Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  Sweet Jesus.

  She didn't know much about the drug war, but she'd danced in Mexico City once, and the safety precautions they'd taken had been insane. Armed bodyguards had accompanied them everywhere. They'd been bussed around in armored vehicles, forbidden from leaving the small section of the city housing the Palacio de Bellas Artes where they'd performed. One of the bodyguards assigned to her had talked a little about what was happening in Mexico. Thousands were dead. Tens of thousands, most ruthlessly murdered for no reason. Entire families simply disappeared, never to be heard from again.

  The thought of such a thing happening to Tristan horrified her.

  She took a deep breath and blew it out, determined to focus on one issue at a time. And the way her heart seemed stuck in her throat at the thought of something happening to her or the DEA agent sitting beside her? Well, she could deal with that later. She had to, because right now, she really could not think about why she wasn't fleeing for safety. Not and stay sane anyway.

  She slid away from Tristan, needing physical distance to help her focus on what was most important at the moment. "When are we going to test the eye drops?"

  He watched her for a long, silent moment before rising to reclaim his seat across the table. "We're going to Trinity tonight," he said then.

  "The nightclub?" She picked up her fork… already missing the warm heat of his body so close to hers.

  "Yeah. If you can handle the lights there, Teplo will be a piece of cake for you."

  She lost her grip on the fork, causing it to clatter noisily against her plate.

  "Shit," he cursed, wincing. "I'm sorry. That was-"

  "I'm fine," she lied, trying to ignore the way her stomach bottomed out at his words. They both knew nothing about this would be a piece of cake. Even if the drops didn't blind her, going back to Teplo now would be like walking through the Ninth Circle of hell, naked.

  Tristan grunted, his fork hovering inches from his untouched plate.

  "W-what do I need to know?"

  "We think Paulo Vetrov has gone to Francisco for help moving the product internationally," he said quietly. Information about street gangs, shipping points, drug routes, and drug names rolled easily from his tongue and lodged somewhere in her brain.

  He dealt with this kind of stuff every day?

  Jesus, she couldn't imagine living this reality day in and day out.

  "You okay, beautiful?" he stopped to ask when she gaped at him, feeling a little like she might pass out.

  "I'm-" She cleared her throat. "Yeah, fine."

  "You're shaking," he murmured, his eyes doing that protective, worried thing that made her melt and ache at the same time. The way he looked at her... Christ, she wanted to wrap herself around him and stay there when he looked at her like she was the only thing he saw. "We can-"

  "Tristan, I'm fine. Please don't ask me to back out again. I can't do that."

  He held her gaze for a minute. "I wish you would. It'd be safer."

  "Yeah, I know." She dropped her gaze to her plate, wishing he didn't want her to walk away so badly. She knew why he felt that way, but it stung to know that he kept her here only because he didn't feel like he had a choice. If he didn't need her help, he'd have walked away already. Of course that bothered her.

  As stupid as it probably made her, she wanted him to want her here. Not because he needed her help or because he didn't think he had a choice, but because he felt the same pull she did. The one that took her breath away every single time he touched any part of her.

  Tristan sighed, but said nothing further.

  Lillian picked up her fork.

  They ate quietly for a long moment, too tangled in awkward silence and frustration to pretend everything was okay. Lillian tried to focus on the problem at hand, but her thoughts refused to leave the dark-haired pain in the ass seated across the table. More often than not, she found herself thinking about him and the way he made her feel. The things he said and did to her.

  She didn't understand him. Probably never would. As soon as she thought she had a read on him, he flipped the script, leaving her completely off balance. A guy like Tristan… well, it'd be easy for a girl to fall for a guy like him. Problem was: guys like Tristan weren't there when the dust settled. They had their own demons to contend with, and those demons didn't just let go.

  "Fuck," he cursed, startling her out of her thoughts.

  She looked up from her plate to find him staring at her, his expression torn.

  Crap. What had he seen?

