The Gilded Cage Read online

  He moved swiftly across the expansive lawn toward the large mansion. It wasn’t a place he recognized, but his employer had said Fenn would likely go where the woman had gone and his employer had said the woman would probably go to her brother’s home. A soft glow came through the windows of the doors to a terrace on the first floor. As Greyson drew closer he could see into the room, where a man and a woman were lying together in bed. The man rolled over, waking suddenly, and Greyson’s heart rate picked up.

  It was Fenn. This was too bloody easy. He watched as Fenn climbed out of bed and quickly dressed. Greyson relied on the house’s marble wall, a slim two feet past the terrace doors, to conceal himself as he watched Fenn approach the desk in the room and lean over it, apparently ready to write a note. With lightning quick movements, Greyson slid forward into position before the door and picked the lock.

  The plan was officially in motion.

  * * *

  Fenn woke with a jerk, his blood pounding in his ears. The echoing sound of Antonio’s laugh was a nightmarish whisper fading in the pre-dawn light. He glanced down to see Hayden deep asleep beside him. He exhaled, relieved he hadn’t awakened her. Last night had been hell: sharing those details, exposing the worst part of his life, and praying she wouldn’t run away screaming. He had issues. Tons of issues. Before the last couple of days, he’d forgotten all of this. Was it possible to feel more broken than before? Because he did. He felt shattered.

  He slid out of bed and retrieved his clothes, dressing in the dark as he checked the cell phone Emery had given him. There was one text message from his brother, sent the previous night:

  Meet Hans outside when you’re ready. Press conference at ten a.m.

  Shit. He really didn’t want to do this. A thousand cameras facing him and making him feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

  He texted Emery that he was awake and was going to call Hans. It was six a.m. now, plenty of time before he had to appear at this press conference. The mere thought gave him a massive headache, though.

  Emery better do all the talking.

  He finished dressing and then turned back to Hayden. A glimpse of pale skin peeped out from beneath the sheets and he sighed. Damn, he really liked her. She was sexy, fun, smart, addictive in bed, and brave. So damn brave that it made the ache in his chest grow. He glanced around the room and caught sight of a rosewood desk near the dresser. He strode to it and dug around in the drawers until he found a notepad and pen. He was bent over the desk and had started to scribble a note when a breeze feathered the nape of his neck. It was his only warning.

  Cold steel pressed into the back of his neck. He tensed but dared not move.

  “Make a sound and I’ll kill you, then her.” The threat was made in a low whisper.

  Fenn drew in a shallow breath, waiting to see what the man wanted.

  “Tell your girlfriend you’re breaking it off. Make it bloody believable and she doesn’t get hurt.” The silencer muzzle dug into him.

  “Okay,” Fenn replied.

  He wrote out a note to Hayden and was careful to think. He had to warn her, but the weight of the killer’s gaze on his back assured him he couldn’t get away with anything obvious.

  “That’s enough.” The man gripped him by the shoulder from behind then pulled him away from the desk and toward the terrace doors.

  They both climbed over the circular terrace railing that blocked off the French windows from the lawn and started walking across the lawn, the muzzle of the gun digging into Fenn’s flesh along the way. He let his gaze dart across the grounds, hoping to glimpse a security guard or any quick escape route. He would want to circle back to the house and get to Hayden to protect her. It didn’t look like Wes had any security on his grounds, and Fenn inwardly cursed. He could have used the distraction of guards to get the upper hand.

  “Keep walking to the road.”

  The road? That’s where Hans had dropped him off. Hope flared inside him, but minutes later it died when he saw Hans’s black SUV, one door ominously open and Hans himself lying face down on the ground nearby.

  “No!” Fenn’s shout was strangled when the man suddenly gripped him by the throat.

  “He’s alive. For now.”

  “For now?” Fenn gritted out.

  “As long as you keep doing as I say.” The increased pressure against the back of Fenn’s neck made him stumble forward again.

