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.
Her father’s uninjured man didn’t say a word; he just kept his gun trained.
“Where. Is. She?”
He didn’t threat. Didn’t bluster like she’d seen a lot of men do.
He didn’t need to though. The three words were wrapped in so much death it was hard to miss.
Evidently, her father’s man, the one whimpering on the ground, thought so too. “We just got here. The blast took out both cars. Let us go, please. We have a family.”
Morana watched as he suddenly stilled, his eyes going, for the first time, to the burned remains of her car.
For a moment, nothing moved – not the wind, not the leaves, not the men.
“Where the fuck is she?”
Thunder split the sky; winds became chaotic, making his tie and open jacket flap against his hard chest, his gun arm pointing straight at the other man, the imminent death in his voice making her flinch.
But his eyes remained on her car.
Something tightened in her chest.
“We don’t know. We were told to come check on our guys.”
He turned to the men, lowering his gun, no movement on his face.
“Leave. Now. You turn around and come back, you die.”
The man who was standing nodded, putting his gun away as he helped the injured guy up and towards their own car. Within minutes, they were in the vehicle and driving away, the bright taillights disappearing, leaving everything back in the darkness.
He’d let them go.
Morana moved slightly out beside the tree, unable to understand him, the beating of her heart vicious, the rush of blood hot through her veins.
Dust slowly settled.
She watched him take a few steps towards the pile of charred metal that had been her beloved car, and come to a stop.
The gun dangled loosely in his hand at his side.
He stood before the bombed remains of her car, his back to her, the jacket of his suit clinging to his muscles as they tightened, before flapping in the onslaught of the wind.
Morana stood quietly against the tree in plain sight and watched him from behind, wanting to see his reaction, needing to see his reaction. Because if she was going to gamble with this man, she needed to know her cards.
She hadn’t spoken to him since that last text she’d sent him. Her phone had been switched off, and she’d made Amara promise to give her some time alone to figure things out. She’d been missing for hours, and she needed to see his reaction, not in front of those men, but his reaction alone. Because even though she hadn’t figured anything out, if he gave her even a sliver of hope, she knew she wasn’t going to run away. For once in her life, she wanted to stay.
His back moved as he breathed, his hands clenched beside him as he kept looking at her dead car. The darkness clung to his frame, only the flash of lightning illuminating him brightly for split seconds before leaving him standing alone in the dark again in the graveyard.
Thunder roared in agony.
The winds lamented.
Morana swallowed the pain rising in her chest but didn’t make a move, knowing instinctively that even a tiny motion would make him aware of her.
So, she just kept watching him, waiting for him to do something.
He did.
He touched her car.
Stroked it.
Just once.
But he did.
He did it when he thought no one was watching.
He did it when he thought he was completely alone.
Morana blinked at the stinging in her eyes as she saw his big, rough hand move across the charred remains tenderly, the sliver of hope expanding to a fragment now.
She knew.
She had seen.
And she was going to fight him, fight for him, like he’d fought for her. She was going to gamble. She was going to throw herself off the cliff and hope he would catch her. Because she didn’t see how they could move on if she didn’t do it. Lord knew, he wouldn’t.
Gulping in a deep breath, she took a step forward in the darkness, her eyes on him.
For a moment, nothing happened.
It was silent. It was dark. It was vacant.
She stood in plain sight now, enough so he could just turn his neck and see her.
But nothing happened.
Heart pounding, Morana swallowed, her own gun in her hand, and took another step forward.
He just took a deep breath, his back expanding, the fabric of his jacket stretching across those scarred muscles but he didn’t turn.
And suddenly, Morana knew that he knew that she was there.
He knew she was standing behind him, watching him, and he didn’t turn.
God, he wouldn’t make this easy on her. Well, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him either.
She walked another step forward, then another, and then another, watching his back muscles tighten with each one of hers, his body coiling.
Deja-vu hit her, from that very morning, when she’d confronted him about his hatred for her, about his sister, and the fact that she’d been one of those missing girls.
‘I never hated you for that.’
No. He never had. Not for that.
Had it just been that morning? Just a few hours? It felt like a lifetime.
But she had incited a reaction from him.
Taking another deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily and calling upon all the strength inside herself, Morana threw herself off the cliff.
“I know.”
Two words.
Piercing the silence between them like bullets.
Hovering in the air between them.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t move, only his back stretched once as he took in a heavy breath. Her hands ached to feel those muscles, feel those scars under her fingers. She clenched them into fists.
His own gun hung loosely by his side, his other hand going into his trouser pocket. Yet, he didn’t turn, didn’t face her, didn’t acknowledge her.
“I know…” she bit her lip, “Tristan.”
Hushed. Everything hushed.
He stilled even more, impossibly.
She stilled even more, reflexively.
The air between them stilled, dangerously.
She knew she’d crossed an invisible line they’d both repeatedly acknowledged but never toed. She knew that by calling him by his name, she’d ventured into territory unknown. And it scared her. So much, she stood trembling against the now calm gales, her hands balled into fists by her side as she kept her eyes glued to his back, waiting for a reaction.
It came.
He turned.
Lightning split the sky.
And in that momentary light, his magnificent blue eyes found her, imprisoned her, burned her.