Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (39 page)

"Can we spare someone to keep an eye on the penthouse? I don't want her going anywhere alone until this shit is settled."

"I'll look into it," Jason promised. "But if she doesn't agree to go-"

"She doesn't have a choice," Tristan interrupted. "I want her out of there now."

"And then what?"

"And then…." He thought about it a minute. "And then I make sure I didn't miss anything before we come up with a new plan." He paused. "I put a camera in the storage room."

"Fucking hell," Jason groaned, closing his eyes.

"You can fire me for it later." And he might just have to fire him for it. Sneaking in without a warrant was pushing it. Setting up surveillance was liable to blow up in their faces in a major way. He'd be really fucking lucky if he didn't drag Jason down with him when he went. "Has Mr. Yin talked yet?" he asked instead of dwelling on that.

"Nope. He asked for his lawyer, told Kincaid to fuck off, and hasn't said a word since. We've got nothing solid to tie Anton Vetrov to him besides those damn credit card statements, and he's not willing to make a deal with Francisco and the Asians tied up in this shit."

"Figures," Tristan sighed. He'd known from the start it was a long shot. Cartels didn't deal with people who talked. At best, they'd slowed down production by raiding the restaurant, but that was it. They'd get nothing out of Yin or anyone connected to him.

"We'll keep trying."

"Yeah." Tristan glanced at the clock across the room, his body practically twitching.

"Go," Jason said, needing no explanation.

"I'll let you know when we're ready for that unit to sit on her at the penthouse." Tristan pushed off from against the wall and clasped Jason's shoulder. "Thanks, man."

"Don't thank me yet. Just figure this shit out."

"Tell me that she's going to be safe, Jase," Tristan whispered, his voice raw with fear.

"Whatever you need to ensure it, you got."

"I've never needed anything before, you know?"

"But you need her," Jason answered.

Yeah, he needed her. So fucking much, the thought of being without her terrified him.

"Good luck," Jason called as he made his way toward the door, his heart heavy and his chest aching at the thought of letting her go. But he would. For her sake, he had to do it, even if doing it did kill him. Because as much as he needed her… he needed her safe even more.

"I love you, Lillian," he whispered, tears in his eyes.

Sneak Peek at Rhapsody: Book Two of the Teplo Trilogy

Coming Fall 2015

Chapter One

Three hours.

Tristan had sent her home three hours ago and had yet to come back from wherever he was. From whatever he'd decided to do. The first hour, Lillian had sat on the couch, trying not to think too hard. A futile attempt, of course.

She couldn't stop thinking.

The Vetrov family had killed that poor girl.

Lillian was horrified, scared, and angry. All she wanted was for Tristan to walk through the door and tell her there'd been a mistake. That she'd heard wrong, and it was someone else. Or that no one at all had died this time. And that he hadn't done something incredibly stupid as a result.

She wasn't nearly naïve enough to mistake that fantasy for reality, though.

Last time the Vetrov family killed someone, he'd kicked in her door.

Thinking about what he'd do this time made her crazy.

She popped up from the couch and paced. Back and forth from one side of the room to the other until her leg ached from her restless, endless circuits. She called Jason, and got no answer. She called Zoë with the same result. She tried Tristan's number again and then again.

No one answered. No one called her back.

Tristan didn't walk through the front door either.

Waiting was agony.

By the third hour, she'd moved to the kitchen table, her eyes glued to the clock.

Anger and fear battled for dominance in her head, and in her heart.

Tristan had shut her out. After promising her that he'd try, he'd just shut down and sent her on her way like a child. She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to walk through the door so she could breathe. Right then, she couldn't breathe. She felt as if a weight sat atop her chest, forcing air to come in shallow, painful pulls. Forcing blood to pump in sluggish, cracked drags.

She was stretched thin, brittle… ready to snap in half.

When her phone rang, she nearly fell out of her chair.

"Hello?" She clutched the phone to her ear, trying to calm the hysterical edge bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Miss Maddox?" Jason Ames drawled into the phone.

"Yes. Jason! Tristan is gone. I don't know where he went, and he won't answer the phone and he's been gone for three hours. Warner was at the club and he-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, doll."

