Sophie Oak - One to Keep

The gun came down at her side. “Does this mean we can get out of here, baby?”

Luka reached down and hauled Logan to his feet. “You open the door and let my friend out.”

Logan stumbled a bit as he dug into his pocket for the keys. His eyes came up and met Alexei’s. There was a wary plea in his eyes, but there was strength there, too. The deputy was young, but a stubborn will lit him now.

The cell swung open, and Alexei grabbed Logan by his shirt, pulling him forward savagely. He brought him close and whispered.

“Survive. Tell them you know nothing. I won’t leave you, but you must survive.”

“Just get Holly out.”

Alexei let his voice rise as he shoved Logan back. “I promise, you swine.”

The other Russians laughed.

“Did this skinny thing give you trouble, Alexei?” Luka asked, his Russian dark and thick with menace.

“He’s like all pigs. Police are the same everywhere.” Alexei stalked out of the cage and slid an arm around Holly, pulling her close. He slid the gun from her hand to his, the weight a welcome burden. He was armed. He would find a way. Patience. But first, he had to get to the bad part. “Ivan is dead.”

A loud curse filled the room. “How?” Pushkin grunted the question.

“I can guess.” Nikolai brought his booted foot out and kicked the deputy squarely in the gut.

Alexei’s arm tightened around Holly as she stiffened. He saw how she bit back a cry. This would be hard on her. He pressed her face into his chest. “It wasn’t this cop. It was the sheriff. Ivan was foolish. He killed a girl and didn’t do a good job hiding the body. The police came after us, and Ivan pulled his gun. I knew I could escape with Holly’s help. I thought it was better to stay alive.” Pushkin was circling Logan like a shark playing with its food.

“Where is this sheriff?”

Logan’s throat worked up and down. “At the festival. He won’t be in today. I was only in because we have a prisoner.” A predatory smile crept across Pushkin’s face. “I noticed you have closed sign on your door. That is quaint…and very helpful to us. Tell me something, Alexei. Do you know where the painting is?” This was the bad part. Alexei’s gut felt tight as he did what he had to do. “I don’t, but he knows. He talked to the sheriff about it. They have stashed it. They don’t mean to turn it in. They mean to sell it.

Like I said, the police are the same everywhere.” Nikolai reached down and brought Logan’s head up by his brown hair. He spoke in thickly accented English. “This is true?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak Russian, asshole. I have no idea what any of you has said for the past couple of minutes.” Logan’s whole body was tense, but the words spat from his mouth.

Pushkin slapped him, the sound reverberating through the room.

He switched to heavily accented English. “Then let me speak your language. You will tell me where my painting is.”

“Can’t help you, buddy. I don’t know nothing about art. I’m just a country boy.” Logan’s face was bright red, the imprint of Pushkin’s hand plain on the skin.

Pushkin snapped, and Nikolai began to drag Logan toward a desk in an office at the back of the room. It was far from the front door.

That desk would serve as Logan’s torture chamber. All the while Luka watched Alexei, his gun close at hand. His eyes were on the woman in Alexei’s arms, Alexei realized. He got the feeling Luka wasn’t convinced that all was as it seemed.

Alexei would have to wait.

He prayed Logan would survive the experience.

Stef’s first instinct was to find her. His second instinct was to tie her up, throw her over his shoulder, haul her ass back home, and never allow her to leave again.

That was why he was attempting to ignore his first instinct.

“You want to hand me that rope, or are you going to hang yourself with it?” Rye stared at him, his hand out.

Stef passed him the rope, but thought seriously about hanging him with it. Asshole. Rye had it all. Rye had a wife and a brother and a baby on the way. Rye never fucked things up the way Stef did. If Rye had been Jen’s lover, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Rye rarely questioned himself, and his easy confidence was pricking at Stef’s finely held temper. Still, he’d come here to look specifically for Rye.

He was restless, utterly uneasy, a need rolling in him that was going to find its way out. He’d realized he could pick a fight with Max or Zane or he could try…talking about his feelings. He just wasn’t sure where to start. “Here you go.”