  “I’m doing whatever you say. Just don’t kill him.” The words were acid in his mouth, but he knew if he had to he’d get on his knees and beg to save the bodyguard. In just a day the older man had become a friend, someone he trusted completely. There was no way he would let Hans get hurt…or worse.

  “Face the car now. Hands behind your back.”

  Fenn did as he was told, seething yet frightened for Hans at the same time. The dueling emotions made his stomach churn. A man was not designed to want to kill and cry at the same time. Damn this whole fucking situation!

  Something thin and hard slipped around his wrists and tightened with a clicking noise: zip ties. The bastard had zip-tied his hands. Simple but effective. He jerked his hands, experimenting with a little bit of his strength.

  Fenn ground his teeth, barely restraining himself. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Somewhere private. The man who hired me wants a few words with you.”

  “Who’s your employer?” Fenn held his breath, wanting to see if the man would answer.

  “You’ll see soon enough.” The hit man leaned around him, careful not to get too close as he opened the back door and gestured with his gun for Fenn to climb in.

  He had to lean forward cautiously and put his foot on the sideboard of the car. A whisper of movement behind him prickled his skin, then a sharp jab in his neck forced a cry from his lips.

  “What the—” Black spots danced across his eyes and everything started to spin like a tilt-a-whirl. The man shoved him from behind and Fenn fell on his stomach across the back seat. The car vibrated with the slamming of the car door. Seconds later, he blacked out.

  Chapter 24

  Emery jerked awake. A low growl rumbled from the end of his bed. In the milky pre-dawn light he saw the shape of his twin brother’s husky, Coda, watching the door—head raised, ears cocked forward. The deep dangerous rumble wasn’t directed at him.

  “What’s the matter?” Sophie stirred beside him and curled her body around his.

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He studied Coda’s body, the tense way her withers quivered as her fur bristled.

  “Emery,” Sophie whispered, a little more alert now as he struggled to sit up.

  Emery pressed her back down in the bed, worried about her injuries. “Sleep. I’m sure she’s jumpy being in a new environment without Fenn.” Hans had volunteered to take the dog to Wes’s, but Emery knew his brother needed private time with Hayden.

  “I’ll go check things out.” Emery got out of bed and checked his phone. He’d left a message for Fenn to be back early so they could prepare for the ten a.m. press conference. It was only six now. Four hours. God, he was nervous.

  After twenty-five years of silence, he was going to tell the world what had happened. He dressed quietly and stroked Coda’s head, scratching her behind the ears. The dog’s eyes were still on the door, but she was no longer growling.

  Emery left Sophie alone with Coda and walked down the hall to his study. He had just seated himself behind his desk when his cell rang.

  Brant’s number showed up on the screen.

  “Brant? What is it?” he asked as he turned on his computer.

  “Good, you’re up. Is it true that you’ve scheduled the press conference today at ten?”

  “News always travels fast with you, doesn’t it?” Emery sighed. Brant always knew everything seconds after Emery made a decision. His cousin’s uncanny ability was irritating at times.

  “Yes. I decided to up the timetable.”

  His cousin cursed. “You hav
e to talk to me before you do things like this. You still haven’t signed the document the board prepared. I e-mailed them to you last night. They need to be in the board’s hands before your press conference or we’ll be in deep shit if the story hurts Lockwood Industries.”

  Emery clenched his fists, swallowing down the retort on the tip of his tongue.

  “I read them last night and signed them. Check your e-mail before you lash out at me, Brant.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes.

  There was silence, then the click of fingers on a keyboard. “Ahh, there they are,” his cousin grumbled. “See you at ten.” Brant hung up.

