Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  Had he hurt her practically dragging her across the street like he had? Christ, what if he had?

  The thought made him sick.

  You really are a prick, he cursed himself.

  "She's in the system because of her partner," Jason snapped. "He's the one S.P.D. investigated, not her. Had you done as I asked and stayed away from her until we had the entire story, Jackson could have told you that, but you didn't. You didn't even bother to confirm anything. You just fucking reacted!"

  Tristan opened his mouth to defend himself, and then closed it without speaking.

  Jason was right. After visiting the morgue, and thinking Lillian's bosses had killed that girl while Lillian kept him occupied, he'd been furious. He hadn't been thinking about anything but the dead teenager in Marita's freezer, and making Lillian rue the day she'd met him.

  Nothing he said to her now would make up for his behavior, but he owed her an apology. She deserved that much from him.

  He tossed the file onto Jason's desk and stood.

  "Sit your ass back down and don't even think about it," Jason barked, glaring at him.

  "I've got to go." Tristan brushed him off and strode toward the door.

  "Don't fucking push me, Tristan. You'll regret it."

  Tristan swung around to face Jason. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "That means exactly what it sounds like. This girl has you so messed up, you can't see straight. You need to stay the hell away from her. Push me on this and I'll suspend you. Attempt to see her and I'll fire you. You're lucky she didn't press charges for the shit you pulled tonight. You will not go near her again."

  "Don't, Jason," Tristan warned his friend, though he didn't know what he warned against. Threatening him? Demanding he stay away from Lillian? Reminding him that he had no right to speak to her again? All three infuriated him. Jason wasn't his fucking keeper.

  "Read the fucking file." Jason snatched it off the desk where Tristan had set it, and flung it at him. "Her dance partner attacked her in the middle of a performance. He went on stage high, and damn near killed her."

  Tristan ripped open the file and scanned the article he'd ignored earlier.

  Lillian Maddox of the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company was rushed to the University of Washington Medical Center after dance partner and rumored boyfriend, Marc Rivera, attacked her in front of a horrified audience during a live performance of Cinderella last night. According to hospital personnel, upon arrival, Maddox was rushed to surgery with a compound fracture to her leg and a serious concussion.

  Rivera was arrested at the scene. Sources claim Rivera has been secretly battling a heroin addiction for the last year, which may have played a role in the attack on Maddox. Seattle P.D. has refused to comment on the case, citing the ongoing investigation.

  Maddox shot to stardom in 2010 when she debuted as a soloist with Pacific Northwest at age eighteen. Less than a year later, Pacific Northwest announced Maddox's rise to principal. Several companies throughout the world have tried to woo Maddox away to no avail, with Maddox stating the renowned Seattle based Company is home for her.

  Whether she will be able to continue her reign as the star of the Company is unclear. The University's chief surgeon, Dr. Dale Oliver, refused to speculate on Miss Maddox's future, stating only that Miss Maddox remains in critical condition. He deferred all other questions to Kelli Zimmerman, spokesperson for the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company.

  Fucking hell. He'd had accused her of deserving that.

  "I have to see her," he muttered, tossing the file back on the desk.

  "No, you don't," Jason said. "I can't afford to lose you right now, and Davis is going to go ballistic when he hears about this. Keeping you on the case will be hard enough without you making it worse now."

  "Jase, dammit-" Tristan stopped, frustrated because his friend was right. Davis had been itching to pull him out of undercover operations for the last year. The only reason he hadn't was because Tristan was too damn valuable. Given a reason, he'd reassign him in a heartbeat, and that couldn't happen. He needed to see this case through. He owed justice to Elizabeth James and the other seven victims.

  Which meant he had to stay away from Lillian, no matter how much she deserved an apology or how badly he wanted to make things right with her. If he tried, Jason would fire him. Tristan didn't doubt that for an instant. He'd gone too far this time. Way too fucking far.

  Defeat and shame coursed through him in tandem, filling him with self-loathing and regret. "You'll get her out of there?" he asked, sinking back down into the chair across from Jason.

  "Yeah, I will."

