The Gilded Cage (5 page)

“Back where?” Either he had a concussion, or he wasn’t following her.

“To Long Island.” She returned to her seat on the bed. Coda hadn’t moved from her position. It wasn’t the first time Fenn had gone outside like that after too many beers.

“Oh, no, honey. I’m not going anywhere.” He picked up the whisky bottle and dug in the freezer for an ice pack, then returned to the bed. He lay back and propped his ankle up and curved the icepack over his injured ankle, wincing as the cold stung. Then he pressed the lip of the whiskey bottle to his mouth and leaned back. The fiery liquid burned going down but he knew it would bring sweet relief to his poor ankle.

“You have to go back.” Hayden tried to reach for the bottle, but he reared back and continued to gulp it down. Only when his head started to spin did she lunge for the bottle again and successfully rip it away from his loosened grasp.

“Well, hell,” he growled, but was too exhausted to move.

Between the pain in his ankle and the pounding headache, he wasn’t going anywhere. His upper body dropped back on the bed and he groaned as his back muscles cramped and protested. The fall tonight was really going to kill him tomorrow when he woke up. He’d be lucky if his only issues were being stiff and sore.

“You should go back into town tonight.” He eyed her speculatively. If she stayed here, he’d be tempted to get her on her back beneath him in a bed, no matter how much his ankle hurt. The woman was too fine a temptation to pass up, and he knew just how to seduce her into his arms. When he’d kissed her earlier, her submission to him, the sweet purring sound she’d made when he’d pinned her against the wall, damn…a perfect woman. He’d never thought he’d find one that made him desperate to tie her down, use his belt to bind her hands to the headboard so he could fuck her to within an inch of her life. He was so lost in his fantasy of what he’d like to do to her with his belt that he realized he hadn’t been listening to whatever she was saying.

“What?” he asked.

She sighed in exasperation. “I’m not going to just leave you. What if someone comes after you?” Her voice sounded so sweet, even when she was angry. The idea of that little firecracker all excited to protect him made a lazy grin stretch his lips.

“Then I’ll take care of it. Problems tend to go away when a man’s looking down the barrel of a Winchester rifle.” He stared up at the trailer ceiling, memorizing the patterns on the peeling wallpaper in an effort to get his mind off bedding little Miss Red Dress.

Jim tried to get him to move back into the main house all the time, but that didn’t feel right. Fenn didn’t own it, and he wasn’t really Jim’s son, so he didn’t feel he had any right to be living in that house anymore. After his father’s death, he’d lived in the house until he turned eighteen, but the trailer on the property was more sensible for a grown man. Things had been fine.

Or they had been until the last few months, when the lender had threatened to foreclose because Jim couldn’t make the mortgage payments. Fenn had told Jim he’d win the cash prize at the rodeo and reinstate the note so he could be an “investor” in the ranch. That was his true dream. He didn’t want to ride bulls forever; he wanted to run a ranch.

Hayden’s voice cut through the relaxing thoughts of running the Broken Spur.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m staying right here.”

He chuckled, propped his pillow under his head and closed his eyes.

“Suit yourself, honey.” He patted his stomach and Coda shifted on the bed so her head lay across his chest. She nuzzled his hand and licked it. Coda’s quiet, strong presence always made him sleep better. She was part wolf somewhere in all that husky, and he’d raised her from a pup two years ago. Never had a better dog in his life.

“Fine,” Hayden retorted.

The bed dipped on his right, and he rolled his head slightly in that direction and peeked one eye open. Miss Pampered Princess was lying on her side with her back to him, wearing that short little red dress that made his mouth run dry and his cock hard. The luscious curve from her shoulders down to the valley of her narrow waist, which then flared out over full hips, was a mouthwatering sight. His hands itched to touch her, but he resisted. She was nothing more than a fantasy. Women like her never liked men like him. She was probably dating some polo player, someone like his bro—Emery. He rolled his head back so he was once more facing the ceiling.

Brother. He didn’t have a brother, let alone a twin. He would know, wouldn’t he? A man would have to know if he’d had another family somewhere else. The mere idea of a brother and two parents he didn’t know twisted and tore inside his chest like his heart was embedded with thorns. He closed his eyes again, letting his mind relax, and letting the whisky burn through his veins.

Dreams came swiftly, like tender thieves in the night.
Fireflies, always fireflies. The warm kitchen, full of light and life. A little elbow nudging his ribs and a boyish snicker came from beside him. An older woman’s face, full of amusement and a hint of irritation. Light sparkled and winked off the shiny pair of coke bottles in front of him and…another boy. Pain lanced through him, but he couldn’t seem to wake up.

