Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  Tristan held out his phone. "Can you set it up for us?"

  "No problem." Simon plucked the phone out of his hand and hunched over it.

  Tristan stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders as Simon focused on the phone, mumbling to himself as he changed the settings. His fingers flew over the phone keys as quickly as they had the laptop keyboard.

  "That feels good," she sighed, leaning into Tristan. She was so tense and seemed to get more so the closer they crept to the hour of reckoning. She wanted to ask how he did this every day—how he entered a situation that could be potentially life-threatening—but knowing what she now knew, she didn't really need to hear his answer. He'd admitted to being reckless and not caring if he lived or died. Listening to him say those words again would only stress her out more.

  "You're so tense," he murmured.

  She agreed and leaned further into him as he continued to massage.

  "Done!" Simon said two minutes later, causing her to jump. He held Tristan's phone out with a flourish. Tristan squeezed her shoulders a final time before looking at the changes Simon had made and then showing her that she could now track him whenever, wherever if he had his phone turned on. Satisfied she could work the program, he tucked the phone into his pocket once more.

  "Thanks, Simon," he said, "I owe you."

  "It's cool. Good luck tonight, man."

  "Yeah, thanks." He held a hand out to her.

  Allowing him to tuck her into his side, she smiled at Simon. "It was nice to meet you."

  He grinned and she and Tristan headed out, retracing their route through the rabbit-warren of offices and corridors, back to Jason's office.

  "He's young," she commented as they walked.

  "Who? Simon?" Tristan laughed when she nodded. "He's older than you are, beautiful."

  "Seriously? He seems so young!"

  "So do you," he said, looking over at her as they waited for the elevator.

  "I'll be twenty-three in a few weeks," she said, frowning. Tristan was only twenty-nine, barely six years older than her. He made her sound like she was still a kid. "That's not so young."

  He smiled that crooked smile at her. "I meant that you're very innocent."

  She scowled at him. "I was traveling to foreign countries with no one besides other dancers and choreographers by the time I was fourteen. I moved into a tiny apartment a state away from my family when I was seventeen."

  "That's not what I meant, beautiful. I meant that you're naïve. And that wasn't a criticism," he hurried to add when her scowl deepened. "You're still capable of being shocked, of seeing the good before you see the bad. It's refreshing."

  "It's not that I don't see it," she answered, slightly mollified by his explanation, as the elevator shuddered to a stop. "It's just…I don't know. Don't you ever feel like the entire world has gone crazy? Sometimes, you have to look for the positive or you'll drown in the negative."

  "I guess I can see that," he said as they exited the elevator.

  "You aren't so different either, you know."

  He snorted. "I kicked your door in because I assumed the worst."

  "And I let Jason convince me that you'd used me. All he had to do was say one little thing, and I assumed you were a big jerk."

  "That's different," he muttered.

  "Maybe, but you were also the one who told me that people like Emma are more than another statistic and that they don't deserve to die because of the bad choices they make. If you were really as jaded as you think you are, you wouldn't still believe that." He might have seen a lot in his life, but he did still see the good in people. That was one of the reasons he cared so much about what happened to them. He genuinely wanted to save their lives, not just because of his parents, but because he believed they could turn themselves around and become better people. Unlike so many who had given up on addicts, he hadn't.

  "What do you think about Kincaid?" he asked, drawing to a stop outside Jason's office doors. He spoke in a hushed whisper, ensuring his voice didn't carry through the closed door.

  "He's interesting." She paused. "He reminds me of you in a way."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. I'm not sure what it is, but he…." She hesitated for a second, trying to find a way to word it. "Sometimes, I look at you and it hits me that you're not Average Joe. You give off this vibe, like you're used to being in charge. When we're in Teplo, people move out of your way without even thinking about it. They glance at you once and they move, like they register that you're dangerous before they really ever see you, I guess. He's the same way. Visually, he's more intimidating than you with all the gang tattoos, but he's less overwhelming than you are."

  "Less overwhelming?"

  "He was probably the second most dangerous person in that room today," she said. "You were the first. When you're working, you're someone else. You're like a hurricane, very powerful and very much in charge. Michael seems like he could be the same way, only he relies more on humor and street-smarts than on power and presence. He's intimidating because he looks like a gangster, and he plays the part well. But I'd bet on you if I had to guess which of you was more dangerous." She shrugged, not at all sure she was making any sense. "He's a cheetah to your lion."

  "I'm a lion?" The corners of his mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile.

  Lillian thought about the look in his eyes when he'd told his team that if anything happened, they were going in after her and he didn't care who they had to take out. He'd appeared absolutely feral, his eyes blazing with sincerity. Not a single person in that office had doubted him when he'd said it. So was he a lion?

  "Yeah, I think you are."

  He didn't say anything for a minute and then, "You're wrong about Kincaid."

  "How so?"

  "He wasn't the second most dangerous person in that room. He was the scariest motherfucker in there. He's also the hardest to pin down. He does what he wants to do, and keeps his cards close to his chest. Lucky for us, being on our side suits his interests."

  Lillian frowned. "You think he'd switch sides?"

