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Everything else aside, the bottom line was she was alive today because he’d chosen to save her. And she couldn’t leave, not without giving him some closure. She owed him that much for her life. Running away wasn’t an option anymore. Her life mattered everything to him. He was making it matter to her again.
She had killed two of her father’s men. She’d killed in the rage and vengeance she’d felt for twenty minutes for her car.
He had harbored that rage inside him for twenty years.
God, this was a mess. And she wasn’t even allowing herself to think of her father or Lorenzo ‘Asshole’ Maroni and all the shitload of mess with the Alliance. Her brain couldn’t sustain so much together.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the now dark sky as another flight went overhead loudly, the clouds stark gray against the black backdrop of the night.
She needed something. If she was going to expose her own weakness, her own vulnerability, she needed something, anything at all to tell her it wasn’t the worst mistake of her life. Anything to tell her that everything she’d experienced so far wasn’t manipulative on his part and wasn’t construed by her in her head.
A noise from near the entrance gates suddenly slithered through the empty silence.
Morana stilled.
It was late, later than she’d realized.
Heart pounding, she palmed the gun beside her quietly, forcing her hands to stop trembling. She wouldn’t be able to make any decision if she ended up dead. And she couldn’t die like this – not after surviving her father’s attempt, not after learning the truth, not after the twenty years Tristan Caine had spent wanting closure.
Raindrops clung heavily to the clouds, the crackle of lightning loud in the wind. Morana could feel it in the air, the heavy rain that would drown her tonight. It was already dark, the sun strangled below the horizon by the night, and she realized how very secluded she was.
Standing up as quietly as she could, the wind chilly on her bare arms, Morana quickly moved out from behind the headstone and crouched, heading towards the blast site near the gates where the noise had come from. Staying in the shadows, grateful for the dirt that kept her shoes from making any noise, grateful for the clouds that hid the moon and provided cover, she crept ahead, her own eyes acclimated to the dark behind her glasses, letting her see mostly clearly.
Finally coming behind a tree with a clear view of the gates, Morana pressed herself against it, leaning outward slightly, just enough so she could see whatever was going on.
Two stocky men in suits were rummaging around the vehicle she’d blown up – clearly her father’s men. One had a phone pressed to his ear while the other was looking around, smoking a cigarette, the orange glow of the tip a burning point from her vantage.
Keeping the gun ready in her hand, Morana just stayed put and watched.
And then, her heart stopped.
He was there.
Somehow, someway, he’d found her place.
Her surprise lasted only a moment, her heart heavy with the knowledge she didn’t have before. Amara had been right. Knowing the truth would change things for her, but it wouldn’t change things for him – she would have to do that herself.
Heart racing, her body acutely aware in a way it was only in his presence, senses alert, Morana watched as he smoothly got out from the black SUV he usually drove, his body encased in a suit, his usual open collar closed with a dark tie. His clothing told her he’d been somewhere important, somewhere out, and he’d come straight here.
Why?
The two men raised their arms to point their guns at him.
He shot one in the knee before the vehicle door was even shut.
The man dropped to the ground, shrieking in pain as his partner aimed straight. Morana didn’t even wince. She’d seen enough of him in action to know he wouldn’t be getting a single scratch.
Slamming the door behind him, he sauntered forward slowly, his entire body tight, agile, fluid in its unhurried movement, a flash of lighting giving him a deathly glow before shrouding him in black.
And then his voice, that voice of whiskey and sin, spoke in death.
“Where is she?”
Silence.
Her heart started to pound erratically, thundering in her chest. Without conscious thought, Morana pressed herself deeper into the bark of the tree, holding it tightly with her fingers until her knuckles turned white, her eyes glued to the man who would decide tonight if he would be her life or her death.
Her throat locked, suddenly wanting to call out to him. She strangled the urge.
