Beloved Sacrifice: Trinity Masters, book 9

by Mari Carr

  At first, she lay still beneath them, and Marek realized years of training wouldn’t be washed away in just one night. Rose had obviously been trained to accept her master’s bidding quietly, without moving.

  Marek lifted his head at the same time Weston did.

  It was apparent he’d come to the same realization when Weston asked, “Do you like this, Rose?”

  His question startled her. “Yes. Of course. God. So much.”

  Weston grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “You know, you don’t have to be quiet. Move around if you want, scream at us to do stuff better, make a few dirty demands.”

  “Dirty demands?” Rose asked, as Marek spotted the laugh lines by her eyes for the first time.

  “Oh yeah,” Weston said. “The dirtier the better. You’ve got two guys in your bed, ready to fulfill your every desire. What do you want?”

  Rose glanced at Marek mischievously. “I want the two of you to fuck me, but Marek took that off the table.”

  Marek winked at her as he said, “Language, Rose.”

  The three of them laughed loudly, and the heaviness of the moment was washed away in unexpected, unrestrained humor. Weston rolled to his back, the mattress shaking under him as he shook with laughter. Rose had to wipe her eyes when she lost the battle to stop giggling. Marek felt the same mirth, the same joy, and it occurred to him that the two of them were far too serious.

  Actually, scratch that.

  The three of them were. While Marek thought he had a good sense of humor, he realized he didn’t laugh all that often. Usually because there wasn’t much to smile about in his line of work.

  It took several minutes for the three of them to manage to get their laughter under control. One would start again and the other two would join in. When they finally got a grip on themselves, they were lying beside each other, Rose on her back, Weston and Marek once more on their sides, facing her and each other. Weston idly stroked her stomach, while Marek held her hand.

  “I can’t remember the last time I laughed in bed,” Rose admitted. “Isn’t that sad?”

  “I can’t either, Brown Eyes,” Weston confided.

  A silence fell, but it wasn’t an awkward one. For Marek, it felt natural to simply lie in bed with Rose and Weston with no expectation or need for more. He was content with their company. Happy to be close to them.

  Initially, he’d believed they were two broken souls, and yet, he realized now that wasn’t true. In some strange, unexplainable way, he’d begun to view them as indomitable, kindred spirits. Rose and Weston had dedicated their lives to protecting others—Tabitha, Caden, each other, and even the Trinity Masters. They’d seen a wrong and they had sacrificed everything in their attempts to stop the corruption, the evil.

  They’d spent a lifetime being beaten and abused and yet they never gave up. They both thought they had, but their presence here proved that beneath all the pain, there remained a thread of hope.

  It was enough.

  Marek reached down to touch Rose intimately again. Her legs fell apart and her soft intake of breath told him she was close.

  “I would very much like to see you come, my lovely Rose.”

  “Just me?”

  Weston kissed her on the cheek, then his lips drifted lower, to her neck. She craned it, her eyes closing in obvious bliss.

  Marek slid two fingers inside her heat. “Just you. This time.”

  He moved them slowly at first, but Rose had taken Weston’s invitation to make a few demands to heart.

  “Faster,” she said, breathlessly.

  He complied. Weston had shifted lower, had taken one of her breasts in his hands. He was sucking on it, teasing the nipple with his teeth. For a second, Marek was concerned Weston was hurting her, but when Rose closed her fist in the other man’s hair and said “harder,” he understood. Rose’s pleasure had always come with pain. It would take far more than one night to change that, to show her there was just as much delight to be found in gentleness.

  Her hips rose to meet him as he pressed in, her motions attempting to set the pace. He let her do it, let her take what she wanted, how she wanted it.

  Her inner muscles clenched.

  “That’s it, Rose. Take what you want. Get what you deserve.”

  Weston raised his head as Marek spoke, shifting to a half-seated position. He reached out and, for a moment, Marek thought he intended to take over.

  Marek didn’t want to give way. He wanted to feel it when her pleasure crashed down on her.

  Instead, Weston gripped his wrist, halting his movement. With his free hand, he tugged Marek’s face to his, giving him another of those hard, powerful kisses.

  “Together,” Weston murmured.

  Marek removed his hand, both of them grinning at Rose’s loud complaint.

  “What the fuck? Don’t stop!”

  Marek opened his mouth, but she narrowed her eyes. “And don’t you dare give me shit for my language, Captain America.”

  He chuckled briefly at the nickname. He would have to make certain Rose never used it in his grandmother’s presence or she would throw a fit.

  When Marek pressed inside her again, it was with just one finger. Weston’s hand rested on top of his as he slid a finger into her as well.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed out, her neck arching, her face lifting as he and Weston worked together to push her over that cliff.

  When she came—loudly and with no reservations—Weston leaned forward to kiss him. As her orgasm passed, they slowly withdrew their fingers, dropping down to lie next to her in the bed.

  Rose tried again to touch them, intent on giving back what she’d just received. Marek lifted her hand before it reached its destination, kissing her knuckles.

  Glancing toward the digital clock, Marek shook his head. “We don’t have time for more, Rose. All of us need to get some sleep if we hope to find success tomorrow.”

