Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  Instead of waiting for a response, he flung himself out of her house with a raging desperation to get away, his heart racing and his mind screaming that he couldn't follow through on the plan starting to come together in the back of his mind. That he shouldn't.

  He would anyway.

  Chapter Nine

  "Zoë." Tristan ground his teeth together, striving not to yell at his cousin. "If you don't open the door, I swear to God, I will kick it in."

  "You better not!" she warned him through the thick wood. "You already kicked in one door this month!"

  "Then open up. I need to talk to Jason."

  He didn't give a shit if Zoë was mad at him for what he'd said to Lillian. She could banish him from the house after he murdered her husband. Until then, she needed to open the damn door and let him in before he really did do something stupid and attempt to kick in the door. He was pissed off enough to do it, and that hadn't gotten him very far the last time he'd done the same, now had it?

  "Have you talked to Lillian yet?" she asked, ignoring his command. Then again, she always did. No one told Zoë Ames what to do. Not even her favorite cousin. She was headstrong and stubborn as all hell, always had been.

  "Yes. Jesus Christ, I talked to her tonight, okay?" He crossed his arms, tapping an impatient rhythm on the welcome mat with his foot. The deluge of rain battering the city drowned out the sound, which didn't improve his mood much either. His stroll from Lillian's door to the Rover had drenched him. The dash to Zoë and Jason's front door hadn't improved matters. He was soaking wet, pissed off, and sexually frustrated.

  "Oh. Why didn't you say that before?" Zoë called happily. The deadbolt clicked and then the door opened.

  "Fucking finally," he muttered.

  "Your fault. I would have opened the door sooner if you'd told me you apologized to her already. What did she say? Did she forgive you?" Zoë asked, beaming at him.

  Tristan barely spared her a glance, his gaze already trained on Jason who leaned against the wall behind his wife, his expression blank. The bastard knew exactly why Tristan was there.

  "Tristan," he said, inclining his head.

  Tristan's temper flared. "You bastard," he growled, stepping around Zoë.

  Jason didn't even attempt to duck when Tristan took a swing at him. He just braced himself, and waited for the inevitable.

  Tristan's right hook hit him in the jaw.

  Jason's head snapped back. His center of balanced shifted and he fell, landing on his ass in the floor.

  "Tristan!" Zoë screeched.

  "You lied to her, you prick." Tristan ignored Zoë, instead glaring down at Jason. "Is that why you demanded I stay away from her?"

  Jason remained silent, rubbing his jaw.

  "Tristan, what the hell is wrong with you?" Zoë kicked him in the back of the knee, causing him to go down right beside her husband.

  He shifted to the side as she attempted to slap him across the back of the head.

  "Zoë, enough," Jason barked. "Let me deal with this."

  Zoë opened her mouth to argue and then shook her head and stomped off toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath that if they killed each other, she wasn't cleaning it up. She'd just step over their bodies and go stay with her parents.

  "Are you done?" Jason asked Tristan when she stormed into the kitchen. "I don't want to have to hit you back because she will leave our sorry asses here if we kill each other."

  "You told her I used her." Tristan glared hard at his friend, pushing himself up against the opposite wall. "What the fuck, Jase?"

  Jason's mouth thinned into a tight line, but he didn't deny it.

  "Christ," Tristan swore as Zoë slammed shit around in the kitchen. "She actually believed you."

  "I know," Jason said and fingered his jaw again. "I assume she's home?"

  Tristan gave a curt nod.

  Jason sighed. "You set her straight?"

  "Why?" he asked instead of answering.

  "Because of this right here," Jason said, pointing at him. "You were on her doorstep the minute you realized she was home. Better she think you used her than for you to blow your cover and risk her life."

  "Dammit," Tristan muttered, wanting to fault his logic, but unable to do so.

  "What happened at the club tonight?" Jason asked instead of reaming him for not staying away from Lillian as he'd promised to do.

  Zoë stormed back into the foyer.