  "That's not what I meant. He comes across as if he doesn't take this job seriously, but I can guarantee you that there was no one else in that room today more prepared to walk in that club tonight with guns blazing if we have to. He's a little wild, but he's damn good at what he does, and nothing stands in his way. If he wanted to be a criminal, he'd have his own empire. But that's not Kincaid. He chose his side a long time ago, and he'll do whatever he has to do to make sure his side—our side—wins." Tristan paused for a moment. "He was stabbed a few months ago, you know."

  "I didn't know that," she said. "What happened?"

  "This girl thought she wanted to join a gang. She didn't know she had to let every single one of the assholes rape her before they'd let her in. When she said no, they decided to make an example of her. He stepped in to put an end to it. Things got out of hand and they thought they could take him. He got stabbed."

  Lillian felt herself blanch, horrified.

  "They won't make that mistake a second time," he said, squeezing her hand as if to comfort her. "He nearly died, but he took out seven of their members and saved the girl's life before he collapsed."

  She felt her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

  "People in this world don't fuck around," he continued before she could find words. "They will kill you for the most benign reason. Kincaid deals with some of the most dangerous every single day. But they respect him because they know he's a whole hell of a lot more dangerous than they are. He's done things that no one should ever have to do, and he's still standing. Crossing him is suicide. That's why he's on the team tonight. If something goes wrong, you find him. He will get you out safely even if he has to kill every motherfucker he meets along the way."

  Lillian shivered, suddenly intensely grateful Michael was on their side.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lillian stared down at the Beretta in the dresser drawer, knot
s twisting painfully in her stomach. She desperately wanted to lift the gun from the dresser and slide it into the holster as she had so many nights before—it would have been a comfort to have it with her tonight—but she didn't dare.

  Tristan's warning kept echoing in her mind: People in this world don't fuck around. They will kill you for the most benign reason. Each time those words echoed, the painful knots twisted a little tighter, leaving her too afraid to pick up the gun. She would be in touching distance of the blond. If he noticed it beneath her clothing…all she could think about was what Tristan had said. What would the blond do if he noticed the weapon? Would he kill her right then and there?

  She wasn't prepared to find out, which meant the gun stayed behind.

  Knowing she had to go in unarmed scared the shit out of her. She'd be defenseless, forced to wait for someone on the team to arrive to save her life if something went wrong. What if she couldn't get to her phone? What if she didn't survive long enough for help to arrive?

  There were a thousand things that could go wrong.

  And she couldn't do a damn thing about any of them.

  "Jason's here, beautiful," Tristan said from the doorway.

  She jumped and shoved the drawer closed before spinning to face him, a weak smile on her face. "I'm ready," she said, her heart beating double time in her chest. He looked so good and so worried. She wanted to throw her arms around him.

  She didn't dare do that, either. If he knew she planned to go in without her gun, he'd panic. She didn't want that for him. He was already on edge. The closer the clock crept to show-time, the more strained and brittle his expression became. How many times had he reached out and wrapped his arms so tightly around her she couldn't breathe? How many times had he groaned into her hair and murmured a prayer beneath his breath?

  The thought of letting her go into Teplo alone tortured him. She couldn't, wouldn't give him another reason to worry about her tonight. She was on her own with this one. Just, please God, let this be the right decision. Let her get through this night. Let there be no problems. There were a thousand different things she wanted to pray for right then, but she didn't even really know where to begin.

  She stopped trying and walked toward Tristan instead.

  He met her halfway and reached out for her. She side-stepped and grabbed his hands, wrapping their fingers together before stepping closer and breathing him in. His familiar scent wrapped around her, but it didn't help calm her any at all.

  "Everything will be fine, beautiful," he whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. "Everyone is in place. Get what you can and get out, okay?"

  She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  "I will be right here the whole time. If anything…happens, you press that button." He drew a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. His body shook against hers. He struggled so hard, she wanted to cry for him. "Don't do anything that feels off."

  "I won't," she promised, pressing her face into the hollow of his throat. She wanted his arms around her, holding her together, but she couldn't even take that comfort now.

  "I love you," she said when he swore, his fingers squeezing hers. "Everything is going to be fine." The platitude sounded no more reassuring coming from her lips than it had from his. She had nothing else to offer him though, no assurances that would ease his mind or hers. "Promise me something?"

  "Anything, beautiful," he answered, nuzzling his face to hers.

  "Make love to me tonight. When this is over just love me." Her voice cracked on the last words.

  Tristan stilled before untangling their fingers and lifting her face to his. "Hey," he whispered, worry burning in his blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

  She shook her head, unable to answer that question. She was lying to him, keeping something from him. He was going to be so angry when he found out that she'd gone in without the gun. He was going to be outright furious when he found out she was intentionally keeping that fact from him.

  "Talk to me, baby." He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs as he cradled her face between his palms, pressing his forehead to hers. "Don't shut me out now. Please."

  Her heart broke a little at his plea. She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, and then closed it without speaking. He didn't need to know. Things would go as planned tonight and he wouldn't ever need to know. If she kept telling herself that, eventually she'd start to believe it, right?

