife, who left the house mad at you. You haven't seen your son in over a week. Serena's distance from you didn't teach you a lesson, did it? Jesus. I don't think I have any more advice left inside me, Daniel. Daphne insists that the man is an old schoolmate of hers. What you think you saw didn't happen. Let it go. And let that poor child with her short hair be. You raised her to be a wallflower. I'm surprised she made à good catch with all that nerdiness she has going on."

She lifts her glass again.

"At this rate, I'll need something stronger than wine. You're all welcome to join me."

Then she turns back to the TV like she didn't just roast both of us to hell and back. I glance at my father, who's still frozen in place. For once, he has no comeback.

"I'll try reaching Serena again to come pick Mom up," I say quietly, walking toward the window. My fingers are already dialing.

"Why don't you take her instead?" Dad asks behind me.

"Can't, Dad."

"Why? Have somewhere to be?"

I hesitate, watching the signal bars on my phone. "I can't explain.”

I press the call icon and lift the phone to my ear. Serena's line goes straight to voicemail. I call again. Same thing.

Where the hell did she keep her phone? And why's it off? It's never off.

The screen is still in my hand when I notice a car pulling into the driveway. Pink. Familiar. I take a step closer to the window, peering out just in time to see one long leg step out of the car, followed by the rest of her.

“Uhhh, Dad?” I say, slowly turning toward him. "Didn't you say your wife wouldn't be back until next week?"

"Yes. Why?"

"She's here."

Dapline pops the trunk. She grabs her bag, and then she's unstrapping Beau from his car seat, his tiny hands reaching for her neck the moment she Jeans in. My father bolts to the window like he's been shot out of a cannon.

"Shit," he mutters. "She was supposed to stay one more day, as we agreed at the therapist's office. Enough time for me to process things."

"I don't know how you're going to do it, Dad," I say, stepping away from the glass. "But she can't see Mom."

What do you expect me to do? Hide your mother in the basement?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe if I explain-"

"Trust me," I cut in. "As a woman, she won't understand why she's being accused

of infidelity and has to go away, and then while she's gone, you bring your ex to

the house. There's no way that won't lead to a shitshow." -SERENA-

My wrists burn from the rope.

Whoever tied the knots did it like they've done it a hundred times before. Same goes for the sack over my head. Coarse fabric. It smells like someone once stored onions in it. I can't see a thing. Can't move my arms. I can barely move my neck. Back at the apartment, it didn't take me long to realize the guy at the door wasn't alone. A second man stepped out from the shadows-both of them armed, both terrifyingly calm. No shouting. No dramatics. Just a series of clipped commands and the cold press of a silencer against my spine. They marched us out like they'd done it a dozen times before. As we passed the lobby, I caught a glimpse of the night security guard slumped over his desk-head down, motionless. I told myself he was sleeping. Had to be. Now we're in a car, hood over my head, wrists bound tight, going God knows where.

The road underneath hums and grinds. There's the occasional bump, which sends my body lurching sideways and my shoulder thudding against Finn's. I think it's Fir Hard to tell. He groans every time we hit something. At first it was quiet. Barely a grunt. But now it's starting to sound like full-on whimpers.

Another bump. Another groan.noveldrama

I've had enough.

"Could you just shut it?” I hiss through the hood. “And stop pretending like you're not working with these men."

The car keeps rumbling on. And then Finn's voice-muffled, tired, slightly indignant- comes.

"For your information, I still have a broken arm that hurts when I hit things. And I don't know these men."

"Oh, please," I snap. "How is it a coincidence that the same night you randomly show up at my apartment is the same night I get kidnapped? Come on, Finn. If this isn't one of your messed-up plots, then what is?"

"Why would I want to kidnap you, Serena?"

"I don't know, Finn. Why do you do all the crazy things you do?"

"Could you both shut your mouths?" a new voice growls.

It came from the front seat. Accent thick. European, maybe Eastern. He doesn't

need to raise his voice for the threat to do its job. There's something about a

threat with an accent that makes it hit harder.

Even Finn shuts up.

The rest of the ride goes quiet. Just the hum of the engine and the scrape of tires against asphalt.

Eventually, the car slows and stops.

Doors open. Cold air hits my skin, crawling up my bare legs. Hands grab me. I'm pulled out, guided by the pressure on my shoulders, my knees wobbling as I adjust to standing.

"Move," someone says behind me.

I do. Bare feet crunching gravel, then transitioning to tile or wood-I can't tell which. We're inside. The air shifts. Warmer, but stale. There's a smell, too. Like mold and old curtains. Dust and a hint of bleach.

We more again. Then.. stairs. The pressure on my back increases as they nudge me forward. Down.

With each step, the air grows heavier. Thicker. Damp.

Basement.

1 count the steps as I descend. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. My foot hits the cement

at the bottom.

Then I'm turned and sat in a chair. My hands are then secured to the chair, my ankles tied too.

A beat of silence.

Then the hood comes off.

The light is harsh, yellowed, buzzing overhead. I blink against it, my eyes watering as they adjust.

The room is small. Cinder block walls. No windows. A single bulb swinging slightly above us. There are four hostages, all arranged in a semicircle facing the far side of the room.

One is Finn, who's grumbling beside me as they remove his hood.

The second is me, of course.

The other two-

A man I recognize and a woman with striking bone structure and dark curls, sitting

like she's two seconds from biting through her restraints.

And then... him.

The man sitting in front of us.

He's in all black. Dark shades. A cane resting in his gloved hands. His presence

takes up the whole room.

I don't know why, but every hair on my arm lifts.

And I don't scare easily.

"You're Sloane's sister, aren't you?" the man I recognized says, tilting his head

toward me.

I hesitate. Then nod once. "Yeah. What's happening right now? Why are we

here?"

The woman next to him rolls her eyes. "That's a dumb question. You're tied to a chair. What do you think is happening? I can't even believe this shit. This is the second time I've been tied to a chair this week."

"People, people," the man in the shades interrupts, voice as smooth as it is quiet, "let's try to speak with our calm voices. I'm sensitive to sound." It's the first time he's spoken, but already I want to move further back in my chair. "What the hell is this, Mateo?" the other man says. Yes, I remember his name now. Hunter. "Why are we here? And why do you have us tied up like this?" Mateo lifts his head. "That's because you're all collateral damage," he says. "And if things go as planned... some or all of you might be leaving this place in a body bag."