  Emery sat back and glowered at the darkened cell phone screen before he pocketed it. Brant usually had one thing on his mind: the company. Ironically, when Brant’s father died he didn’t leave his controlling interest in the company to Brant. Instead he’d sold it to Elliot, which meant Brant had had to buy his way back into the company on his own dime. He was very protective of that dime, too. He was always wanting to make sure the company was protected, and the company’s interests were paramount. Emery let him play a large role in the company’s leadership, since Brant enjoyed the limelight and Emery certainly didn’t. The power-sharing had worked for Emery before this but now that Fenn was here, depending on his brother’s interests, Brant might have to give up a little more of that power than he would like. Something about that bothered Emery, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

  As Emery stood from his chair his phone buzzed—just one quick, short vibration. Everything in him went still and his blood began to pound in his ears. That was the silent alarm for the back door leading to the kitchen. Only he, Cody, Hans, and Sophie knew how to turn the alarm off. None of them would have accidentally tripped it which meant…

  We’ve been breached.

  He lunged for his desk drawer and pulled out his Beretta, feeling relieved he’d started keeping it loaded and close at hand.

  I have to get to Sophie. He bolted for the door, gun raised. He was in deep shit. Hans had gone to retrieve Fenn, Cody was out of commission with pain pills the doctor had prescribed him after he’d been kidnapped and brutally tortured by Antonio, and Sophie was injured, badly injured.

  He eased the study door open then whipped outside into the empty hallway, gun raised. Hans’s lessons—“Clear your corners, make a cross,”—were designed to save his life. He headed for his bedroom and Sophie. The moment his hand settled on the knob to his room, he felt the barest breeze and the stabbing pain of something in his neck.

  Coda howled from the other side of the door, the sound sharp and maddening like an ice pick digging into his skull. He collapsed forward, crashing into the closed door, arms bracing his fall only seconds before he would have struck his head. Everything in him was weak. Strength bled out of him in invisible streams that seemed to pool at his feet, which had turned to lead.

  “Sophie,” he moaned as he slid to his knees, still pressed against the closed bedroom door, unable to get inside and protect her.

  Rough hands jerked him away from the closed door, and he blinked blearily through a growing gloom at a masked man. His trembling hand raised the Berretta. The last bit of power in his fingers faltered as he tried to squeeze the trigger. The man leaned down and ripped the gun from his hand, flicked the safety into place, and then tucked the piece in his waistband behind his back.

  Unconsciousness bled in at the corners of Emery’s mind and old fears resurfaced as he was swallowed whole by darkness.

  Not again…please…no…

  * * *

  Sophie struggled to get out of bed because Coda was howling like a wolf. The dog scratched at the door and kept glancing at Sophie. A chill worked its way up her spine as she got out of bed. Every part of her body hurt and the wounds where she’d been shot and stabbed were still fresh and dangerous. But if Emery was in trouble, she had to do something. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She flipped it over to see the screen. A text from Emery:

  Had to go. Fenn needs time to think and is going back to CO. I’m going with him. If Hayden worries, tell her to stay with you. He needs to think things through right now and I want to be with him.

  Sophie stared at the text. Emery had just left? He hadn’t come to say good-bye? She didn’t want to admit how the idea stung her pride and her feelings, but then again, maybe he didn’t have time and didn’t want to wake her. After the trauma she’d been through, he’d done nothing but baby her, which while nice was starting to drive her crazy. So maybe some time alone to recover would be okay. He’d be busy with his brother and she could get well faster without him fussing over her.

  When the dog continued to growl, Sophie walked to the door and opened it, wondering why the dog was still distressed. The husky sprinted down the hallway, then froze and whined softly, turning in circles about ten feet away as though puzzled, her nose pressed deep into the carpet before she started digging at it. She huffed softly then snorted and lifted her furry face to glance down the hall. But it was empty.

  “Emery?” Had he already left? Or was he still in the house?

  Lethargy forced a yawn from her and when the dog trotted back to the room and nuzzled her hand, Sophie sighed.

  I must have gone back to sleep and missed him leaving. Still…she forced herself to walk down to his study. When she eased the door open, the room was empty. She dialed Hans’s number as she returned to her bedroom. He didn’t pick up. She was midway through re-dialing when Hans texted her.

  I’m en route to Emery’s jet. We’re taking Fenn to Colorado. I will have Emery call you when he can.

