by RuNyx .
Without turning around to face him, Morana finished her drink.
And swayed on her feet.
What the hell?
She looked down at her one empty glass of orange juice, frowning, as the lights before her eyes blurred a bit, the world spinning slightly.
Had someone spiked her drink? The weird bartender?
No. No. No. This could not be happening to her. Not here, and not now.
Shaking her head to clear the haze enough to walk, Morana turned towards the entrance. And tried to take a step.
She swayed hard, almost tipping over.
Hands on her arms steadied her from behind, rough hands on her soft skin.
Morana blinked, her tongue swollen, wool in her mouth as the world spun a little more, her knees turning to jelly. Tremors wracked her frame, the music pounding in her skull painfully. Her lids got heavier. Fear pooled in her stomach because if she fell over in this club, she would be dead if someone found her or when her father found out. That kind of cooled the wave of drowsiness sweeping over her, just as those hands turned her around.
Morana blinked up at the blue, blue eyes peering down into her face, the hands holding her arms rough and hard. Suddenly, one hand moved up to grip her chin as he leaned her against the counter of the bar, his eyes focused on hers, holding her focus for one clear second before her lashes drifted down.
"Fuck!"
The growled expletive made her open her eyes and look up at him again, only to stagger under the sheer force of the hatred she could see searing the blue, searing her skin. She had felt him watching her but she'd had no clue how he'd been watching her. Had his eyes been burning with this loathing the entire time? Was that why her skin had tingled?
Her breath hitched in her throat, the realization that nobody had ever hated her as he did dawning upon her. She tried to open her mouth, to ask him why he despised her, where it was rooted, but her lips refused to cooperate.
The hand on her chin jerked her head, bringing her focus back to those blazing eyes, her heart hammering in her chest as her skin turned hotter under his touch, drowsiness battling with unrelenting focus.
"I'm not saving you again," he muttered through clenched teeth, his gaze livid, his other hand pulling out his phone, the bandage wrapped around the palm where he had cut himself on her knife making her stomach twist.
"Dante," he spoke, his voice tight, controlled. "Someone spiked her drink."
Silence as Dante said something. And then. "I'm not going to stick around and play hero. Amara can babysit her while she recovers."
Before Morana could swallow the lump in her throat, hatred burned through her – at the fact that she was at his mercy and his blatant disregard, at the bastard who had spiked her drink, at the situation – he was roughly pushing her towards the VIP area, his hand gripping her arms. She could feel the rage contained in his body, feel herself tremble in the vicinity of that rage. He had never been like this, even the short time that she had known him.
What the hell had happened? What was happening? Her mind muddled even as the heat of his body pushed her forward.
The beautiful woman in the silver dress came forward, concern marring her brows. "What happened?"
"I don't care," came the sharp retort from beside her. "I have to go."
He let go of her almost as though she'd burned his hands.
The moment his grip on her slackened, her knees gave away and she sank into the plush cushions again, her sluggish eyes watching his muscular back retreat. Utter fury filled her, making her body shake with the sheer force of it, the urge to punch him in the face ardently coursing through her veins even as she knew she couldn't even lift a finger right then.
Amara sat beside her, rubbing her back in a soothing motion, sighing deeply, her green gaze soft on Morana's. "I'm sorry about him."
Morana blinked groggily, her throat working, head pounding as darkness crept along the edges of her vision, the world stilling as her breathing slowed.
"You have to understand why he...."
Morana wanted to. For some godforsaken reason, she wanted to understand the reason for his hatred, for the intensity of that hatred. But even as she tried, Amara's voice began to drift away, her lashes gluing to her cheeks, her muscles going limp as she leaned back into the cushions and completely succumbed to oblivion, not knowing if she would wake up to see another day.
A jerk suddenly startled her.
Disoriented, Morana pried her heavy lids open slowly, her eyes burning, to see trees rushing by at speed in the darkness and long stretches of secluded road ahead. The sound of an engine whirring broke into her dazed consciousness a second later, along with the scent of car perfume, warm air, and leather against the back of her thighs and shoulder blades. All of it extremely familiar.
Blinking, she sat up suddenly, the quick motion sending a shot of dizziness through her system and the dull echo of pain through her skull, and looked around.
Suave cream interior, the little trinket – glasses and a gun - dangling from the rearview mirror, a mystery paperback tossed in the console, along with her black clutch.
She was in her own car.