  "Lillian, I-"

  "Please don't," she whispered.

  "I need you to know-"

  "No, you don't." She met his gaze, pleading with him to let it go. Whatever he saw on her face, she didn't want to talk about it. Not now, when her nerves were raw and she felt shattered, as if the morning had broken little pieces of her. And not now, when he looked so freaking guilty, she wanted to curl herself around him until he forgot why he didn't want her to do this. "You really don't, Tristan."

  "Lillian-"

  "No."

  He snapped his mouth closed, gritted his teeth and then nodded. "Fine."

  "Fine," she echoed, setting her fork on her plate to hide the way her hands trembled.

  The weight of his gaze unnerved her. She felt as if he saw right through her; saw all the little insecurities stacked one atop the other until she was full to the brim. And she didn't want his pity or sympathy. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her, and she definitely didn't want to hear him say that he didn't want her the same way she wanted him. He wanted to fuck her, nothing more.

  "You're going to have to let me in someday," he said, pushing his plate away.

  He'd eaten just as little as she had.

  "Why? It wouldn't mean anything." She sought his gaze across the table, warm brown tangling with bright blue, trying to unravel the secrets he kept locked up tight. Like why it mattered to him whether she let him in or not. And why he looked at her sometimes as if he needed her more than air.

  "You're wrong," he said.

  "Am I?"

  Why couldn't he just let it go?

  "Yes."

  "Liar," she mouthed, pushing her plate away. "I'm a means to an end for you, Tristan. As soon as you get what you need across the street, you're done here. Back to the real world." And she'd still be here, trying to pick up the pieces of her already shattered life.

  Why make that any harder than it had to be?

  Tristan held her gaze for a long, tense minute, looking for all the world like he wanted to deny the truth. "You're right," he finally muttered, wiping his mouth and then tossing his napkin onto the table. "You're absolutely right."

  "Then it doesn't matter, does it?" She pushed her chair back from the table, needing to put distance between them before she said or did something she would regret.

  "That's exactly the fucking problem, beautiful," he said so softly she wasn't really sure he meant her to hear the words at all. "It matters more than it should."

  Yeah. She knew how that felt, but… "How I feel about you hasn't changed, Tristan," she said. "And I prefer to keep it that way. I'll help you because I said I would, but I don't want anything else from you. Not after what you did to me."

  Liar.

  God, she was such a liar.

  She wanted him to call her out on that lie, tell her that he knew what she wanted, and wasn't going to let her hide from it like a coward. She wanted him to tell her that he wanted the same thing she wanted, that she wasn't crazy, and they could give in and no one would get hurt.

  But he didn't.

  "Fine," he muttered, dashing that hope just as she'd known he would.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time early evening faded into night, Tristan felt wired, jittery, and desperate at the same time. Lillian hadn't emerged from her room all day, the closed door standing like a mountain between them. He tried to focus on the case, but spent more time staring at her door, trying to figure out how to apolog
ize for being a prick.

  The more he thought about what she'd said about being a toy to him, the worst he felt. She'd lied to him this morning, and he knew she had. That was his fault. He desperately wanted to fix things between them, tell her he was an idiot, and beg her to stop shutting him out. Another part of him wanted to beg her to keep shutting him out. Because when she stopped?

  God help them both.

  No one else had ever gotten under his skin like she had. No one else had ever mattered so much to him. When he invited a woman into his bed, they knew nothing more would come of it. He'd never before wanted anything to come of it. He didn't want to know about the things that haunted them, or their hopes and dreams and fears. He'd never cared if they trusted him or liked the person he was.

  Lillian was different. He wanted to protect her, know her. What she thought of him mattered to him. And the thought of walking away from her when all was said and done bothered him a whole hell of a lot more than he was prepared to deal with.

  She deserved so much more than he could offer her, but some part of him wanted to offer it to her anyway. What the fuck was he supposed to do about that?

  What could he do?

  He tapped on her door, feeling like a teenage boy waiting for his first date.