  Sophie exhaled in relief. Maybe she was just being paranoid. After everything that had happened, it wasn’t that far of a stretch to become worried.

  “Coda? Why didn’t Fenn take you with him?” It seemed odd that Fenn hadn’t taken his dog. Maybe it meant he was coming back soon, that he didn’t plan to think things through for too long. Sophie hoped that was it, but it still felt off, like the way the trees and grass grew still just before a tornado would rise up on the Kansas plains. It was an eerie feeling she was all too familiar with. She patted the bed as she sat down and the husky leapt onto the foot of the bed and plopped down, resting her head on her paws, her ears still flat back as though on edge. She kept her lupine focus on the hallway.

  Come home soon, Emery, she begged silently, wishing he could hear her. Something didn’t feel right and she wanted to see him and know he was really okay.

  * * *

  Fenn came to, his head splitting down the middle as he groaned, but the sound was oddly muffled. Something thick was stuffed into his mouth, choking him. He forced his eyes open and realized he was tied to a chair, a gag shoved in his mouth—one too big to spit out. Beside him, Emery and Hans were both bound and gagged to two more chairs. Hans was awake and watching him, eyes dark and furious. Emery was still out, his chin nearly touching his chest as he sagged in his bonds. Fenn glanced about, taking in the decrepit structure around them. It wasn’t the old house they’d been kept in before, but another old crumbling mansion.

  No one would find them…

  The childhood fear surged up and lashed at his heart like a viper, sinking its fangs deep and spreading its poison.

  Hans’s muffled sounds jerked him out of a black spiral of panic, and he searched the bodyguard’s face. The man’s features relaxed and he stared steadily at Fenn, as though to keep him calm and engaged. No wonder Emery blindly trusted this man. He was damned smart. Fenn drew in breaths through his nose and focused on calming down. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. The minutes ticked by as Fenn worked at the plastic ties binding his wrists behind him. The plastic seemed to cut through his skin.

  “You’ll only hurt yourself.” A smooth British accent came from behind him. He and Hans both jerked at the man’s voice.

  A man in black came into view after approaching from behind. The striking features of his face made Fenn’s blood pound harder in his ears. Even tho
ugh Fenn hadn’t seen the man in twenty-five years and knew from Emery that he was dead, this man could have been Antonio. The eyes, although a different shade than Antonio’s, were the same shape and full of sharp observation and predatory gleam.

  Fenn narrowed his eyes, his throat vibrating with a muffled growl. Was this the man who had hurt Hayden, had burned his home, and had run them off a damn mountain trying to kill them?

  The man’s phone buzzed and he answered. “Andrews here.” He studied his three captives. “Two and the bodyguard.” He seemed to answer a question for whoever had called him. “Very good. I’ll keep them here for you.” He hung up and then walked over to Emery, striking out before Fenn could move to protect his brother. Emery took the blow, jolting awake, hissing through the gag in his mouth. Emery’s body spasmed as he seemed to realize he was bound and gagged.

  “Calm down,” Andrews snapped. “You and your brother have put me through enough already. I wanted to take you immediately, after what you did to Antonio, but my employer needs this done a certain way.”

  Antonio. This man had to have some connection to him, but he’d said his name was Andrews. Antonio had been an American Italian, but this guy sounded British. Young, too. Late twenties if Fenn had to guess, and British. So what was the connection?

  Emery coughed and managed to spit out his gag so it landed on his lap. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

  Both Fenn and Hans started working on their own gags, careful not to attract the attention of their captor.

  “Who am I?” Andrews shook his head ruefully as he retrieved a roll of duct tape from a small table against the wall. “The wrong man to upset. Antonio was my father. You killed him—you and your brother.” He grabbed the gag and wrestled with Emery as he forced it back into Emery’s mouth and then used duct tape to seal it shut. Antonio had a son? Fenn tried to absorb that knowledge. The man who’d abused him had been a father? The idea seemed unfathomable. Fathers should protect children, not hurt them, even if the children weren’t their own.