Blood gleamed on the white marble floor. Shattered bottles littered the ground and the sensation of hands around his throat, a violent choking, followed him into darkness.

E
mery Lockwood sat by the hospital bed where the love of his life slept. Last night had been hell on earth. He’d almost lost the woman who’d changed his life, changed him. Sophie Ryder had been shot and stabbed and had barely made it through surgery. He’d been on his knees in the hospital chapel praying to a God he’d long since lost faith in. Hans, his faithful bodyguard of twenty-five years, had remained by his side, head bowed, lips moving without a sound as he prayed.

At four in the morning, Royce Devereaux had come in to the chapel and with an exhausted smile, gave him a little nod and mouthed “she made it.” In that moment, Emery knew he wanted to marry Sophie. The thought of drawing in one more breath without her was impossible. Now he would have her and Fenn.

Fenn was alive. He still couldn’t get over the shock of that. To have carried the burden of his twin’s death on his shoulders for a quarter of a century had nearly killed him. Yet now…he felt free, light enough to fly. His brother, the other half of his living beating heart, was alive.

Cody had called Wes, who’d flown to Colorado yesterday, before Emery had even known his brother was alive. Cody told Wes that they were heading to the hospital and to call Emery with any news the second he had some. It had been eight hours since Wes had known they were at the hospital. Emery wished his friend would call, give him some update. He needed to see Fenn with his own two eyes, needed to hear his brother’s voice. Until he did, he would worry it was all a dream and he’d wake up in the nightmare he’d been living in for the last several years.

Sophie stirred on the bed, and Emery seated himself in the little chair beside her, careful to protect his injured arm. He winced as he adjusted the sling. Sophie had roused just after dawn, but hadn’t been fully awake. She drifted back to sleep, and he sighed. There was no way he could go to Colorado, not when she was lucky to be alive. He’d have to leave his brother there for now and trust that Wes could bring him home safe. With his dying breath, Antonio had warned Emery that another would take his place and finish the job—in other words, kill him and Fenn.

But why? None of it made any sense. Who would gain anything from their deaths? Especially when they had just been boys all those years ago. He’d learned that fateful night when he’d escaped that the ransom demand had been a ruse. The real plan had always been murder.

“Emery?” A whisper pulled him from the dark path his thoughts tread. He looked over his shoulder to find his mother Miranda and his father Elliot standing in the doorway. He eased himself out of the chair and walked toward them.

“Let’s step outside.” He closed the door to Sophie’s room once they were in the hallway.

His mother, a golden-haired, hazel-eyed woman, a feminine mirror of Emery and Fenn, threw her arms around his neck, burying her face as she hugged him.

“She pulled through. I’m so glad…” she whispered. “We feared…but there’s always hope.” Miranda’s eyes welled up with tears. Elliot curled his arms around her protectively.

“Hush, Mandy. Sophie’s going to be fine. Isn’t she?” Even his gruff bear of a father seemed to need to hear him say it as well.

“Yes. Her vitals are good. She came through the surgeries. She’ll recover, but slowly.” He hesitated. Should he tell them the truth now? That their other son wasn’t dead? When Sophie had kept the truth from him he’d hurt her out of anger and sadness, and he could barely forgive himself for that. She’d only kept the truth from him to protect him. If he did the same to his parents…with a little shake of his head, he knew he couldn’t do it. They had every right to know what he knew.

“Mother, Father, I have something to tell you. I only learned of it last night. But if I tell you, you both have to promise to stay here at the hospital. Do nothing, tell no one, until I tell you it’s safe. Do you understand?”

He clasped his mother’s hands in his and waited for her to agree. She tilted her head up, studying her husband’s face. Elliot gave her a small nod.

“We promise,” she said.

Emery drew in a slow breath and then exhaled it, hating the way his entire body trembled. For so long he’d wanted Fenn to be alive, and he’d wanted to tell them this, but he’d never thought he’d get the chance. Here he was, terrified and excited and having trouble breathing.

“Son, what is it?” Elliot asked.

“Fenn is alive.”

His mother’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Sophie found him. He’s alive.” Even though he kept saying it, he still was afraid to believe it himself.

“But you told us that he was dead…”

“I thought he was. I heard a shot, felt the pain in my head…but he survived.” Emery raked a hand through his hair, tugging so hard on the strands that the bite of pain kept him grounded.

