Reborn

by Meredith Wild

  I shake off the disturbing visions as I park across from the fitness center, ready to intercept her as soon as her class ends. I can see Isabel through the window standing across from the man I recognize from yesterday. He’s gesturing as he speaks. Then he takes a step back and suddenly comes toward her in a series of offensive motions that have her flat on her back.

  I climb out of the car and get to the door in a matter of seconds. I swing it open just as he pulls her upright again.

  “You don’t have time to think through the moves,” the man says. “You have to feel it. Always be on the offensive. Always moving. That’s the retzev.” He pauses, noticing me. “Can I help you?”

  Isabel turns. Her face flushes a little more. “Tristan.” She walks toward me, leaving him behind. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I saw him slam you down, and I obviously came right in to kill him.”

  She poorly masks a grin, glancing back to the man and then to me. “That’s Noam. He’s just showing me some self-defense stuff. He thinks pissing me off is a good motivational tool.”

  I lock eyes with the man. His arms are crossed and his pectorals are puffed up. He’s gone from upbeat to threatening with his body language alone.

  “Why does everyone around here look at me like I’m trying to hurt you, Isabel?”

  She toys with the hem of my shirt. “I’m not sure if you realize this, Tristan, but you don’t blend in as well as you think you do. And the vibe you give off isn’t usually very friendly.”

  “Is there a problem, Izzy?” The man approaches us, flanking her.

  His nickname for her feels like an icepick through my whole body.

  “She says you’re pissing her off,” I say, baiting him.

  “That’s between her and me.”

  “Not really,” I offer quickly.

  “This is a private class—”

  “Guys, stop. It’s fine. Everyone is fine. Tristan, do you mind waiting for me until I’m done?”

  I break the staring contest with Noam to look down at her hand, now warm against my chest. I grasp it and kiss her knuckles before finally releasing her.

  “I’ll wait right here,” I say before shooting a flat don’t-fuck-with-me look to her instructor.

  She returns to the mat, and he trails behind her. His lips are pulled into a grim line as he joins her in the middle of the room.

  “You good?” he mutters quietly.

  “I’m fine. What’s next?”

  He slides his gaze to me and back to her before continuing. “Soft points.”

  “What are those?”

  “Points on the body that are vulnerable no matter how big someone is. No matter how much muscle they’ve got. Thumbs in the eyes. The nose is easily broken.” He pinches his own. “The throat is delicate. A knee to the groin works like a charm. Got it?”

  “Easy enough.”

  “Good.” He waves her forward. “Come at me.”

  She stands unmoving for a few seconds. “I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

  He smiles, and even though I share his amusement, I’d also like to see her crush one of his soft points when he’s not paying attention.

  The next thirty minutes pass much the same. Lessons, trials, and correcting. Until Isabel’s clearly wiped out and Noam’s broken a sweat. I’d like to continue hating him, but the more I watch, the more I approve. He’s fair when he needs to be and appropriately aggressive when demonstrating what she could be up against with someone his size. This is a simulation, but it’s far better than trying to break boards with her fists. He’s arming her with skills she could use, and she very likely will. Because her mother was right. This journey is far from over.

  When they finish, she walks over to me, breathless. She probably thinks she looks like a mess again, but to me she’s vital and thrumming with energy I want to feed on until we’re both as spent as she looks.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up in the locker room. Give me ten minutes, okay?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Once she’s gone, Noam wanders closer. I rise as he does. He takes a towel off a nearby hook and wipes his face.

  “How do you know Isabel?” he asks.

  “You mean Izzy?”

  He cocks his brow. “I call her that to get her riled up, and it works. Don’t tell me that’s your nickname for her.”

  “Not a chance.”

  She’s Isabel to me. My saint. She’s not a nickname.

  “So what are you? Her boyfriend?”

  Another diminutive term that doesn’t suit us. But I simply reply, “Something like that.”

  He doesn’t look relieved. “I hope you’re not the reason she pulls weapons on total strangers.”

  I flinch, a faint movement under my eye.

  “That’s how I met her. She was dozing off in her car. I startled her when I was passing by, and she pulled a pistol on me before she realized I wasn’t a threat.”

  “I haven’t taught her how to shoot yet. I probably should.”

  He laughs. “I wouldn’t rush it.”

  “This is important. What you’re doing here with her.”

  His humor fades. “I think it is too. She’s going to be banged up a little bit, but it’ll be worth it when she feels like she can hold her own.”

  “Agreed.”

  He glances to the door she left through and then back to me. “Listen, most of the girls that stay with Martine are trying to get away from trouble. I just need to know if you’re the trouble she’s hiding from.”

  “Does it look like she’s hiding from me?”

  He purses his lips. “Not exactly. But she’s obviously shell-shocked. What happened to her?”

  I shouldn’t tell him a damn thing because it’s none of his business. But maybe if he understands a measure of the gravity Isabel’s faced, he’ll be in a better position to truly help her.

  “We’ve been on the run. Trouble finally caught up to us. They killed her friend.” I pause. “Right in front of her.”

  His expression sobers. “Got it.”

