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Familial Custody
Nathanial
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KICKING OUT AT THE metal bed frame, I cursed into the gloom. How long had I been stuck in the dank little unit? The unanswerable question pinballed around my head, leading to a more pertinent one.
How much longer can I cope?
Collapsing onto the excuse of a mattress, the sting in my toe ballooned regret for the deed, although whacking the only piece of furniture in the place had alleviated one tiny iota of my frustration. I’d been relieved when the goon who’d flung me in there had uncuffed me, but even with my hands free, I had no chance of making it out of the gloomy prison.
“Shit.” I leaned back against the wall. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Things weren’t supposed to be like this. Sure, I hadn’t had a proper plan when I’d taken Emelia and the others to the motel, but I hadn’t foreseen events unraveling the way they had.
How the hell had Wilson’s goons been able to track us? Even if Cilla had been able to give her lover a decent description of the old car, how would they have known which vehicle we’d transferred to?
I couldn’t make sense of what had occurred.
“Unless there was covert CCTV at the parking lot.” My jaw stiffened. “I should have checked properly.”
I had checked, though. Hell, almost everywhere in the country was covered in closed-circuit television, and despite its Orwellian overtones, the technology wasn’t sinister in and of itself. It was the people the country elected to have control over the technology that spiked my concerns. I wouldn’t trust Wilson any farther than I could throw him.
Lifting my head, my gaze drilled into the back of the gray door confining me. I hadn’t seen Wilson in the long, discouraging hours I’d been caged there. Aside from the bastards who’d thrown me into the cell, I hadn’t seen anyone. But I knew, in an instinctive, primal way, that the captivity was because of the man parading around as prime minister.
“I’ve got to get out of here, but I don’t even know where I am.”
The tiny window at the top of the cell gave little away about my location, but I was willing to bet it was somewhere in or near London. The journey in the back of the van had seemed to go on forever, but then fear and uncertainty had that effect. We could easily have been taken somewhere reasonably central to Westminster where Wilson could hold his enemies away from scrutiny while being able to access them with relative ease. I wouldn’t even be surprised if the asshole was in the building somewhere, gloating at his so-called victory.
The thought he might be close sickened me.
Not that a man like Wilson would entertain the conditions I was being forced to endure. The claustrophobic box I was sitting in was dark and seemed to perpetually reek of urine. I wondered aimlessly how many showers it would take to get that rancid aroma out of my hair.
“That’s if I ever get out of here.” Anguish echoed in my voice as I pulled in a breath and was then immediately remorseful of the choice.
It wasn’t like me to think that way. I couldn’t give up. Couldn’t let the bastard grind me down.
I had to get out of there. Surrender simply wasn’t an option. Emelia, Laurel, and Sally were trapped in there somewhere, and they needed me.
My eyes fell closed as I considered what that meant. It had been hours since I’d been hauled into the prison. Anything could have happened to them since then.
Anything.
“If he’s hurt Em, I’ll kill him.” Slamming my fist against the alleged mattress, I concluded rapidly that the bed was as unyielding as the wall.
The anger pulsing in my head was in no doubt, though. If anything had happened to any of the women I’d been abducted with, I would tear Wilson’s eyes out with my bare hands. The thought was oddly warming, inspiring a weary smile on my lips.
If only I hadn’t dropped the gun back at the motel. It would have been challenging taking out all of the morons on my own, but I’d have given it my best shot, and maybe I could have disabled the remaining one or two with a swift knee to the happy sacs.
“If only Em hadn’t forgotten the gun I gave her...” I glared at the dirty floor as though it was personally responsible for our collective errors.
If only, if only, if only.
There was no point in replaying every moment that had transpired before I landed in my current predicament, and no point in allocating blame. The only person responsible was Wilson.
“Hang in there, Emelia.” I spoke the words out loud, hoping that in some crazy way, she’d sense their comfort. Deep down, I believed she would. “I’ll get out of this somehow and I’ll come for you. We’ll be okay.”