“My boy’s alive?” Elliot whispered in a half-broken voice. “I just can’t—” He shook his head, unable to continue.

Emery nodded, praying the news would sink in.

Miranda’s eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted dead away. If Elliot hadn’t been waiting to catch her, she might have collapsed onto the floor. Emery’s father cradled Miranda’s body, then slowly raised his face to stare at Emery.

“Alive…” The rough way it escaped Elliot’s lips made Emery’s throat close.

It was so easy to forget that he wasn’t the only person who’d suffered because of Fenn’s loss. He’d lost his twin, his other half. Elliot and Miranda had lost their son. The grief was different, but the depth was the same as his own.

“How is this possible?” His father demanded, his voice a little stronger now.

Placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, Emery sighed. “I’ll tell you everything.” It was a promise he’d never thought he’d make or want to keep. Now he would fulfill it.

T
here was nothing better in the world than waking up with a beautiful woman in your arms. Fenn hadn’t had a woman in weeks so this was obviously a dream. There was no way he’d managed to bag a woman like this last night…

He eyed her red dress skeptically. Everything from last night came back in a painful rush. He shoved it all back and focused on the woman currently molded to his body. Coda was asleep on the floor by the door of the trailer, where she always stayed vigilant at night. When the dog left the bed, the little red-haired temptress had wormed her way across the sheets over to his side. They were spooning. He’d never seen the appeal before, but now he definitely did. It was hard to beat the feeling of a woman’s full curves snug against his body. His cock certainly agreed. He was hard enough to pound nails into walls. Despite the pain in his skull, he managed to grin.

He needed to enjoy this for all it was worth before she woke up. The way her perfect, rounded bottom fit against his groin had him imaging how fun it would be to take her just like this, from behind. All he’d have to do was hike her dress up over her hips…His cock strained at his jeans and the sensation, while uncomfortable, was still good, even if he desperately needed release. Her head rested on the pillow formed by his outstretched arm. His other hand firmly cupped one of her breasts.

Even though there was a barrier of clothing between his skin and hers, the touch was intimate and he knew without a doubt she’d be furious when she woke up. Fenn gave her breast a little squeeze and bit back a laugh at the way she sighed and wriggled against him. One of her hands reached back and gripped his hip, trying to pull him closer to her. He swallowed a groan of need. This woman was going to be the death of him.

Tempted by the delicate shell of her ear, he leaned down and kissed it. The strawberry scent of her hair mixed with the faint scent of her natural aroma was like a cocktail of sin and wicked perfection. He licked her ear, and she came to life in his arms with a breathless sigh and a little nod of encouragement.

“Don’t stop.” Her words were barely above a whisper.

Fenn smiled. She was probably dreaming.
Serves her right, the little hellion.

He kneaded the mound of her breast and nibbled her earlobe. She bit her lip and arched her back, which thrust her breast into his hand and her bottom against his cock. Damn, the woman knew just how to move. She was a fantasy. His fantasy. His hand slid from her breast to her hip, then to her bare thigh.

God, he wanted to get his hands between her legs, touch the heated wetness that had to be building in her. She was flushed, that delicate white skin warming to a tender pink with her arousal. Fenn tiptoed his fingers from her outer thigh to her inner thigh and she shifted, opening her legs for him.

“Wake up, honey,” he murmured in her ear.

As much as he wanted to take advantage, he wasn’t really that much of a bastard. When he took a woman, he wanted her awake and willing…and to be honest, he wanted her begging for him to fuck her. As her light brown lashes fluttered and her lips parted, Fenn was flooded with a thousand desires. He wanted to twine rope around Hayden’s wrists and restrain her to a bed so he could torture her with endless pleasure-filled orgasms. He wanted to chase her and bring her down and pin her beneath him, demanding her surrender.

Fenn had always been a dominant lover, but there was something about Hayden—the way she pushed him, defied him. He wanted to dominate her that much more. Not break her, never that, but the fire she possessed, especially toward him, fueled his own arousal beyond anything he’d ever felt. The need to brand her as his was overpowering.

Hell, he wanted to fight with her just so he could experience make-up sex. The thought stilled him.
Make-up sex?
He didn’t even know this woman, let alone want to be in a relationship with her. Showing up on his doorstep in heels and a killer dress, spouting crazy nonsense about a family he didn’t have—she was trouble.

Yeah, I don’t need this kind of trouble.

“Honey, you’ve got to wake up.” He rubbed his hand along her thigh, getting dangerously close to where he wanted to be, between those beautiful, shapely legs.