  "Tell her I'm sorry, Jase. Fuck, I didn't know."

  "I will, man," Jason promised.

  Tristan took a deep breath, and then blew it out. "I'll stay away from her," he said, his voice full of reluctance and regret.

  "I don't need to see a doctor," Lillian said for what felt like the thousandth time, wishing for her own soft mattress instead of the hard hospital bed beneath her. "My leg is fine," she added when Jennie just looked at her from the doctor's stool where she sat.

  Her leg was fine. Mostly. It still ached, but not anywhere near as badly as her head did. The pounding there showed no signs of relenting anytime soon. In fact, every time she thought about Tristan, her headache grew by leaps and bounds. What right did he have to accuse her of anything?

  He was a federal agent, for God's sake! And he'd practically slept with her on the dance floor in the middle of an investigation. Maybe she was an idiot for meeting him at the club, but at least she hadn't risked his safety and then castigated him for his role in their interlude.

  She wanted to strangle him.

  "Does it still hurt?" Jennie asked, her eyes on Lillian's leg.

  "Not so much," she said, noticing for the first time how she massaged the muscles. She leaned back onto the lumpy pillow, frowning. "I shouldn't have tried to twist like that."

  "I'm sorry." Jen shot her a sympathetic frown.

  "Me too," she sighed.

  "You know he's still in rehab." Jen slid the hair-tie from her hair and redid the messy bun, not looking at Lillian.

  "I know."

  She would never dance again. She might not ever walk without a painful limp. And Marc had been sentenced to six months in a rehab program. It wasn’t fair, but Lillian tried not to think about that injustice. When she did, she just hated Marc more. And hating him wouldn't make her feel any better or bring back the life he'd stolen from her.

  Sometimes, when she tried really hard, she actually believed that.

  "What happened with this Tristan guy, Lily?" Jen asked. "Was he the one you ran into at the restaurant yesterday?"

  Lillian bit her lip, and then nodded. She should have known Jen hadn't bought her explanation when she'd returned to the table with swollen lips and her face flushed. "I met him at Teplo and things got… physical." Her cheeks burned. "And then he confronted me tonight, demanding to know who hired me, and if they paid me li-like some sort of prostitute! I feel so stupid."

  "You aren't stupid."

  "Aren't I?" Lillian blew out a breath, tears of frustration welling in her eyes when she turned to look at Jennie. "I had to find out from a complete stranger that the guy I let do things to me in the middle of a club is a DEA agent. I didn't even know his last name, and I almost slept with him."

  "Why did you?" Jennie asked, not prying for more information into what she meant by things. "I mean, I've known you a long time, and you don't do things like that. Why was he different?"

  Wasn't that the million dollar question?

  "I don't know," Lillian said, unsure where to begin. "It's like I didn't care where we were. I wanted him and that's all that mattered at the time. No," she sighed as soon as the words left her lips. "That's not really true either."

  Jennie said nothing, letting Lillian work it out for herself.

  "My entire life, I've danced," she said carefully. "And then all the sudden, that was gone. Ev
erything I worked so hard for, everything I dreamed about my entire life, just vanished, and there was nothing I could do about it." A tear slipped down her cheek. "But with Tristan, for just a little while, I got to remember what being alive felt like. I got to let go and just live in the moment. I didn't have to worry about anything. For once since Marc attacked me, I didn't hurt. I got to dance again. I just wanted – I don't know what I wanted."

  She'd liked the way Tristan had made her feel. The look in his eye when he'd touched her and the warmth of his breath rasping at her ear made her ache in the best way possible. The way the beat of the music seemed to rattle in her chest shook something loose, that wanton woman she'd only just discovered. Tristan made her feel so out of control and so safe at the same time. Hell, she'd even liked coming apart for him in the middle of the dance floor. She didn't have to think or remember when she was with Tristan. For once, she got to be free.

  Was that so wrong?

  "It was stupid," she whispered.

  Jen climbed onto the bed before wrapping an arm around her. Lillian rested her head against Jen's. For a long moment, the two sat side by side like they used to do, not speaking as someone paged Dr. Blue to the ICU.

