Blue and purple crisscrossed all over her torso, the sides of her ribs tender.
Her father had done that. Without raising an arm, without actually abusing her, he had punished her. And she was seeking refuge with a man like Tristan Caine. How messed up was her life?
Closing her eyes, she dipped her toe in the warm, perfectly warm water, before slowly gripping the edges and sitting down in the tub.
A groan left her the moment she did, tears of pleasure at the intense relief of having such warmth envelop her muscles flowing down her cheeks. She leaned back against the tub, relaxing into the water, closing her eyes, and forgetting, for one brief moment, about everything.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
Peeking with one eye, she opened the message and blinked in surprise.
Tristan Caine: Do you need a doctor?
Why hadn't he asked her himself?
Surprised, she typed back a response.
Me: No. I'll be out of your hair in the morning.
She waited for a response after that. It didn't come.
Shrugging, feeling oddly conflicted but deciding to leave all the thinking for the morning, she stayed in the tub until the water cooled, and then slowly, languidly rose. Her body hurt even more, and yet, the knots in her muscles were relaxed after the bath. Quickly drying herself off, Morana pulled on the borrowed clothes. The t-shirt hung on her small frame, almost to her knees, the scent of something musky wrapping around her as she walked out to the bedroom.
The sound of voices drew her towards the closed door, voices coming from the open kitchen.
"You have a plane for Tenebrae in an hour, Tristan," Dante's voice came through.
Morana's heart sank. She didn't know why it did, and it made her angrier. Why did she care?
Tristan Caine stayed silent. What was up with him?
Morana heard Dante sigh. "Look, I would have gone, but father specifically asked for you. You know when he summons..."
"I'm not his dog," Tristan Caine grit out.
"Neither am I." Dante's voice hardened. "But we have innocent people to watch over. So, go to Tenebrae. I'll handle stuff here in the meantime."
Tristan Caine didn't say a word, and Morana retreated back into the comfortable bed, sliding into the sheets and switching the lights off.
Her phone buzzed again.
Tristan Caine: How much of that did you hear?
Morana swallowed.
Me: Enough to know you’re leaving.
Tristan Caine: Relieved, are you?
Me: Doesn't bother me either way.
There was a pause for a heartbeat before another message came.
Tristan Caine: There are painkillers in the drawer.
Morana looked at the message for a long time, before closing her eyes and going to sleep, no worry in her heart. If Tristan Caine killed her in her sleep, it'd probably be a mercy.
It was the sound of some kind of crash blaring through the apartment that woke her up.
Morana sat up on the bed suddenly, all the aches in all the muscles coming back tenfold as a groan left her, her eyes blinking into the dark. How long had she been asleep?
She looked at the clock beside the bed and blinked. Eight hours. She'd been asleep for eight straight hours.
The door to her room suddenly opened, and Tristan Caine stood there, his eyes blazing with such strong fury that she trembled. Wasn't he supposed to be in Tenebrae?
"Give me your car keys," he growled.
Morana blinked, her hand automatically going to her clutch before she stopped. "Why?" she asked, slightly suspicious.
"Because your car has a fucking tracker and your father is tracking it here as we speak."
Morana felt her jaw drop, before she got down from the bed, his clothes hanging loosely on her. His eyes never took in the clothes or any other part of her body. He just stood there, all harsh lines and hard angles of a man, his hand held out as he waited for the keys.
Keys to her car.
Swallowing, Morana turned the keys over, her stomach tying itself up in knots, biting the urge to ask him what he intended to do with it. Tristan Caine turned away without a word and handed the keys over to Dante.
The other man looked at Morana, his face hard as well, before he nodded at her and left. Morana stood in the doorway, lingering, with no clue of what to do or say as she watched Tristan Caine, in a sharp dark suit that hugged his body, making calls on his phone. He didn't look at her again, not once, just like last night.
She stayed silent for five minutes, a million thoughts running through her head. Could the Outfit be installing a tracker in her car instead? Could they be exploiting this as an opportunity? Could they be using her too?
She shook her head. If the Outfit had wanted to do it, it could have been done while they had gotten her car fixed. And Dante, or he for that matter, had not faked that outrage last night at the sight of her injuries. She could still feel her tender, bruised skin, and pain in her body. It would be a long time before she healed completely.
But why wasn't Tristan Caine in Tenebrae? Last she'd heard, he had to be there.
And she had to get out of there – of the apartment, of the life. She'd had enough. Codes be damned, she had to leave and go someplace far, far away.
But she needed her car. Damn it.
The sound of his phone ringing made her clear her thoughts.
"Yes?" he spoke, crisp, cold, completely unlike the man who'd pinned her against the door and propositioned her.
Morana took a deep breath, realizing that she was sore between the legs too.
"Fuck! Stop him. I'm on my way."
He was out before she could utter a word.
Morana blinked and went to stand beside the window, looking down. She could see tiny, little cars at the end of the road. She could see three other vehicles leave from the building and reach them.
"Morana," Amara's voice came from beside her as the other woman joined her. Morana looked up, surprised she'd missed the woman coming in.
"Amara," she nodded, watching as the woman took note of her injuries, her eyes compassionate.
"I'm sorry."
Morana swallowed, looking back out the window.
"What's happening?" she asked, curious and worried.
Amara took a deep breath. "Your father came looking for you. He tracked your car here."
It hit her at that moment, watching it from the glass wall.
It had been a setup.
She had been a pawn and she'd fallen exactly with the plan.
Her father had been testing her, seeing where she would go. That was why he'd insisted she leave her car behind for dinner, why nobody had been tailing her. She should have suspected something, but her own grief had blinded her. And she had come straight here. To Tristan Caine. To the biker. Fuck.
It hit her at that moment, watching the two sides stop at the road, that she belonged on no side of the line. She belonged nowhere, not with her father and certainly not with the other man who was reputed in the mob for being the predator.
What was she doing?
Panic hit her chest. She couldn't stay.
"Amara, do you have your car here?" Morana asked quietly, feeling the other woman's eyes turn to her.
"Yes."