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She turned back to Dante, her hands curling into fists and jaw clenching. "You're telling me you didn't hire Jackson?"
Dante nodded, his face serious. "We didn’t even know these codes even existed. They have a lot of power, and if they fall in the wrong hands, both our families are screwed. That’s why we flew out west to your city. Meeting you was important."
"And how did you come to know of the codes?"
Dante gestured to the man beside him. "Tristan told me about them after you called him last week, demanding its return. We felt we should pay you a visit under the circumstances."
She had called him? She looked at him, trying to ascertain exactly why he was hiding the truth from his blood brother. She found nothing.
Morana scoffed, looking at both the men. "You really expect me to believe you? After you killed Jackson?"
"We haven't killed you," Tristan Caine spoke softly, his eyes hard, dangerous, the look in them sending a shiver down her spine.
Morana steeled it. "Yet. What's to tell me you won't kill me now?"
"Because we don't want to start a war," Dante finally let go of her hand, shaking his head. "As much as our families hate each other, fact is neither of us can afford a war right now, not with outside forces closing in on us. Killing Jackson was to silence him. He was genuinely under the impression that he had been dealing with Tristan. Killing you, on the other hand, will create unnecessary friction."
The logic made sense. But she didn't trust them worth her pinkie. Her eyes latched back onto the blue ones watching her.
"So you're saying someone went to the trouble of elaborately framing you, down to the detail of hiring Jackson, knowing I will uncover their tracks?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes fixed on her. "I didn't say anything."
Where did all his eloquence of murder and mayhem go before an audience? Infuriated, Morana crossed her arms over her chest, watching as Dante's eyes flickered at the action. Tristan Caine never looked away from her eyes, not once.
Out of habit, she pushed her glasses up her nose. "So now what? You want us to team up or something?"
"Or something," came his very helpful input.
The chime of a phone ringing startled the sudden quiet of the area, making her jump slightly. Dante pulled his phone out, exchanging a look with the silent man, before excusing himself and walking off towards the back. The moment he turned the corner, Morana headed towards the gates where her car waited, ignoring the man standing behind her.
"You really shouldn’t walk out without hearing our side," he remarked as she neared the gate.
"Not if you pay me a million bucks," she threw back without breaking her stride, her entire body buzzing with tension. She was almost to her car when suddenly, without any warning, she was pinned flat on the hood, the world tilting as the night sky came into view, and along with it, the face of Tristan Caine. His hand gripped both of hers, holding them above her head as his other one pushed on her stomach, keeping her flat in place.
She bucked. He didn't budge.
She squirmed. He didn't budge.
She struggled. He didn't budge.
Trying to escape the manacles around her wrists, she thrashed against the hood of her own car, kicking her legs out, trying to bite his arms, but he hovered above her, not moving, not speaking, his jaw clenched.
"I don't want to touch you any more than you want to be touched," he grit out roughly, his breath fanning her face, his eyes hard.
"Oh please," Morana rolled her eyes, sarcasm heavy in her tone. "In the two times we have met, I can see how much you detest touching me. Pinning me to flat surfaces is loathsome."
His eyes flared, a snarl curling his mouth, bringing the scar right at the corner of his lower lip into focus. "You are nothing like the women I like to pin. I certainly don't hate them."
"You don't hate me," Morana pointed out.
"No," he shook his head, his eyes hardening by the second, resolve entering them as she saw him inhale heavily. "I despise you."
Morana blinked in surprise at the hatred in his voice, her brows furrowing. She knew they weren't fans of each other, but she didn't warrant this hatred from him. He didn't even know her.
“Why?” she voiced the question in her head.
He ignored it, leaning closer, his blue eyes icy, sending a shiver of fear down her body even as her arms stayed above her head, speaking in a low, forceful voice.