Rye took the rope and started to put together the corral. He and Max were expanding their pony rides. It had been a big hit yesterday, with long lines of kids waiting to ride the gentle horses. Stef couldn’t help but think about the fact that it wouldn’t be too long before Rye’s son would be learning to ride. Rye’s son would grow up in Bliss. He would run wild in the wilderness with his brothers and sisters like Stef and Max and Rye had.

The image of his own kids running around Bliss and sleeping on the mountain made his heart feel too big for his chest. He would have told anyone who asked that he didn’t want kids, but he’d lain awake last night thinking about the fact that Max and Rye’s and Callie’s kids would be here soon. Everyone was talking about the fact that Callie was pregnant. He wanted kids. He wanted his and Jennifer’s babies to grow up with their cousins.

“Are you going to talk about it or just brood?” Rye asked as he pulled on the knot he’d tied.

Brooding hadn’t gotten him anywhere. “I’m afraid.” Rye tipped back his hat and placed one hand on his hip. “I know you are. You’ve always been afraid of this.” Stef was startled by the statement. “What does that mean? I’ve never had a real relationship until I met Jen.” Rye nodded. “That would be my point. Hell, even Max had a girlfriend or two. I’ve known you most of my life, Stef. The truth is I don’t remember much of a time before I knew you. I watched you push away most people.”

“I didn’t push away you and Max or Callie.”

“We’re safe. You needed us, and we needed you. And you made damn sure we needed you, Stef.”

Stef felt himself pull away. Without meaning to, he even took a step back. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Stef, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but it’s become a habit with you, and it needs to stop. You buy people’s affection, at least that’s what you think you’re doing. We met during the summer. I remember it like it was yesterday. When Max, Callie, and I were going to have to go back to school, what did you do?” God, he felt like he was fucking eight years old again. Vulnerable.

Needy. Desperate to keep his newfound friends. “I asked my dad to bring in a tutor because the bus trip was so long into Del Norte.”

“Is that really why you did it?”

Stef shook his head. He remembered, too. He remembered pleading with his father. He hadn’t needed to. His dad had been more than happy to do it. His father had paid for tutors for the Bliss kids from that point on. “No. I was afraid the three of you would get to school and find other friends, and I would be out.”

“I know, brother.” Rye walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know that’s why you did it. I know that’s why you built the town hall, and that’s why you give loans to anyone in town who needs one and never charge interest or even ask them to repay you.” The money didn’t bother Stef. His father had set up a trust fund Stef would never be able to get through in one lifetime. “If they can, they will. If they can’t, then I won’t miss the money.”

“Stef, you throw money around this town.” King Stefan. He could hear Jen say the words in his head.

Pathetic. He was still a little boy trying to tie people to his side.

Another voice spoke up as Max walked around the side of the trailer. “Man, you have to know that we don’t love you because you paid for our school.”

Max’s face was bunched up, his brows forming a V over concerned eyes.

“He knows,” Rye said with more confidence than Stef felt. “He just lets a lot of the past get in the way. Stef is real damn good about figuring out everyone else’s motivations. Just not so smart when it comes to his own.”

“Is that why Rach keeps calling him a dumbass?” Stef felt himself stiffen. “Your wife has very little respect for me.” Rye shook his head, a little laugh escaping his lips. “Our wife loves you very much. She just thinks you’re wrong about Jen. I remember the day she walked into town looking for you. She wanted art lessons or something.”

“She’d made a study of my work. She wanted me to mentor her.” Stef had taught her a few things, just nothing of value. He hadn’t taught her how much he loved her.

“She tracked you down to the diner.”

Max smiled at the memory, obviously caught in it. “Stella thought she’d have to toss you out. You two sat there for eight hours talking and arguing.”

He’d been in love with her about twenty minutes after meeting her. She’d been so vibrant. She’d argued with him about the importance of the Impressionists and held several wrong views of the eminent Jackson Pollock, but he’d been utterly fascinated with her, hanging on to her every word.

“And the next day, you told her politely that you didn’t teach art and holed up in your studio for three weeks,” Max said.

He’d brooded. He’d worked. He’d done just about anything to avoid that girl with the killer smile and a saucy comeback to everything he said. He’d been afraid of her then. He was terrified now. Only now, he was starting to be more afraid of being without her.