Their Mountain Captive by Kayla Wren

18

Dante

“You’ve lost your leverage.” It’s so strange to walk beside my brother again, falling into step like no time has passed. It makes something ache deep inside my gut. I missed him.“Tied it to the bed. Now how will you keep me in line?”

“You care that much about your bodyguard?” Angelo asks lightly, but he already knows. Already sees. And it’s a strange mercy, that he left Alec in the cabin.

Our father would not have been so kind.

A horrible thought occurs to me then, as our boots crunch over the dirt path. Will he go back? Is he saving Alec for later? Bile rises in my throat, and I dart a glance at his gun.

He disarmed us both, of course. I have nothing on me. But if I took him by surprise, if he thought I was coming willingly—

“Don’t bother,” Angelo snaps. “You were always a terrible fucking liar, Dante.”

“Fine.” I come to a halt, mentally digging my feet into the dirt. “What’s the plan here, Angelo? Are you going to kill me? Or are you just wasting my fucking time?”

For the second time, I catch a flash of hurt. But then he’s pushing close, eyes flashing, his gun prodding at my gut.

A stomach wound. That’s a bad way to go—we both should know. We’ve seen enough horrors under my father’s rule.

“I’ll do whatever I like. Don’t you think? God.” Angelo gusts out an angry breath. “You’re so fucking superior, even now. You were too good to stay, to good to leave the goddamn art alone, too good to be fucking discovered.” I blink at him, in a horrible daze as he rants on about my shortcomings.

The paintings. The art dealings.

Fuck. I am a fool.

If something happens to Alec—this is truly my fault. I brought this upon him.

I’m to blame.

And it’s that cold, trickling realization down my spine that brings me back to the moment. That sharpens my senses and tenses my muscles.

This ends now. Enough pageantry.

Angelo always was such a showman.

“Brother.” I catch his wrist and squeeze, grinding the bones. The gun waves between our feet, pointing at the dirt; my boot; Angelo’s shin. He jerks back, cheeks flaming, but I hold tight. “I’m tired of this. Are you going to make me kill you?”

“Traitor,” Angelo snarls. A fleck of his spit lands on my cheek. I march him back slowly, walking him off the dirt path and between the trees. He may know the paths to my cabin, but I’ve lived here almost two years. I’ve walked these mountains every day; I know their secret trails, their moods, their wildlife.

The spots where they swallow up hikers whole.

“Stop it.” Angelo jerks at his wrist, but my fingers are digging into his nerves. Cutting off feeling; rendering him useless. His knuckle twitches beside the trigger and a deafening bang tears through the morning quiet.

We pause and look down together. There’s a small crater by my foot, and a tiny graze down the edge of my boot.

“Asshole,” I say mildly. Then I’m walking him back again.

The trees are shivering. Whispering to each other. Birds cry and gurgle overhead, and tiny claws scrabble against the tree bark. Shrubs whip at our legs as I walk him backwards, backwards.

And my little brother lets me do it.

There’s no fight in him. Not truly. And if it were only he and I, this would go differently. I might try to reach him.

But Angelo tied up Alec. Threatened Roxy. I won’t gamble their safety. This ends now.

“Our father will know.” Angelo trips stepping over a fallen log, and I grab his shirt. Yank him upright. “He’ll realize what happened. That I was right and you’re still alive. You think he won’t hunt you? What then?”

“Then you win,” I say simply, and Angelo’s face shutters.

He didn’t want to win.

He lets me steer him back through the trees, past the boulders, to the ledge high above the river. The water snakes down the mountain far below the ledge, the water churning and milky white.

Did he come all this way so I’d do this for him?

“You could stay,” I say suddenly. “Disappear with me here.”

His mouth twists. “Your insane little brother? Are you crazy?” Then he’s tearing his wrist free and lifting his arm, but it’s not me he’s pointing at. He levels the gun past my shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he takes aim, and I barely have time to spin on my heel and see her.

Roxy. Limping out of the trees, white-faced and leaning heavily on a makeshift walking stick.

“No—”

I see Angelo’s finger move out of the corner of my eye. And I don’t think. My brain is not part of the equation. This is pure body, pure instinct, as I kick out a leg and slam my boot into Angelo’s chest.