“
Barroooo
!” Coda’s lonesome howl and the scraping of her nails on the cheap trailer floor had him bolting upright.

“What?” Hayden sat up, too, and smacked her head into his chin.

“Son of a bi—” He cursed but the word died on his tongue as the trailer door flew open.

Coda shot down the steps out of view, barking excitedly.

“What the fuck is going on here?” A booming voice reverberated throughout the trailer. A tall, red-haired man stood just inside, staring at them, blue eyes flashing.

“Wes?” Hayden climbed off the bed, running her fingers through her tangle of strawberry-colored hair.

Fenn was momentarily distracted by the way hints of gold gleamed amid the red, like condensed sunlight was trapped in the strands.

“Get out of here right now, Hayden.” The red-haired man jabbed a finger toward the door. Hayden did as she was told, but Fenn could hear her frantic whispers from just outside the trailer, where the two had retreated

Fenn didn’t feel remotely threatened. He leaned back in his bed, folded his arms behind his head and grinned smugly. Moments later the intruder stalked right up to the edge of Fenn's bed, fire and brimstone threatening in his gaze.

“Sorry, man, you have to keep a tighter leash on your girlfriend. She came to me.”

The man, who was wearing an expensive suit, dove for him, cobalt blue eyes sparking…blue eyes like…Hayden’s—

The punch caught him right in the jaw. His head exploded with searing pain and he grunted as the other man landed on him.

“That’s my sister, you piece of shit!”

Fenn landed a blow on the man’s cheek, then tucking up his good leg kicked the other man square in the chest.

“Stop!” Hayden’s enraged shout barely penetrated the haze around Fenn as he rose from the bed and lunged for the other man. Grappling and swiping at each other, they bounced off the fridge and the cabinets before they reached the open doorway.

The pit in his stomach dropped out as they fell through the doorway and hit the dirt with pained groans. Rather than let go of adrenaline-fused anger, he and Wes kept pummeling each other.

The sound of a gunshot stilled them both. Fenn had Wes pinned down and Wes gripped Fenn’s balled fist where he’d just caught it a second before.

“I leave you alone for a couple of nights and I come back to find you fighting with someone like a pair of stray tomcats?” Jim Taylor’s voice cracked like a whip.

Both Fenn and Wes turned to look at the battered old blue pickup truck that had just pulled up behind the pair of brand new Jeep Wranglers. Jim had opened the driver’s side door and was standing on the footrail, a shotgun hanging loose over one arm. Callie scurried out of her side of the truck and ran over to them. She balked when she saw Hayden standing a little to the side, still wearing nothing but her tiny red dress. The look of utter devastation in Callie’s eyes killed Fenn, but she had to grow up and quit mooning over him like a lovesick calf sometime.

“Hey Jim,” Fenn smiled, showing all his teeth like a wolf.

Jim continued to frown. “Don’t you ‘Hey Jim’ me, son. Get up and dust yourself off and help your friend there.” Jim gestured to Wes, whose gaze was fixed on Callie. There was a fascinated, almost predatory gleam in his eyes.

Fenn rose from the ground and smacked his jeans, sending small puffs of brown dirt in the air before he helped Wes to his feet. He pulled the other man close, feigning to help him dust off his fancy suit.

“Touch Callie and I rip your balls off,” he warned.

Wes cocked one brow. “Touch my sister and you meet the same fate.”

They both nodded grimly before turning to Jim.

Jim Taylor was fifty-nine, with gray hair and skin made leathery from years of working outdoors. His well-toned body was only slightly worn with age. He was a man who had lived and worked hard, building the Broken Spur from the ground up. A man to be respected. He sauntered over to them, a disappointed frown forging creases on his brow.

“Jim Taylor.” He held out his hand to Wes.

Wes shook it immediately. “Wes Thorne. I apologize for the behavior you witnessed.” He wiped his mouth where a small line of blood on his split lip had started to trail down his chin. Fenn smirked, but then winced as he licked his own lips, tasting blood. He touched his mouth with his fingertips. A few places stung at the contact, but it seemed well worth it. He’d been spoiling for a fight after losing last night at the arena.

“And who is this?” Jim’s focus slid to Hayden. She tiptoed forward on bare feet and held out her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Taylor. I’m Hayden Thorne. I’m sorry for all the trouble.” She shot a scathing glance at Wes and Fenn. It didn’t bother Fenn, though. He merely shrugged. Self-defense and all that.

“And Mr. Thorne is your…husband?” Jim guessed.