  The nervous pounding of his heart ratcheted up a notch when she opened the door.

  She wore some kind of halter that showed enough skin to make him salivate. It was pure black, and dipped low between her breasts, taunting him to follow the fall of the fabric with his mouth. Her white skirt ended about four inches above the knee and half an inch below her scar, somehow appearing innocent and indecent at once. The way she'd twisted her hair into a bun exposed the soft skin of her throat and the faint marks he'd left there. Little curls danced around her face, making those big, brown eyes seem so much wider and softer.

  Jesus.

  Waves of desire hit him like a fist. And like the Lillian junkie he'd become, the way that energized him was exactly the fix he needed. The hard knot of frustration in his stomach vanished. The way he felt ready to crawl out of his skin evaporated. For the first time in hours, he felt like he could breathe fully.

  What in the hell was she doing to him?

  "Hi," she murmured, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She didn't meet his gaze. Her bottom lip went between her teeth, momentarily biting into the fleshy pink before she caught herself.

  He cleared his throat, not sure what to say. "You ready?"

  "Yeah." She reached around the door and emerged with a tiny black bag clutched in her hands. "Ready."

  Tristan stepped aside, letting her lead the way into the kitchen. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, his eyes widening when she moved in front of him.

  She really was trying to kill him. Her top was held together with nothing more than thin strings around her neck and waist, revealing every creamy inch of her skin to his hungry gaze.

  If she heard his choked groan, she didn't react. She stopped beside the kitchen table, hesitated, and then picked up the two bottles of eye drops.

  With a determination borne out of sheer desperation, he instructed her on how to use the first set of drops, and then watched when she tilted her head back and did as instructed, dropping them into first one eye and then the other.

  Her hands were steady.

  His wouldn't have been. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want her to have to do this.

  "If those haven't caused you to dilate by the time we get to Trinity, we'll add the tropicamide," he said anyway, resolving not to let her out of his sight tonight.

  "Okay."

  Neither said anything else as he escorted her to the Rover. A thousand unspoken words hung in the awkward silence between them. He had a feeling anything he tried to say right then would end with more yelling and closed doors between them, so he kept his mouth shut and drove.

  She sat completely still beside him. Whenever he glanced over at her, he found her staring out the window, her expression smooth, unreadable.

  "Do you mind if I look through the case file tomorrow?" she blurted as they made the final turn onto Yesler Street twenty minutes later. "I want to make sure I remember their faces," she explained when he glanced at her, surprised by the question.

  "Ah, yeah. We'll go over it tomorrow," he promised.

  "Thanks."

  They both fell silent.

  "My eyes didn't dilate," she said, flipping the mirror open to take a look as he parked the car.

  He sighed and held out the other bottle for her. "Start with one drop in each eye."

  She took a deep breath and plucked the bottle from his hand.

  He had to curl his hands into fists around the steering wheel to keep from snatching it back.

  Heads turned in Lillian's direction as Tristan lead her toward the entrance of Trinity. The bastards eyed her up and down, leering at her. Their girlfriends narrowed their eyes at her, jealousy stamped across their made-up faces. Tristan glared, silently daring anyone to approach her. The mood he was in, he'd be more than happy to physically force them to back the hell off.

  One cocky blond bastard winked at her.

  She didn't even notice, but Tristan growled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets… though he wasn't sure if he meant to keep himself from going for the man's throat or keep himself from putting his hands all over Lillian. He wanted to kiss her like he had in Teplo. Everyone would know who she belonged to then.

  Christ, what was he thinking?

  She didn't belong to him.

  Bullshit.

  She did. Even if she didn't want to admit it, she'd been his for two weeks already… ever since she'd smiled up at him on the dance floor and set his world to spinning.

  He reached out and clamped his hand around her wrist, forcing her to halt. She met his gaze. Her eyes weren't dilated just yet but her pupils were wide and watery. Her bottom lip quivered like it had the first night he'd seen her at Teplo.