  When she returns, fresh faced with damp hair, we both stare. She’s wearing a black tank top that hugs her perfect tits. The tight jeans set low on her hips reveal the barest sliver of skin there. With the new hair and a pair of low-ankled black Converse, she’s owning her new look and displaying a shade of confidence I haven’t seen in her before.

  She gives me a concerned look. “What?”

  “When did you turn into a badass?”

  She laughs and rakes a hand through her hair.

  “Tomorrow? Same time?” Noam interrupts.

  “Uh, sure,” she says, her shoulders set with new determination.

  If she’s made to feel weak, she’ll be weak.

  I never meant to make her feel that way. Isabel’s not weak. She never was. But now, this new emboldened version of her is gradually blowing me away.

  We leave Noam’s. She walks ahead of me toward the passenger side of my car, giving me a delicious view.

  “What now?” she asks.

  She reaches for the door when my patience finally expires. I curve my hand at her hip, spin her, and give her a gentle shove against the car. I take in her shaky exhale and parted lips. Then I lean in until I can smell the soap on her skin.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.” My voice is like gravel. Any space between us feels like an affront.

  But there is space between us—an unspoken chasm I have to journey across to get us back to where we were. In the space of waiting for permission to reclaim her lips, she grabs my waist and guides our bodies together in one hungry tug. A bolt of lust arrows right to my groin. I make certain she feels it when I crowd her harder against the curve of the coupe. She gasps, and I entertain a vision of taking her right here. I’d never do it, but God I want to.

  She feathers her fingertips near the band of my jeans, tangles in my hair with her other hand. I angle and taste and take…and fuck me, her mouth is heaven. A room in
heaven just for me made of vanilla and soft skin and every sound she’s ever made.

  Suddenly three days without feeling her against me has become the longest dry spell I’ve ever known. I’m all hot-blooded male without a dash of reason until a car roars down the cross street, abrasive enough to jar me faintly into the present.

  I withdraw just enough to catch my breath but not a fraction more. I’m still fixed on her swollen, pouty lips and her wild breathing.

  “Isabel…” I cup her cheek. I grimace at the willpower needed to keep from tearing her skin-tight clothes off.

  “I know,” she whispers.

  She doesn’t know. She won’t know until I discover new ways to make her scream my name. As my imagination starts sprinting in a dozen of those directions, I can feel her pulling back, pushing me away. Concern and a dark cloud of thoughts I can’t read cool her features. The bastard in me wants to kiss away her change of heart. The better man she’s turning me into follows her lead as I attempt to temper my own raging impulses.

  “We should talk,” she says shakily.

  We probably should. Maybe I can blindfold myself while we do. Or handcuff myself to the opposite side of whatever room we occupy to keep from touching her. Only then can I imagine being able to untangle my thoughts from the promises of pleasure tied to every curve of her body.

  Jesus, I’ve endured things that would kill other men. Why can’t I get a handle on myself when it comes to her?

  For now I close my eyes and take a deep breath that stings my lungs because I want more than this tepid air. I want her air.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Isabel

  Nothing would be easier than melting into the sweet, dark oblivion of Tristan’s touch. If nothing larger loomed, I’d have stayed in DC and drowned myself in moments like these. I’d have cocooned myself in Tristan’s protective embrace instead of taking to the road on my own, getting my ass kicked by Noam every day, and falling asleep in a house of well-meaning strangers for the sake of forward motion. I came here to find a path that wouldn’t end in more ugly death.

  Because I can’t run anymore if we don’t have something better to run to. That much I know. For the first time since all this madness started, I recognize a glimmer of hope. An inkling of light seeping in. The only question is whether Tristan can be a part of it. He’s wired to maneuver and fight and kill. The plan Skye and I drew up until the wee hours doesn’t include much of that.

  So when Tristan and I settle at a table at Cooter Brown’s, the local tavern a few blocks away, the plan I was so committed to hours ago dies in my throat. We order, and when Tristan shoots an expectant look my way, I muster up the words I need.

  “I have an idea about how to end all this.”

  His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but he doesn’t say anything. He rubs his thumb along his lower lip rhythmically. The tiny movement is distracting and nerve-racking.

  “I don’t want any more people to die,” I say.

  His answering look is full of doubt and quiet understanding, like one a parent gives a child who hasn’t yet experienced the world.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “To blackmail Kolt’s family into calling this off.” There. I said it.

  “Tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with Kolt.”

  “No, I don’t think he’d be much help. I spent some time researching Chalys Pharmaceuticals last night, though. His grandfather owns the company. Kolt’s mother and uncle run it.”

  “We don’t know who hired me yet. Who are you going to blackmail? Better yet, how?”

  I’m grateful when the server brings our lunch. I pop a fried shrimp in my mouth and replay last night’s conversation in my head.

  “We haven’t exactly planned it down to the letter yet, but—”

  “Who’s we?”

  I huff. “You have a lot of questions.”

  “Well, you came here to talk, and I have a feeling you’re trying to convince me to step back so we can handle this your way, which I’m not crazy about. But I’m hearing you out. So just tell me.”

  “Skye and I talked things through last night. Martine too.”