An image of the woman who’d bewitched me burst into his mind. She was beautiful and intelligent, but she’d clearly been broken by the actions of the scumbag she’d married. I couldn’t blame her for that. I’d read her file. I knew some of what Sam Stanton had done to her, and I wanted nothing more than to help put her back together again. If she’d let me.
It was perilously early days in whatever chemistry was flourishing between us, but one thing was for certain—I wanted more of it. More of gorgeous, kind, and complicated Emelia. I wanted all of her.
Closing my eyes, I realized I didn’t judge her for her past or her family. We all had those, after all. I certainly had one hell of a complicated backstory, but whatever had happened to Em, I sorely yearned to be part of her future.
The sound of a key in the lock splintered the train of thought, and heart pounding, my eyes flew open as I rose quickly to my feet to greet whichever psycho was about to stride through the door.
“How ya doing?” The guy, who seemed to be as big as one of the walls of my cell, threw a menacing grin my way.
“Brilliant.” I eyed him carefully, unsure what my new companion had in mind.
“Oh, good.” He laughed dryly. “I’m glad you like the accommodation. Be sure to give us a five-star review.”
“What do you want?” I’d endured enough of the pleasantries.
“It’s not what I want,” the idiot said as he yanked a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. “I don’t want anything to do with ya, but I’ve got my orders...” He took a step toward me. “Now, are you gonna cooperate while I put the cuffs on, or shall I get a few mates in here to help me?”
With zero interest in cooperating with the asshole, I considered his query. I didn’t want to be cuffed again, but then, I wanted the cell filled with angry men who’d probably hurt me even less. Getting out of the depressing cage was my main priority. Even handcuffed, I’d be one step closer to finding Emelia again.
“Fine.” I held out my wrists to the guy with the cuffs. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Not like that.” The moron tutted. “Cuffs behind your back.”
Fuck. I bit back on the retort. Evidently, the guard wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
Moving my wrists behind my back, I turned slowly sideways and held my breath as the goon manhandled the cuffs back onto my sore wrists.
“Now, walk.” He shoved me out of the door and into the same long corridor I vaguely recalled from my journey there.
The hallway, as it turned out, was nearly as dark as the cell, but the asshole’s frequent pushes ensured I stayed on track to whatever destination he had in mind. He’d mentioned his boss, which made me wonder who I’d find waiting at the end of the corridor.
“Where am I?” Peering behind me, I risked a glance at my captor as he trudged down the passageway.
“No talking.” The reply was a gruff bark accompanied by even harder pressure between my shoulder blades.
My brow rose as I stumbled forward. I was hardly surprised at the aggressive response. The so-called guard probably wasn’t employed to think or make conversation.
At some point, my shoulder was jerked to the left, forcing me to pivot in that direction. Watching warily as a door was opened ahead of me, my adrenaline coursed harder through my system.
“This is it.” The goon smirked as he gestured to the entrance. “Get in.”
With one final shove, I staggered into the room, my eyes fluttering as they adjusted to the much brighter conditions inside. This place was far better than the hovel I’d been kept in, so clearly, whoever I was there to meet was a VIP. Anger whirled inside me as I braced for whatever was about to transpire. Three figures came into view as I scanned the area, though my blurry eyesight meant I couldn’t immediately decipher any of them.
“Ah, there he is!”
Despite my disorientation, there was no way I couldn’t recognize the dulcet tone that greeted me. We hadn’t met much over the years, yet somehow, the timbre was ingrained in my memory and my body tensed as it came again.
“My little brother.”
“Wilson.” I hissed his name through my teeth. “I knew you were behind this.”
“And I knew you’d help bring her to me.” Wilson smiled, his expression predictably conceited. “Thank you for that.”
“What have you done to her?” Lurching at him, I bumped into the table that separated us. The deed had been reflexive but not very smart, and seconds later, the idiot who’d escorted me there yanked me away and smacked me against the wall so hard that I swore I saw stars. As the concussion settled over me, my attention landed back on the reason I was there.
Ryan Wilson.