  "Nothing," she lied. "There's nothing wrong. I'm just nervous."

  "Baby." He leaned forward and kissed her lips. "Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing," he added forcefully, desperation in his tone.

  She nodded, not at all sure that was true. She was doing the right thing, she knew she was, but that did nothing to ease her mind. Sending up another silent prayer, she stepped away from the strength and security of his body.

  "Are you ready?" she asked him.

  He closed his eyes and nodded.

  Tristan gripped Lillian's hand as he led her into the living room. His heart slammed painfully against his ribcage, tension buffeting him in waves. Fear tasted like acid in his throat, corrosive and burning. Every part of him screamed not to let her walk out the front door, demanding he protect her, keep her safe, but he didn't have a choice. He'd already agreed, and the time for backing out had come and gone hours ago.

  He could feel the fear radiating from her. It pulsed in time to his, beating at him like the wings of some monstrous creature. He fucking hated knowing she was scared and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He'd made a promise to her, and he couldn't break it now, not without destroying the newfound peace between them.

  Christ. How selfish was that? He'd let her walk out the door despite every instinct he had, if only to keep her from walking away from him for good. As much as it killed him to admit it, there wasn't much he wouldn't do to keep her by his side. He felt so fucking weak. So cowardly. And so in love with her, he couldn't see straight.

  "I love you," she whispered, her voice shaking.

  He wanted to drop to his knees and plead with her not to go. She kept telling him that she was fine. He knew better though. He could read her like a book. The dilation of her eyes didn't come from any drops, but from absolute terror. The way her hand shook in his wasn't because she was nervous, but because she was on the verge of panicking. He wanted to shake her for being so stubborn. Kiss her for being so damn courageous.

  "I love you, too," he said instead, jerking her to a halt right inside the living room.

  She turned to face him, a question in her eyes, but he didn't give her time to ask it. Instead, he crushed her to his chest, his mouth crashing down on hers. His lips moved over hers insistently, pouring everything he felt into their kiss. His fear. His love. His obsession with this beautiful little ballerina who'd knocked his world out of orbit. And he was obsessed. Completely.

  "Come back to me safely," he demanded, breaking away with a gasp.

  She turned dark, hungry eyes up to him, seeming almost startled. Her lips were swollen and red, her face flushed with desire. God, she was pretty. Did she even know how he felt every time she looked at him like that?

  The adoration in her eyes hit him like a fist, every single time. Made him want to strip her down and torture her with his lips and hands until she begged him to fill her. He loved the way she begged him to make her feel good. She made him feel like a rock star when she pleaded for his cock, her nails digging into his skin, her body writhing and contorting beneath his.

  "Lillian, it's time to go," Jason said from across the room.

  She nodded, not breaking eye contact with him. There were so many things he wanted to say to her right then, but he couldn't form a single word. They were lodged in his throat alongside his heart.

  "I'll see you soon." She ran her hand along his jaw, her fingertips soft against his skin. Her eyes met his, holding for a moment. And then, without another word, she was gone, taking his heart and soul with her as she slipped out the front door with her pho
ne in her hand and a final reminder from Jason to hit that panic button if anything at all went wrong.

  The door closing behind her sounded ominous.

  Tristan tilted his head back and groaned. He wanted to pray, but he wasn't even sure he remembered how to do it. He hadn't really spoken to God since the day of his mom and dad's funerals, the day he decided God was punishing him. In all the years since, he hadn't had much use for God or religion. Standing there though, he almost wished he remembered the words of the prayer his mom used to recite with him every night when he was a kid, wished he hadn't given up on God when God gave up on him. Having God on his side would have helped right then.

  "Kincaid has eyes on her," Jason said, listening to his team via the radio on his hip and the earpiece in his ear. He stood near the windows, keeping to the shadows. "She's in line."

  Tristan gritted his teeth, striving for the strength to stand there instead of ripping the door open and going after her. "Fuck," he swore, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I swear to God, Jason, if anything happens to her, anything at all, I'm going in."

  "I know," he responded. "I'll be right behind you."

  Yeah, Tristan kind of figured he would. Jason may have been a dick at times, but he cared. And that's the only thing that kept Tristan from losing his shit entirely. Jason wouldn't let anything happen to her. Whether she realized it or not, she was part of the family now, and they protected what was theirs.

  "Stephan is at the door," Jason said. "He hasn't looked her way yet, but the line is moving. She'll be in soon."

  "Everyone's in place?" he asked, pacing back and forth. He wanted to snatch up his own radio and hear what they had to say himself, but he wasn't sure he could do it. Any excuse he could grasp at to abort this mission, he'd grab with both hands. They were too fucking close to ending this shit for him to screw it all up now.

  "Yeah, they're in place." Jason paused, turning to look at him. "She's going to be fine, T."

  "I know," he mumbled, feeling as if the words were going to choke him. He refused to believe that voice in the back of his mind, screaming that tonight wasn't going to end well. It would. Because if anything happened to her, if she sustained so much as a scratch, no power on Earth would keep him from tearing the club down around Vetrov's ears.