  “Great,” he snips before pulling his mouth into a taut line.

  “I trust them.”

  He curses under his breath and rubs at the creases across his forehead. “Two steps forward, one step back.”

  I rest my fork on my plate and fight to stay in control of my emotions. He said he’d hear me out, so he’s going to.

  “Martine has connections all over the country. All over the world. At all levels of society. She doesn’t have enough dirt on the family to turn this around. But Kolt’s uncle, Vince Boswell, is the president of the company. He has a reputation that could work in our favor.”

  He stills. “What kind of reputation?”

  I gnaw at the inside of my lip to the point of pain. “He’s unmarried. Untethered. He’s all business, which is why they’ve been able to expand the family’s interests into so many different industries so quickly.”

  “And…”

  “He has a weakness for high-priced call girls.”

  “If you think exposing that to the public will make a pinch of difference, you’re crazy.”

  “I know it won’t. They can bury that news easily. And who cares? He’s not cheating on his wife. But it’s a way to lure him in. We could get him vulnerable. Get him to tell us whatever he knows. Maybe even get information off his laptop, which could be a potential goldmine. And of course we’d get everything on video. Enough to scare him into calling off the hit.”

  “No.”

  I wilt. “Tristan, you haven’t even heard me out.”

  “I don’t care who Martine knows. Your friend Skye can’t pass for a high-end hooker. She’s got streets written all over her.”

  “I know. She has serious triggers with men too.” I take hold of my lip again and brace myself for his reaction to what I’m about to say. “What about me?”

  He stills and levels me with his silver stare. “Fuck no.”

  “I think it could work. Vince never met me in person. I have a really different look now. With the right makeup and maybe contacts, I don’t think I’d be recognizable. Especially if he has a few drinks first.”

  Tristan’s features are all hard planes. “I have a better idea.”

  “What? Kill everyone instead?”

  He jams the toothpick from his sandwich between his teeth and stares out the window, telling me that was definitely his “better idea.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t consider your experience as a trained killer an asset in this situation. If you really want to be with me, Tristan, you have to know I can’t live like that. I don’t care if we spend the rest of our lives on the run if that’s what we have to do, but to know that you’ll keep doing that…” I swallow and push the horror of it all down. “Taking lives and never asking questions. I can’t accept it.”

  He doesn’t answer me. A few tense minutes pass before he picks up his sandwich and proceeds to eat, ignoring my plea and my plan. The thought that he’d want to keep on that path makes me too ill to touch the rest of my lunch. What if these breakthroughs in emotion have more to do with our animal attraction than an actual shift in his priorities?

  I can find it in my heart to forgive the killer Jay made him, but I don’t think I can forgive keeping that part of himself alive. Of course, I wish our enemies would disappear too. Days ago I held Tristan’s gun in my lap and, deep in my grief, fantasized about what it might be like to take an eye for an eye. In the same moment, I recognized I wasn’t capable of carrying through with anything so heinous. He knows it too. So does Noam. Apparently I have gun-shy innocence written all over my face.

  Several minutes pass in tense silence.

  “I’ll drive you back,” he says gruffly after we get the check.

  I pack up my picked-over meal and hope to have an appetite for it later. As Tristan takes us through the oak-lined streets toward Martine’s,
I reflect on the total roller coaster this day has been. I went from hopeful to empowered to set ablaze to utterly defeated.

  As we drive, I worry the Tristan I have been falling in love with is still the Tristan who could kill me in the blink of an eye. Somehow he’s convinced me that he could be different. A man I could give my heart to again.

  He rolls in front of the house, slowing to a stop.

  “I’ll see you later,” I mutter, not sure when or if I want to see him again after today’s conversation.

  But when I reach for the handle, he reaches across for my hand, stopping me.

  “Don’t go yet.”

  That contact between us feels right, even when everything else between us feels wrong. The flickers of vulnerability where I saw hardened defiance before give me hope.

  “I didn’t choose this life.” His tenor is soft, but the heaviness of his words fills the small space.

  “I know you didn’t, Tristan.”

  “I’ve seen things and done things I wish I could forget. I’ve made a small fortune from it, and every cent of it is red with the blood of others. Good people, bad people. Doesn’t matter. It was all wrong. Until you, I never hesitated before. Couldn’t let myself fail. Somehow, contemplating a different kind of life felt just as scary as carrying on the way I was. How miserable is that?”

  I don’t answer him but clutch his hand tighter.

  “If I never write another name into that fucking notebook, I almost think I could forgive myself one day.”

  “Then don’t,” I whisper. Please don’t…

  “I can’t rule it out.”

  Disappointment rolls through me like a drowning wave. Our gazes lock, and I’m certain my heart falling to the floor can be seen on my face.

  “Isabel… I’ll never take another job again. But if someone gets in my way or if someone threatens you… If it’s a matter of eliminating someone else to save you, I’ll always make the right choice. I’ll always protect you. And if that makes me a killer that you can’t be with, all I can do is try to change your mind, try to convince you that sometimes it’s kill or be killed, and hope for your forgiveness if circumstances come to that.”