  "We can't do this," he said, shaking his head at the weary question in her eyes. "You can't go in there like this."

  "Tristan, it'll be fine." Her half-hearted smile wobbled and fell.

  "No, it won't."

  "You chose this," she reminded him.

  "Yeah, well, I shouldn't have. It's a bad plan."

  "It's the only plan we have."

  "Then we'll make another one." He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to demand she agree. He had no right to demand anything of her. And he highly doubted she'd let him tell her what to do anyway. Zoë had been right on that account. His courageous ballerina didn't take kindly to anyone telling her what she could and couldn't do, especially not him.

  She examined his face, her expression softening as if whatever she saw on his face gave her pause. And then she nodded. "Okay, we'll do it another way."

  Relief whispered through him, soothing places rubbed raw by the thought of sending her into Teplo vulnerable.

  She took a deep breath as they hovered on the fringes of the group awaiting entrance to the club. "I'm sorry about this morning," she blurted. "What I said wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't true." She took another deep breath. "I forgave you days ago, but you confuse the hell out of me sometimes, and that scares me. I don't know what you want from me, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry for that."

  "That isn't your fa-"

  "How I feel has changed, Tristan," she said, cutting him off.

  Oh, Christ.

  "Maybe it hasn't for you, but I like you and I can't keep-" she huffed, frustrated misery stamped across her face. She looked defeated. Completely fucking spent. "I can't keep fighting you every step of the way. It's exhausting. I don't know what you want from me, but I'm tired of fighting it. Just please don't…." she trailed off.

  "Shh." He reeled her in with one hand upon her wrist, unable to stop the buoyant hum setting up shop in his chest. It was something he'd never felt before. Something he didn't have a name for, but it felt good. Different. "Lillian, I-"

  "Tristan! Lov
e!"

  Lillian's head snapped up, her eyes scanning the crowd for the woman shouting his name.

  His gaze followed.

  "Oh, fuck me," slipped from his lips when he caught sight of the tall blonde weaving her way toward him in stilettos, a big smile on her face and her breasts spilling from her low cut top.

  Jayme Cordova.

  Son of a bitch!

  Lillian stiffened when she caught sight of Jayme, her arm falling from Tristan's slackened hold. Before Tristan could dodge Jayme or warn Lillian, the exuberant blonde descended on them like a freight train, pulling him into a tight hug. His arms went around her, trying to keep them both on their feet as she nearly bowled him over.

  "I haven't seen you in ages!" she cried.

  Her bright red lips landed on his mouth, kissing him hard before he had a chance to turn away. Lillian made an indistinguishable sound, but he couldn't see her around Jayme's mass of curled hair.

  "You haven't called me in weeks. Janet said you were busy, but damn!" She gave him a mock glare, her arms still around him. "You could call and say hello once in a while. I miss you."

  "Jayme," he murmured, trying to shake her loose. "I'd like you to meet-" He turned to introduce her to Lillian, but the beautiful ballerina no longer stood beside him. He scanned the crowd for her, but couldn't see her among the milling throng ahead.

  "Jayme, where did she go?" he demanded, cutting through her inane chatter.

  "The pretty brunette?" Jayme glanced around and shrugged. "She was here a second ago."

  Tristan wanted to ask why she'd decided to throw herself at him with Lillian standing right there, but didn't bother. Jayme had shitty timing, but she didn't mean any harm. She simply acted a good two minutes before she thought things through.

  "I have to find her," he said, focusing on the important issue.

  "She'll be fine, Tristan. This isn't one of your normal haunts. No naughty business here."

  Yeah, bullshit.

  "Her eyes are chemically dilated and she has a bad leg." And the way those bastards leered at her… She'd be surrounded by idiots pushing drinks and telephone numbers in her direction before she knew it. When the drops kicked in, she'd be blind. It'd take all of two seconds for some twisted motherfucker to shuffle her off into a corner or drop something into her drink.