I wanted to knock him off kilter. Ruin his aim. But as he stumbles back to the cliff edge, he meets my eye, and he’s bitterly triumphant.

The river rushes below, a distant roar, and Roxy’s stick thumps hollow on the stone as she limps closer.

“Is he…?”

“Yes.” I peer into the waters, searching for a dark head. A reaching hand. Anything. But of course he’ll be swept far away by now. Those waters are thunderous.

Roxy blows out a slow breath. I blink and turn to her. I’ll do anything but process what just happened.

“Why are you here?”

Her stick glances off my side before I can stop it. She swings it again, whacking my shoulder, and a hollow laugh barks out of me. “I’m saving you, you asshole!”

“Oh.” I turn back to the water, warmth and grief warring in my chest. “Good job.”

Angelo. My little brother.

He would never have allowed me peace. Would never have let me be. And he would have hurt Alec and Roxy if it meant getting to me—I’m certain of that.

I’m still raw as I stare down at the water. Scraped out and aching.

I didn’t mean to do that.

“I’m sorry,” Roxy whispers. She takes my hand. Her palm is sweaty from the pain. “Where’s Alec?”

“Tied up in the cabin.”

“Huh.” She nudges me. “Silver linings, right?”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders. Tug her close and smell her hair, and get her weight off that bad leg.

Right.

* * *

Alec’s eyes widen as I step through the door, Roxy wrapped around my back like a rucksack. She’s acting tough, but her thighs are trembling where they grip my waist, and she barely put up a fight when I insisted on carrying her.

She’s in pain.

“You asshole.” Alec wrenches on the bed frame, and I wince at his mottled purple fingers. His chalky white wrists. He’s been fighting so hard to get free, he’s nearly cut off all the blood to his hands.

“Stop it.” I stride across the cabin, kicking an overturned stool out of my way. Roxy grunts as I drop her on the mattress by Alec’s feet, but there’s no time for manners. I pick at his ties, cursing under my breath.

“That looks painful. Did Angelo—”

“Oh, not Angelo. No, this is Dante’s work.”

I half-listen to them murmur to each other, tugging and picking at the ties. But it’s no use—he’s forced them impossibly tight—and I give up with a snarl and march to the kitchen.

The knife glints as I pull it from the wooden block, even in the gloomy cabin.

“Spooky,” Roxy mutters.

“It wouldn’t have hurt you—” I pause and press my lips together as I slice through a tie “—if you hadn’t wriggled around like an imbecile.”

“Excuse me for wanting to help you.”

Roxy nods at him sagely. “He was ungrateful with me, too.”

“I didn’t need help,” I snap, but the reminder of what happened cools my temper. Leaves me icy and aching again. I cut the rest of the ties in silence.

“He’s gone,” Alec says finally, and it’s not a question.

I nod.

Roxy strokes my arm. “You saved my life.”

Even so.

He was my little brother.

They don’t speak again until Alec is untied and the three of us sit, dazed, on the mattress.

“Look at us,” he mutters. He raises a mangled wrist; nods at Roxy’s ankle and my bandaged arm. “We look like earthquake survivors.”

“It’s these clothes.” I pluck at the cheap black t-shirt Alec bought on his supply run. “Anyone would look tragic in these.”

Roxy hums. “I prefer you in flannel.”

I turn to her slowly, a muscle ticking in my jaw. But she’s smirking, and I can’t hide my answering smile.

Fuck. We’re in pain. My brother is gone. My cabin is wrecked, and unspoken things still choke the air between us.

“Don’t go yet.” Roxy startles, but she doesn’t make a joke. She can hear the quiet desperation in my low tone. “I know we can’t force you to stay—” she raises an eyebrow but mercifully says nothing “—but don’t go yet. Stay another week. Stay two. Write your travel blog. Please.”

“I don’t…” Roxy trails off, chewing her lip. She’s thinking about it. Yes.

“You can stay in my cabin,” Alec says quietly. He wants this too, just as badly as I do. He’s leaning toward her, this yearning in his green eyes. “No tying-up, I promise.”

Roxy smirks down at her lap. Plucks a loose thread on my bedspread.

“Hey, now. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”