  “Success?” Rose asked.

  “Yeah. Our time in England is about to expire. Weston?” Marek asked, acknowledging the other man’s leadership. “How do we bring down these purists?”

  Weston sighed. “We have to convince Tristan to take us to Dorset tomorrow. The answers, the proof we need, it’s all there. I can feel it.”

  “And once you find it?”

  Weston looked at Rose. “We go home.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Weston woke before the others. He usually slept with a pillow under his right knee, but hadn’t last night, and a dull throbbing in the joint intruded into what was otherwise one of the best nights of sleep he’d had in a while.

  He eased Rose’s head off his shoulder and slipped out of bed. She rolled, one hand sliding across the sheets where his body had been. A faint line appeared between her eyebrows. He grabbed a pillow and flipped it ninety degrees, tucking it under the blankets where he’d just been. Rose pulled it close and rested her head on the corner, the frown line between her brows evening out. Behind her, Marek shifted in his sleep, smoothing one hand down her back under the covers.

  Weston held still until they’d settled back into sleep and then slid out of the room, snatching up his pants as he went. The upper floor of the house was murky, with only a tiny bit of light leaking in from around the heavy blackout drapes covering the window at the top of the stairs.

  He went to the bathroom, using the toilet then jumping into the shower for less than two minutes. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he faced himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different, which was surprising. After last night, everything had changed.

  Weston pulled down his right eyelid and slid a finger under the bottom of his prosthetic, removing it from his eye socket. He blinked, his eyelid sliding over the orbital implant that had replaced his eyeball.

  Turning on the tap, he waited until the water got warm and then gently cleaned the prosthetic with his fingers. The prosthetic was a good one—custom made to look like his other eye—but the implant was a cheaper one. There were newer
-style implants, ones that allowed the ocular muscles to grow and attach to the implant, which would make the prosthetic move in sync with his good eye. The biggest giveaway that he had only one functional eye was that his false one didn’t move.

  Five years ago, he’d had his original prosthetic replaced, and the ocularist had talked to him about changing out the implant—upgrading to something that would look and maybe even feel more natural.

  He’d declined. The surgery would be expensive and he’d have to take time away from his work to recover. He hadn’t been willing to spend the money or time on himself.

  Maybe…maybe if they made it through this, he’d get one of the newer implants. It was time for a new prosthetic too—the damned things only lasted five or six years.

  Weston pulled his eyelids apart and tipped his head back, sliding the clean, lubricated prosthetic into place. He blinked a few times, then dried his face and pulled on his pants.

  Naked except for the pants, he left the bathroom and went in search of Tristan.

  Weston had to pause at the top of the stairs. One eye meant basically no depth perception and shit night vision. He had to rely on his brain to compensate for the lack, and it was always better to take his time with something like stairs.

  By the time he was at the bottom, Tristan was there, sword in hand.

  “Knight,” Weston said coldly.

  Tristan sighed. “This is a right fucking mess, Anderson.”

  “You are not making it any less messy.”

  Tristan turned on a heel, heading down the hall toward the back door, where they’d entered last night. Weston followed.

  Bright sunlight spilled in the kitchen window, and Weston had to blink to adjust to the brightness. Tristan’s phone lay on the small eat-in table, beside a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea so dark in color it resembled coffee.

  Weston fought to unclench his jaw as Tristan set a bowl and spoon at one of the empty chairs. Weston sat and a mug of hot tea appeared before him, carefully placed within his line of sight.

  Weston stared at the bowl. “So we’re pretending yesterday didn’t happen?”

  “Not an option. I meant everything I said. But I’m not a damned animal. Have some tea.” Tristan pushed a little jug of milk toward him.

  Weston poured milk first into his tea, then over his cereal. He dug into it with gusto. He was hungry—Marek had brought food for them last night, but after what he’d learned, he hadn’t been able to eat anything. Instead he’d been hungry for something very different—hungry for her touch. And for Marek’s touch.

  Tristan spooned up some food, chewing methodically, then set his utensil down before speaking. “I meant what I said, Wes.”

  “Which part?” Weston asked carefully.

  “All of it. You have to be gone in three days. Closer to two days now.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “Outside the Admiralty’s territory.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  Tristan’s words were firm, but his eyes were pinched with what might have been sorrow. “I can and I will. Your identification is all false, and it wouldn’t take much to make that known.”

  Weston gritted his teeth. “If you yank my passport, I can’t leave.”

  “If it comes to that, we’ll rendition you to an outside facility.”

  “Rendition? For fuck’s sake, Tristan!”

  “I don’t want that, Wes. But you crossed a line, and I have no choice.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry about the guns, but—”

  “It’s not just the guns. If I’m not mistaken, you were holding Marek Lee prisoner.”

  Weston absorbed that, then said, “He told us about his grandparents. They’re members.”

  “I doubt he told you that his grandmother is, even now, an incredibly dangerous, powerful woman. She’s the one who alerted us to the situation.”

  “He came to take Rose back to the Trinity Masters. That would be a death sentence.”

  “How did Rose get here?”

  Weston grimaced. “I, uh, evacuated her from Boston.”

  “Evacuated?”