  "Ice," she stated, dropping a bag of ice into each of their laps.

  Tristan smiled at her when she threw a towel at him. Her expression thawed, affection replacing anger in her light eyes. It eased a little further when Jason crooned his appreciation, sucking up for all he was worth.

  Jackass.

  "They've installed a security camera on the storage room door," Tristan said, holding the ice pack to his already bruising knuckles.

  "Shit," Jason swore, pressing his own bag of ice to his jaw.

  "I didn't get close but it's only a matter of time before someone does." The thought of that happening made him sick to his stomach. "Jase, if someone else dies…."

  "Yeah," he answered, sighing heavily. "I know."

  Zoë frowned and sank down in the floor beside Jason who wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his side. He never hid this side of his job from her, but Tristan knew he hated letting her hear it. They both did. Some things, not even his fierce little cousin needed to know.

  "I don't know if I can get in," Tristan said, defeated and just really damn tired.

  "Maybe we should just raid now."

  "No." Tristan clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed to thin slits. "If we're wrong, they'll walk."

  "We might not have a choice. We can't keep waiting around, hoping we catch a break before they start shipping this shit out by the truckload."

  "And if we don't wait it out, we'll blow the entire case."

  "Then what do you suggest? We've tried to find the lab. We've tried for weeks and we have nothing. In the meantime, people keep dying," Jason said, his retort hard and angry. Frustration and exhaustion mingled in his tone.

  Tristan understood exactly how his cousin-in-law felt. It didn't matter how many people like the Vetrov family the DEA stopped, there was always someone else to take their places. And there were always people desperate enough to take the shit people like Anton Vetrov peddled. Even if Tristan and Jason won this battle, they were still losing the war.

  The thought sent a wave of exhaustion through him, the kind he felt all the way to his bones. He was too goddamn young to feel so old. But he couldn't walk away from this job any more than Jason could.

  "We need another plan," he said, giving in to the inevitable.

  "Yeah," Jason sighed, the heavy sound full of defeat. He reached for Zoë, wrapping her hands in his as if needing her touch to ground him in reality.

  Zoë met Tristan's gaze, her wide eyes full of worry. Whatever she thought about this case though, she didn't say it. "How's Lillian?" she asked instead.

  So far as subject changes went… that one sucked.

  "She's pissed, and she's scared."

  He kept hoping he'd wake up and this would be some sick, twisted nightmare. But it wasn't. He'd screwed up and gotten involved with Lillian. Now she hovered on the edges of this shit, about to be dragged into the thick of it. That would be his fault and he knew it. But he couldn't stop it any more than he could win this damn drug war. Lillian's refusal to leave forced them both onto a collision course, one he wasn't even sure he wanted to avoid.

  "You're going to stay with her," Jason guessed, watching Tristan with a sharp, hawkish expression.

  "She won't leave, and I can't let her stay there unprotected." If something happened to her because of him… No way could he handle that beautiful face landing in the long line that haunted his dreams.

  "I can pull another agent to watch over her," Jason offered.

  No, he couldn't. And Tristan wouldn't let him even if they had another agent to
spare. Lillian was his to protect. He'd put her at risk, and it was his job to make sure she didn't suffer because of it.

  "No," he said, his voice soft. "She's my responsibility. This one's all on me."

  "How long?" Jason asked.

  "Until it's over." Tristan blew out a breath and readjusted the bag of ice over his knuckles. "Until she's safe."

  "You really like her," Zoë said, more truth than surprise in her voice.

  "I don't even know her," Tristan answered, "but fuck if that matters, right? She hates me, but I can't leave her there alone. She-" He shook his head, not finishing that thought. "I'm so fucked."

  No one disagreed with him.

  "You know how dangerous this is, right?" Jason asked. "If your cover is blown, they'll take it out on her."