“Brother,” Wes and Hayden replied in unison in that uncanny way siblings often could when the occasion presented itself.

“Ahh yeah. I can see the resemblance, now that you mention it. Why don’t you both go inside? We’ll get ice for the men and figure out a civilized way to settle whatever matter had you two brawling like bears. Sound good?”

Jim didn’t wait for a response. He marched toward the main house, shotgun resting on one shoulder. Callie walked over to Hayden, smiling tentatively as she introduced herself. Then the two girls followed Jim.

Fenn stayed where he was. His ankle ached, but the ice pack last night had been a vastly effective treatment against the swelling. He was still barefoot on his bandaged leg. Wes was studying him, his dark blue eyes sweeping over him from head to toe.

“This was not how I pictured meeting you after all these years,” Wes said, a rueful smile on his lips. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re still the Fenn I once knew.”

The fine hairs on Fenn’s neck rose as he really studied the man beside him.

“Flick your wrist, like this.” The strawberry blond-haired boy stood barefoot in the shadows of the pond. Noonday sun beat down around them as Fenn practiced flicking his wrist like the other boy. The stones in their palms skipped along the surface of the water, leaving momentary circular impact spots in shrinking patterns as they sank out of view.

“Better,” the other boy grinned, and his cobalt blue eyes were rich and deep like the Atlantic Ocean. They were eyes he knew, eyes that sparked with mischief and trust and the utterly complete devotion found only in friendships forged by young children.

Fenn blinked. The flash of that image—the sound of bees buzzing, the aroma of fresh-cut grass, and the glowing surge of hope—was slow to fade.

Hope; that fickle emotion he’d lost faith in so long ago.

“I—” He shook his head. He was imagining things, fanciful things. This was all because he’d drunk too much last night after Hayden had shown him those pictures on her phone: a life that wasn’t his, a life he couldn’t remember.

“You really don’t remember?” Hurt deepened the blue of Wes’s eyes even more before he glanced away. Something tightened in Fenn’s chest and for a second he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not sure why he felt compelled to say that, but he did.

Wes chuckled, but without mirth. “I suppose part of me hoped you’d suddenly remember after seeing me…but I guess not.” He swept his palms over his gray suit coat, removing more dirt that had dusted his clothes.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Fenn said quietly as they both started to walk toward the house. He tried his damnedest not to favor his right ankle, but he couldn’t hide his small limp.

“No. You’re not at all what I thought you’d be, but you’re still the man I’ve come to find.” Wes left that hanging in the air between them as they ascended the steps. Wes led and Fenn hobbled up behind.

Inside the house, Callie and Hayden clustered around Jim in the open kitchen, clucking and fussing like hens. Jim blushed and swatted their feminine hands away.

“Dad, you need to sit down and rest,” Callie growled like a protective mother wolf.

“Really, Mr. Taylor, heart attacks are serious,” Hayden agreed, and Fenn saw her and Callie exchange meaningful glances. It seemed the girls had decided to become friends. Not that that surprised him in the least. Callie was sweet, lively and quick to trust. Hayden—well, she seemed to have a “take no prisoners” personality, and Fenn figured that if she decided to be your friend you were better off accepting it rather than fighting it.

“Somebody come and save me,” Jim demanded, but a thin layer of pleading in his tone made both Fenn and Wes laugh.

Fenn hobbled over to the kitchen table and took a seat beside Jim. It felt good to rest his ankle. A scuffle and a bout of fisticuffs hadn’t been the wisest idea.

Callie retrieved a first aid kit from a cabinet beneath the sink and slid past Wes in order to bring the supplies closer to the table. A flush crept through her cheeks and she made a point of not looking at Wes. Fenn narrowed his eyes as Wes swept his gaze over Callie again. That situation would bear watching.

“Now, let’s talk. What was that about outside?” Jim asked as he set his shotgun on the table. Leave it to Jim to make his threats clear without having to say anything.

“I think it’s better if we start from the beginning.” Hayden tugged her dress down her thighs as she dropped into an empty chair.

Brother and sister shared a look, and then Wes gave her a slight nod and she continued.

“Do you remember the Lockwood kidnapping on Long Island about twenty-five years ago?”

Jim leaned back in his chair. “Remember? Who could forget? Everyone was terrified of men climbing into nurseries to steal children for at least a year following the kidnapping. It was all over the national papers for weeks.”

Hayden cleared her throat and avoided looking at anyone except Jim. “So you remember that twins named Emery and Fenn were kidnapped. Fenn was never found and everyone assumed he was dead.”