Lillian snapped her mouth closed and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Tristan's on his way back to you now."

"Oh, thank God." Breath left her in a rush. Relief coursed through her veins for a brief moment before worry shot through her again. "Is he okay?"

Jason sighed into the phone, causing that static-like crinkle to sound over the line. "He's not hurt."

"But he's not okay," she stated, reading between the lines.

"He's had a rough night."

Disbelief bubbled up and out, anger overtaking worry.

"You guys are unbelievable," she snapped.

Jason didn't say anything.

"First, he makes me wait outside the club so he can break into that damn storage room. On my way to do as he requested, I find out someone else – someone we talked to inside the damn club – was murdered. Not exactly something you want to hear when your boyfriend is trying to sneak past the people who probably murdered her, I might add."

"I-"

Lillian spoke right over him, every bit of emotion from the last three hours coming out in a furious burst. "He then demands I wait at home for him, and it takes three hours before anyone bothers to let me know that he's okay. And all you have to say is that
he's
had a rough night? Well, welcome to the freaking club!" She huffed, pissed off and hurt.

"Feel better?" Jason asked.

"No," she snapped, dropping her head back against the chair. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, fighting for calm. "Where was he?"

"Ah, I think he should be the one to explain that."

Well, didn't that just figure?

"Jason? I really don't want to yell at you so I'm going to hang up now."

"Lillian, wait."

She hesitated with her finger over the
End
button.

"Shit," Jason cursed into the phone. "Take it easy on him, okay? This is harder for him than you can imagine."

Lillian swallowed the painful ache worming its way up from her chest into her throat. "I get that. But has anyone bothered to consider that maybe this is hard for me, too? That maybe I've been going out of my mind all night, worrying about him?"

"Ah… no, actually," Jason muttered, sounding apologetic and surprised at once.

"Yeah, well, I've been here alone for three hours because he left with no explanation, Mr. Ames. And no one could bother to answer the phone or send a simple text to let me know that he was safe."

"Jason, Lillian. Please call me Jason. And for what it's worth, you haven't been there alone. He had an unmarked car out front before he ever left."

He did?

"Not the point," she mumbled, refusing to be placated that easily. Someone should have called her.
Tristan
should have called her. She didn't think that request was unreasonable. He kept telling her that he needed her safe, but she needed the same thing.

"I know, and I'm sorry for any distress we've caused you," Jason said. "Just take it easy on him when he gets there. Please?"

"Fine," Lillian sighed, surrendering. "Thank you for calling me."

She hung up and stared at the phone for a second before dropping her head to the cool wood of the table. "Argh!" she cried into the cradle of her arms, resisting the urge to flail and scream like a child in the throes of a temper tantrum.

"Beautiful?"

Lillian screamed.

Tristan crossed the kitchen to her and pulled her to her feet. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Don't sneak up on me!" she half-shouted at him.

And then she realized it was really him. He was home. Safe.

The overwhelming, gut wrenching relief she felt at that bled away in an instant as he attempted to pull her into his arms. She pushed him away and glared up at him.

"Thanks for calling me," she snapped.

He flinched but didn't say anything, which was just fine and dandy with her because she wasn't finished yet.

"How would you feel if I just disappeared and you didn't hear from me for hours?" she demanded, glaring at him.

He looked like hell, his expression guarded, his eyes shadowed, haunted. Part of her wanted to throw herself in his arms and hold on for dear life until that broken look on his face went away, but the other part – the overwhelmingly pissed off part – refused to give in that easily.

"I was never in any danger, Lillian."

"And I suppose your lengthy explanation about where you were going was supposed to tell me that, right? Oh wait, no! There was no explanation. You just
demanded
I come back here and wait for you."

"I had to talk to Warner."

"And that took you three hours?"

"No, I went to the morgue." He raked a hand through his hair and grimaced. "Can we not do this right now?"

Not do this right now?
Was he serious?

She gaped at him for a minute before shaking her head. The emotions feeding her outburst – anger, hurt, fear, worry – drained out of her as if poured from a strainer. If he didn't want to talk to her, she couldn't force him. It was that simple.

"Fine," she mumbled.

"Dammit, Lillian, wait."