  "I know," Tristan said, feeling sick to his stomach, "but I'm the one that put her in that position in the first place. I can't just walk away now, not when she might already be in danger because of me." Until he was certain Anton Vetrov had installed that camera out of paranoia and not because of his fuck up the night he'd met Lillian, he couldn't leave her there alone. Not when they'd been together inside Teplo more than once.

  "We can call her father; hope he can talk her into leaving."

  "We can't. I can't. Christ, Jase, tell me not to do this," Tristan said, his voice raw.

  "Would it help?"

  Tristan looked at him, not responding. They both knew nothing he said now would help. They'd tried that already, and it'd gotten them exactly nowhere. That camera changed things. Hell, it changed everything. Maybe Jason would follow through on his threat to fire Tristan, but not before he ensured Lillian's safety. Jason wasn't that big of a dick.

  "What are you going to tell her?" Zoë asked.

  Tristan arched a brow at her.

  "I'm serious," she said, arching a brow of her own. "You weren't very nice to her. She might refuse to let you do this."

  "I'm not giving her a choice," Tristan said.

  "If you interject yourself into her life without giving her a choice in the matter, she'll never forgive you," Zoë said. "You're going to have to give her a reason to let you do this."

  "Her safety is reason enough."

  "Yeah," Zoë snorted, sarcasm dripping from the word. "That's going to convince her."

  Tristan glared at her.

  "She was a ballerina, Tristan. You'll have to do better than that."

  "What's her career got to do with this?" he asked.

  "Everything." Zoë rolled her eyes. "She was one of the most renowned ballerinas in the entire nation, you idiot. She didn't get that far by needing someone to rescue her. She fought for it, so chances are she's independent, strong, and smart. Do you really believe she's going to let you come in and uproot her whole life without telling her the truth about what's going on across the street?"

  Well, shit. Tristan hadn't considered that, but now that Zoë brought it up… did he really think he'd just get her to agree to let him move in? Without divulging everything? Like Zoë said, Lillian was strong, and she was smart. She also didn’t like him much. All in all, unless they found a way to convince her, he'd be sleeping on her porch.

  "I'll take care of it," Jason said.

  Tristan's blood ran cold at the grim edge in his friend's voice.

  Chapter Ten

  "I'm never drinking again," Lillian muttered to herself, stumbling toward the incessant knocking on her front door. Her head throbbed. Her eyes were gritty. Her stomach churned. She just wanted to burrow under the blankets and stay there permanently.

  Despite her hangover, trying to drink away the reminder of Tristan's hands on her body and the look in his eyes when he'd all but ran from her the night before had worked surprisingly well. She'd managed to convince herself that he hadn't really said he wanted her. He hadn't run his hands all over her ass or had her nipples in his mouth. There hadn't been any breathless whispers or grinding. And she most definitely hadn't stood there, letting him do what he wanted to her body while she reveled in the sensations he'd brought roaring to life inside her.

  Right up until she'd gone to sleep, she'd convinced herself it had never happened, and then the dreams had started. He hadn't dragged himself away from her or stopped in her dreams. He hadn't fled like a coward, either. He'd taken her against the wall, hard and fast and deep, until she'd screamed his name and shattered. The ache of desire still burning low in her belly pissed her off.

  She didn't want to want him.

  He'd apologized for being an ass, true enough, but that didn't change anything. He'd still used her, still dragged her into the middle of something that terrified her, and then walked away. She hated how much that hurt.

  "Just a minute," she yelled when the knock on the door came again. With thick, uncoordinated fingers, she unthreaded the chain on her door, and then twisted the deadbolt, pulling the door open.

  Her heart flipped in her chest, dove, and then flipped again.

  Tristan leaned against the doorframe, propped up with one muscular arm, a tight smile stretched across his face. Just like the night before, the smile didn't reflect in his eyes. An almost grave determination and something a little too like guilt blazed there. He looked like hell, with dark shadows under his eyes and stubble along his jaw. His hair was a hot mess, sticking up every which way. A tight t-shirt stretched across his body, showing off those muscles that made her crazy.