  “Tristan, you know…you know more about my past than anyone.” Weston sighed. “I’m going to tell you everything.”

  Tristan laid his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “As your friend, I want you to tell me. But you have to know it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Damn it, Tristian, I need—”

  “I’m sorry, Wes. You have two days, and then the Admiralty will revoke your sanctuary.”

  “What about you? You said I had twelve hours to convince you.”

  “My superior wanted to revoke sanctuary after twelve hours. I got her to compromise. I bought you some extra days. That was the best I could do.”

  Weston pushed away his half-eaten bowl of cereal. His appetite was gone. “Thanks.”

  Weston’s mind whirled. Two days. He had only a little over two days. Time wasn’t on his side, and hadn’t been from the moment he’d dropped everything to chase after Rose. The urge to slug Tristan, grab the car keys, and head for Dorset was pressing down on him. His bloodstream was tainted with adrenaline in response to the shot clock.

  Be smart. Tell Tristan what’s going on.

  “You’ve been my friend, a good friend, for a long time,” Weston said.

  Tristan looked down at his tea. “I’m still your friend, Wes, but duty comes first.”

  For Tristan Knight, duty was everything, and Weston knew that.

  Weston took a moment to figure out what to say before speaking. “My brother is dead.”

  That made Tristan look up. “When? How?”

  Weston quickly told the other man about what he knew, finishing with, “And I was…I was wrong about a lot of things.”

  “What things?”

  “Rose and Caden, they weren’t…they weren’t together because they loved each other. She didn’t love him.” Weston’s throat tightened. “She’s been living in hell for twelve damn years while I sat around in my nice little cottage acting like a noble dick.”

  Tristan took a sip of tea and stared innocently at the wall. “I.”

  “Don’t,” Weston growled.

  “Told.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “You.”

  Weston made a disgusted noise and got up, rinsing out his bowl.

  “So,” Tristan finished.

  “Told him so what?” Rose asked.

  She and Marek were in the doorway. Rose once more wore the long white negligee. Marek wore his pants and tank top. His feet were bare. Weston felt his cheeks heat a bit as he looked at them.

  Tristan looked between the three of them. “Ah, for fuck’s sake, Anderson, only you could manage to take a shit situation and end up getting a damned threesome out of it.”

  Rose tipped her head to the side, regarding Tristan. “You’re pretty enough. So, either you’re a complete ass or you have a small dick.”

  Tristan choked on a mouthful of tea and Marek snickered. Weston doubled over laughing.

  “Fuck you, Anderson,” Tristan said.

  “Don’t worry. We will,” Rose purred.

  Marek couldn’t hold it back anymore and started laughing.

  “I seem to be losing control of this situation,” Knight said grimly.

  “What is this situation?” Rose crossed the room and paused by the chair. She raised her brow, and all three of them jumped to pull out her chair. Tristan was closest and got there first.

  “Tea, please,” she told Knight.

  Tristan poured her a cup from the pot he’d made. He may have grown up in a bad part of London, but the Masters’ Admiralty had drilled manners into him, turning him into a man worthy of the name Knight.

  Weston only knew this because he and Tristan had been friends for over a decade. Tristan had quite literally saved him.

  And now that friendship was coming to an end. They may be bantering now, but this was just a reprieve, and Weston wasn’t dumb
enough to think otherwise. No matter how much he wanted to.

  Marek got himself a cup of tea and leaned against the wall, while Weston leaned against the sink. Tristan immediately stood, backing up until he leaned against the far wall, in a position where he could see all of them.

  He rested the heel of his left hand on the pommel of his short sword, which was belted to his right hip.

  The moment of mirth faded into memory and tension filled the small kitchen.

  “What is the situation?” Rose asked again, but her voice was quiet.

  “Weston has convinced me that he should get the full three days to put his affairs in order.” Tristan’s tone was a bit deeper than it had been, formal. “Mr. Lee, you are free to leave.”

  “I’m staying with them,” Marek said.

  Rose twisted in her chair to look at him, and Weston was both surprised and relieved.

  “I can’t tell you to leave when the time is up, but I suggest that if you want to remain in England when this is done, you go visit your grandparents.”

  Translation: when this is over, either leave or find someone to protect you.

  “I need to go to Dorset,” Weston said. “There’s information there that I need.”

  Marek frowned in confusion, but Rose nodded, as did Tristan.

  Tristan knew that, along with identifying the members of the purists, Weston was looking for something he could use against them. One of the reasons the Admiralty had given him sanctuary was so he could look into the unsavory group. He’d promised to tell the Admiralty if he found evidence that the Grand Master was a purist. Weston had never been sure what they would do if he told them that the leadership of the Trinity Masters had been tainted.

  Tristan didn’t know that Weston now suspected the purists had stolen something from the Admiralty, and built their wealth and power by taking advantage of the hideous tragedy of the Second World War.

  Rose met his eyes, and Weston gave the barest shake of his head, hoping she understood that she couldn’t repeat what he’d told her yesterday.

  “You only have two days, Wes. Let me help you liquidate your accounts, move things around.”

  “No, Dorset first.”

  “Why do you have to liquidate your accounts?” Marek asked.