He reached out and grabbed her arm as she limped past him, fighting the urge to cry. She wasn't that girl, the one who cried every time someone hurt her feelings. And yet, every time Tristan hurt her feelings, tears came, unbidden.

It was exhausting.

He
was exhausting.

Being with him truly would drive her insane. And God help her, but she didn't want it to stop. Despite everything, she'd fallen head over heels for him.

"Let me go, Tristan." Her traitorous voice shook.

"Please." He tugged on her arm, trying to pull her back toward him.

"You don't get to do this. Let me go."

"Do what?" he asked.

"You don't get to shut me out, and then get your way just because you say please. I'm not doing this with you right now, so let me go." She looked up at him, steeling herself against the flutter in her stomach, in her heart.

"I'm not trying to get my way, Lillian. I'm trying to apologize."

"Yeah, well, it's not like what I want matters anyway," she retorted, feeling like a spiteful bitch as soon as the words flew from her mouth.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I don't, Tristan!" she cried, frustrated. "You won't talk to me. You're allowed to worry about me, but I'm not allowed to worry about you? Do you know how ridiculous that is? I'm not the one at risk of doing something rash and getting myself killed."

He blinked. "You really think I'm going to do something stupid and get myself killed?"

"Aren't you?" she challenged him.

He didn't say anything.

"I'm going to bed, Tristan."

"Motherfucker," he swore, reaching out to grab her again. Before she could comprehend how she'd gotten there, he'd pressed her to the wall, his mouth inches from hers. "I'm not trying to shut you out, Lillian. And I'm damn sure not about to do something to get myself killed and leave you in the middle of this by yourself. I'm trying to do my fucking job," he growled. "You think I wanted to leave you here tonight?"

She didn't say anything. She couldn't say anything. He was pressed so close, all she could feel was him, all she could think about was him. That he was here and safe and the last three hours had been hell. That he owned her heart and soul, and that everything else – anger and worry and hurt feelings – were insignificant compared to that truth.

"The entire time I was gone, I wanted to be back here. I wanted you naked beneath me, screaming my name. I wanted my arms around you while you slept. I wanted you blushing for me and your heart racing because of me. Instead I was at the morgue trying to figure out how to keep you safe from a bunch of twisted fucking psychos who murdered another fucking teenager. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I'm sorry I worried you. But I'm not sorry for doing what I have to do to keep you safe."

His honesty hit her as hard as his earlier dismissals had. The angry glint in his eyes, the way his breath rasped across her face, and the rise and fall of his chest above hers shook loose something inside of her. That greedy part of her who wanted more from him.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Lillian," he continued. "That's my priority. Not whether doing so hurt your feelings, though I'm fucking sorry it did."

"You just left, Tristan. I didn't know if you were okay, or where you were, or what you were doing. And you couldn't even send a text to tell me you were alive. Do you have any idea what that feels like?" A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Please don't cry," he breathed, reaching up to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. He kept his hand on her face, cradling her cheek as he stared into her eyes, his expression no less fierce, but ten times more regretful. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"But you did, Tristan. I get that you're going to do what you have to do regardless of what I want, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about you, because I do. Don't you get that? I worry about you, too."

He frowned before shaking his head, though whether in denial or confusion, she didn't know.

"I can't breathe when I think about you getting hurt. I can't think. I can't move. I can't…." She shook her head, not sure how to explain the way it felt to think about him dying.

"Beautiful-"

"I need to know you're safe, Tristan. Do you not understand that? I
need
you to be okay." So much that it scared her. It wasn't supposed to be like this, so fast, and so much. But for her, it was. Fast, intense, exactly as consuming as she'd always known it would be with him. And it was far, far too late for her to protect her heart now.

"Lillian-"

Whatever he meant to say got lost as she tangled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him into her, her mouth seeking his. She needed to make him understand. Maybe she didn't know how it felt to visit people in morgues and never forget their faces. But she knew what it felt like to feel helpless. She knew what it felt like to feel responsible. She felt all of those things. Not because she had to or because it was her job, but because it was
his
job. Because it was the burden he carried. And he didn't have to carry it alone. He hadn't carried it alone since the moment she agreed to help him with this. And he needed to recognize that. To realize that he wasn't alone because she loved him.