  And then, "I won't even pretend to know how you feel," Jen said, "because I don't. You lost so much because of Marc. You're allowed to want it back. You're allowed to be confused and make mistakes while you try to figure it out. That doesn't make you stupid or a bad person."

  "That's the thing," Lillian whispered, swiping at the tear trickling down her cheek. "I'm so mad at Tristan right now, and I feel so stupid, but I'm not sorry for what we did. I can't convince myself that I wouldn't do it again if I had it to do all over." What did that say about her? That, despite everything, she still liked the way he'd made her feel? That, even though she wanted to strangle him, part of her still wanted his hands on her body?

  "You like him," Jennie guessed.

  Lillian nodded miserably, unable to lie to herself or to Jennie.

  "What are you going to do?"

  What could she do? She had liked him, but she didn't even know him. And she wouldn't forgive him for what he'd said to her either. She wasn't that weak and pathetic.

  "I guess I forget about him."

  "Maybe," Jen said, doubt lingering in her tone.

  Someone tapped on the door and then swung it open. A nurse came in, followed by a tall, crew-cut blond man with DEA emblazoned across his dark t-shirt, a Glock holstered at his hip, and a federal badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

  Lillian sat up a little straighter in the bed.

  "Miss Maddox, this is Special Agent Jason Ames," the nurse said, a speculative gleam in her dark eyes. "He'd like to speak with you, if that's okay?"

  "You work with Tristan?" Lillian asked Agent Ames.

  "I do."

  Jen rose from the bed to reclaim her seat on the doctor's stool.

  Agent Ames stood quietly, waiting for Lillian to make up her mind on whether she wanted to speak with him. She took the opportunity to look him over, her traitorous mind picking out the differences between him and Tristan instantly. Like Tristan, Agent Ames was gorgeous with his chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, and muscular frame, but Tristan radiated confidence and danger, an almost feline and feral grace.

  Agent Ames looked as if he could be just as dangerous, but the vibe he gave off was different than the protective, alpha-male vibe that swirled around Tristan. Lillian knew for a fact that emotion and instinct guided Tristan. Agent Ames, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of guy capable of setting feelings aside in favor of cold, hard logic. He was a hard-ass, and was completely comfortable with that fact.

  What did he want with her?

  "I'll talk to him," she decided, and then waited for the nurse to leave the room. When the door closed behind her, Lillian crossed her arms over her chest, watching Ames. "What do you want, Agent Ames?"

  "Please call me Jason." He stepped a little further into the small examination room and then leaned against the wall. "I'd like to extend an apology to you for Agent Riley's behavior tonight."

  Seriously?

  "I'm sure he's very sorry." Lillian rolled her eyes, irritated all over again. "He had to send someone else to apologize. That just reeks of sincerity, don't you think?"

  Jen snickered and then slapped her hand over her mouth, coughing.

  "I can assure you, Miss Maddox," Jason said, his posture stiffening, "Agent Riley would issue an apology himself if he could. As his superior and friend, he asked me to come in his stead."

  "If he could?" Lillian arched a brow, scoffing. "I find it hard to believe he's physically incapable of coming to make his own damn apology considering he kicked in my door three hours ago."

  Jason's facial expression didn't change, but Lillian noticed the way his pupils dilated. For the briefest of moments, guilt flickered in his green eyes.

  Realization dawned.

  "You wouldn't let him come," she said, resting on the lumpy hospital pillow again. "Why?"

  Jason cleared his throat, his expression hardening. "As I'm sure you're aware, I'm not able to discuss an open investigation with you."

  So Tristan was investigating Teplo.

  Lillian should have left it alone, but she knew as well as Jason did that whatever kept Tristan from making his apology in person had nothing to do with the investigation and everything to do with him being a coward. That wasn't Jason's fault, but he was here and Tristan wasn't. And unless she missed her guess, she'd only warranted a visit from anyone because they'd figured out who she was, or because they'd realized she was the daughter of a former cop. Knowing that didn't improve her mood, which meant she wasn't going to leave it alone. Not tonight.