Few men would ever be able to rile me the way Wilson could, but then, that was the joy of family, wasn’t it? They could always get under each other’s skin with ease. I took a moment to take in the look of him. His sharp jaw and expensive suit spoke of grandeur, but the thinning hairline and dark circles beneath his eyes told a different story—a tale of burning the candle at both ends.
For years, I’d tried to deny the blood links between us, ignoring news bulletins and concentrating on my own career, but when push had come to shove, I couldn’t overlook the obvious—my half-brother had come back to bite.
“Aww.” Wilson motioned to the two suited men at either side of him. “Isn’t that sweet? I think my brother’s in love.”
“Fuck you!” It was a relief to finally be able to insult the vermin who’d done this to us to his face, and far more satisfying than it had been in the cell.
“Just sit down, Nathanial.” Wilson grinned. “We have much to discuss.”
The same thug who’d whacked me against the wall pulled me toward the waiting metal seat and shoved me into place. Dazed, though not surprised, I did little to resist as I dwelled on our complex familial ties.
Wilson was my older brother on our father’s side—a half-sibling who’d turned into the bane of my life. Apparently, good old Daddy had taken my mother as his mistress while he was married to Mrs. Wilson, and I’d been the outcome of the doomed affair.
So far, so inevitable.
How many times had this story played out over the ages, and the next chapters were even less surprising. Daddy dear had abandoned his lover and her young baby before I’d even been born, leaving us with virtually nothing. My mum had struggled after that, both emotionally and financially, but she’d gone to great lengths to make sure I realized who my father was, repeatedly telling me who he was and where he lived, and how, in all the time we begged, borrowed, and stole to pay the rent, the jerk never paid a penny in child maintenance. It seemed Daddy had promised Mum the moon and stars but dropped her into oblivion the moment she’d got pregnant.
He’s as spineless as his eldest son...
I’d spent my entire life detesting the man for that decision—especially after Mum’s death. Later, when my odious half-brother had risen through the political ranks, I’d discovered an even worse enemy.
Just imagine how thrilled I’d been when Emelia’s case dropped onto my desk and I’d found out it was my own half-brother who’d drugged and abused her. Wilson was just another product of a fucked-up paternal line who thought it was acceptable to treat a woman so poorly. That genetic connection still troubled me, insisting I never told a soul about the family link, let alone my superior officers. Had they known, they’d have likely ordered me to drop the case, and it hadn’t taken long for me to know that was impossible. I was already too emotionally invested in Emelia’s fate. I’d ascertained she was guilty of nothing more than defending herself and her daughter from an abuser.
Resolved to tell no one I was related to the prime minister, I was relieved Wilson had seemingly told no one of our blood ties. Perhaps he’d deduced there was little for him to gain from exposing our father’s lurid proclivities. Maybe he was only waiting for the opportunity to exploit the connection.
Either way, our connection remained a dark secret.
“What have you done to Emelia?” My voice was quiet that time, my clearing vision only elucidating the man I despised most in the entire world.
That accolade had once belonged to our daddy, but his eldest son had stolen it when he became the leader of the country. I didn't think I could loathe him more, but witnessing the true damage he and his cronies had done to Emelia and Laurel had pushed me to the brink.
I’d bring Wilson down if it was the last thing I ever did.
“Nothing.” Irritatingly, Wilson’s smile only grew. “I think she left rather satisfied, actually.”
“Left?” What does that mean? I glanced at the two beaming idiots book-ending my brother as though they were going to give me the answers. “She’s not here?”
“Not anymore.” Wilson motioned to a pile of paper on the table between us. “But we both got what we needed out of the arrangement. She left with her lovely daughter, a smile on her face, and a case full of cash. I actually liked her a lot more than I remembered.”
“You fucker.” My throat dried. I had no idea what any of Wilson’s spewed nonsense meant, but I knew better than to believe a word of it. My brother was a consummate liar. “How could you do this to her after everything you already put her through?”
“Settle down, little brother.” The glint in Wilson’s eyes darkened. “We need to talk.”