  "You," she said, the only thing she could think of as he stared at her… the same exact thing she said when the same events had unfolded the night before. Him. Tristan. With his beautiful eyes, wicked words, and killer body.

  Desire flared deep within her stomach, burning white hot as he stared at her, his gaze flickering up and down her body. Familiar heat reappeared in a warm flood, tightening her nipples. Her heart skipped a beat.

  "Good morning, Lillian," he said, his voice soft. Too soft, in fact.

  Where was the heat?

  The frustration?

  And why did he look like he hadn't slept all night?

  "May I come in?"

  Lillian, stupid, hung-over and lusting woman that she was, stared at him for a long minute before stepping to the side to let him enter. And then she armed the security system and locked the door – deadbolt, knob, and chain all three. Her hands trembled, causing the chain to rattle and clink against the slider.

  "You don't need all of that right now," he said from somewhere behind her, his voice soft and velvety. "I won't let anything happen to you."

  "Yeah, well, as you reminded me last night, I'm not living across the street from the Cleavers, am I?" She laughed abruptly and blew out a shaky breath, refusing to give in to the little thrill that went through her at his statement. She hadn't asked for his protection, and she damn sure didn't want it. "What exactly am I living across the street from? You accused me of being a drug dealer, a whore, and a murderer… the drugs are self-explanatory. But prostitution? Murder?" She took another uneven breath, looking everywhere but at the man standing behind her, too there to be ignored.

  Already, she tottered on the edge of mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.

  Tristan. Teplo. Jason Ames. Tristan. Teplo. Tristan. Tristan, Tristan, Tristan. 'Round and 'round the freaking mulberry bush.

  Not even that bottle of wine had shut the weasel up for long.

  "How far do I need to run? Oregon? Canada?" Her voice shook, though she wasn't sure if Teplo or Tristan caused the tremor. She wasn't even sure which she referred to. One was just as bad as the other so far as she could see. The things happening at Teplo might kill her. But Tristan… if she was ever stupid enough to let him in again, he would tear her fragile world apart.

  "Lillian." He shifted closer to her.

  The electricity crackling between them intensified, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand at attention.

  "Don't." She shook her head and backed up a step. "Please, just don't." If he touched her, she'd cry or throw herself at him, and neith
er appealed to her at the moment. He owed her answers, and she didn't want him walking away before she got them.

  He sighed, but didn't try to come any closer. "If you'll get dressed and come with me, I'll answer all of your questions." The words seemed forced, as if he spoke them against his will.

  "Where?" She traced the grain of the new door with her gaze, ran her finger over a faint swirl in the heavy slab, and waited.

  Her heart beat loudly in the silence stretching between them. One loud, steady throb after another. And then another. She gritted her teeth, her patience wearing thin.

  "Headquarters," he finally answered. "I need to take you to the office." He sounded like he didn't want to do that either. And how irritating was that?

  She turned to face him, took in his rigid stance, tense jaw and cautious, almost angry expression. "You don't want me to agree to go with you, do you? You'd rather I tell you to go to hell again," she guessed.

  His jaw flexed, but he didn't open his mouth. It was confirmation enough. Even now, he didn't want to give her the answers she deserved.

  Well, screw him.

  "I'll be ready in twenty minutes." She stepped to the side and started to move around him, her own jaw clenched with anger.

  "Lillian, wait." His hand landed on her arm, his knuckles bruised as if he'd hit something.

  Her stomach flipped. That slow burn low in her belly spread in time to the heat pulsing from his touch.

  She counted to ten in her head… and he still didn't say anything.

  "Either talk or let me go, Tristan," she sighed, too tired to fight with him now.

  "I…." he trailed off and cursed.

  "Exactly," she muttered.

  "It's not what you think."

  "You have no idea what I think." She met his gaze head on, daring him to suggest otherwise. "Would you like me to tell you or would you rather tell me the truth?" she added, her tone falsely sweet.