  "I assume you've informed Tristan that, contrary to his glowing opinion of me, I'm not the Vetrov family's whore?" she asked, glaring daggers at Jason Ames. "Or is there still some question as to whether or not I sell myself for them?"

  Jason actually flinched this time. "He's fully aware of who you are, Miss Maddox."

  Sometimes, she hated being right. "Ah, so now that he knows who my father is, he's decided I'm not a good distraction but a heartless bitch?" she asked, tossing Tristan's last words to her out there. "I'm so glad my dad was able to clear that up for him."

  The uncomfortable look on Jason's face only served to enrage her further. She wasn't stupid. Tristan had used her. Probably from the minute he'd approached her, he'd used her to cover his own tracks. If he'd looked like another partier, no one would question his presence there. She'd been exactly what he'd called her: a good distraction. But Jason Ames was as big a coward as Tristan. He didn't want to take responsibility for Tristan's actions any more than Tristan did. They were just terrified she'd run to her daddy and spill every detail.

  Bastards.

  "Miss Maddox-"

  "I get it, alright?" she snapped. "Tristan's allowed to come around when he's using me to save his own ass, but any relationship beyond that isn't acceptable to the DEA. You've apologized, so now you can run and tell Tristan he can continue on his merry way with a clear conscience. And no, I won't involve my father. That is why you're really here, right?" She arched a brow again, daring him to deny the truth.

  He didn't, of course. He couldn't.

  "Please also tell Tristan to go screw himself," she muttered, forcing back the tears threatening to fall. She didn't want this man to see how much it bothered her to hear that Tristan had used her. And she damn sure wouldn't let him see her cry.

  "Miss Maddox, I think-"

  "Frankly, Agent Ames, I don't give a shit what you think. Please get out of my room. I have nothing further to say to you." She turned her face away, ending the conversation.

  Or it would have ended the conversation if Jason had taken the hint and left, but he didn't.

  "I understand you're angry, and I'm sorry about the way you've been treated, but for your own safety, I strongly advise that you find alternative accommodations for the next few day
s." He didn't even try to deny that Tristan had used her. He simply warned her to stay the hell out of their way.

  "Fine," she snapped, staring at the wall as tears blurred her vision. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry until the door clicked closed. When it did, she sniffled.

  "Lily?" Jen said.

  The bed shifted.

  "I'm fine." Tears rolled down her cheeks, giving away the lie. After everything she'd endured tonight, finding out how insignificant she was to Tristan hurt a whole lot more than it should have.

  Chapter Eight

  Sweat dripped from Tristan's back, running in rivulets down the lean muscle. Music blared from speakers scattered throughout the room, Hollywood Undead filling the penthouse with angry pulses of bass. His eyes watered from the jarring onslaught, but he ignored it, gliding from stance to stance and form to form across the plush white carpeting beneath his feet. Every movement was a blur, a controlled dance. Each one lethal. Precise.

  He worked through the kata twice, three times, and then a fourth, his momentum never slowing. He shifted from one fighting stance to another, first on the balls of his feet and then spinning, his foot slicing through the air. He ducked, rolled, and came up again. The nunchaku whirred in his hands through each practiced move, the whistling of the weapon muted beneath the shattering beats that shook the walls and rattled panes of clear glass all across the room.

  His eyes blazed and his chest heaved from exertion as he worked his way across the massive room. Desperation tinged each move he made, driving him onward. He worked through the forms in search of peace that eluded him. Acceptance hadn't come in eight long days, but he didn't stop fighting for it.

  Hollywood Undead gave way to Avenged Sevenfold.

  His breathing turned to harsh, jagged pants, and sweat soaked his pants. Still he moved through one form after another, trying to silence the clamor of his mind for once.

  It didn't work, of course.

  No matter how many times he ran through the kata or how loud the music thumped in his skull, memory still plagued him. The biting edge of guilt drove him toward physical exertion and some kind of release from the endless scenarios, frustration, and recriminations battering at him. From Lillian's stricken, tear-filled gaze.