And a woman was driving her car. A woman in a hot silver dress, glancing at her with concerned forest green eyes. Where had she seen her before...?
"How are you feeling?" the woman asked in a soft, soothing voice that was somehow raspy in the silence.
Something about her seemed familiar. Morana shook her head once to clear it, and thought about the question, even as her eyes checked the woman out for any weapons on her. How was she feeling?
"Dazed, I think," she muttered, a frown taking over her face. "Who are you?"
The woman flashed slightly alarmed eyes at her. "Amara. We just met an hour ago. In the club. You don't remember?"
Now that she mentioned it, pieces started coming back to her. Meeting with Dante. Putting the drive in her clutch. Going to the bar. The weird bartender. The woman coming up to meet her. And...
Her jaw clenched as everything rushed back into her mind. Hot, hot lava flooded her blood, her fingers curling into her palms as acid burned through her chest. The memories returned, and along with them the absolute rage that almost shook her frame, the urge to hit something hard violent inside her.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the woman, pinning her with her eyes. "Why are you driving my car?"
Amara glanced at her swiftly before turning her eyes to the road again.
"Things happened after you passed out," she spoke in the same soft voice that Morana realized was her natural tone. "It wasn't safe for you there anymore, so I thought it'd be better if you got out."
Morana narrowed her eyes at her, trying to gauge how honest she was being. "And you did this out of the goodness of your heart?"
"A little," the woman replied quietly. "Mainly I did this because Tristan asked me to."
Okay.
Morana's heart started pounding the minute the words were comprehended in her brain. Before she could say anything though, Amara spoke again, in that raspy voice.
"He's following us right now."
What?
Morana swiveled her neck to look at the empty road behind them. Sure enough, there was a huge black SUV tailing them on the secluded path, making her realize they weren't that far from the club yet, miles from the mansion. The headlights shone brightly, the vehicle keeping a distance of at least ten cars between them, maintaining the same speed Amara was.
"What is his damage?" Morana muttered to herself, not understanding a thing about that man even as the urge to punch him in the nose prevailed. She grit her teeth.
"I'm not sure I'm the right person to tell you that," Amara replied, and Morana turned back to her, ignoring the headlights in her peripheral vision.
"But you were going to tell me something," she insisted, pressing on. "Before I passed out."
When the other woman didn't speak but pursed her lips together, Morana sighed, knowing she wouldn't be getting any answe
r. Curiosity assailing her about the woman, she asked. "Are you in the family?"
Amara's lips curved as she smiled slightly, shaking her head. "Not technically."
At Morana's waiting silence, she elaborated. "My mother was the head housekeeper in the Maroni household. I've grown up with the men when they were boys, but I was never family."
"You were adopted into it?" Morana asked, curious.
The other woman shook her head. "No. The only one to ever have been adopted into the family was Tristan."
Morana studied the woman, a heavy feeling deep in her gut for some reason. "But you know the family?"
Amara glanced at her, her eyes hard. "Yes. But if you think I'll spill any secrets, you're wrong. I didn't when I was fifteen, and I won't now."
Morana raised her eyebrows. "Fifteen?"
She saw the woman's hand clench on the steering wheel, her lips purse tightly for a moment before she sighed. "I was abducted and taken prisoner by another mob. They tried to get me to talk, and when I refused, they damaged my vocal cords."
Morana's heart clenched in pain for the woman even as a sort of admiration for her strength seeped in. A fifteen-year-old young girl facing horrors and refusing to succumb. Morana knew the cost of being strong in this world, and even though this woman was the enemy, Morana could respect that strength. So she did. Silently.
"Dante and Tristan found me after three days. Dante took me home but Tristan stayed behind to clean up," Amara spoke on quietly, in that voice that had been made permanent forcefully, only the humming of the car permeating the air. "They'd both been so angry, not just because I had been theirs but because violating a woman is something they both truly abhor. They've always been protective of women and children. Which is why what happened tonight was not ordinary."
Morana took in all that information for a moment then huffed out a skeptic laugh. "You mean Tristan Caine is ordinarily not an asshole?"
"Oh, he is," Amara replied without missing a beat. "But he's an honorable asshole. And what happened tonight wasn't anywhere near honorable."
Was that why he was following them? Out of some misbegotten sense of honor?
When pigs would fly with soft, pink wings perhaps.
He had an agenda. He always did. She just couldn't figure out what it was.
"I won't try to defend him or give excuses for his actions, because as much as I get why he's acting like this, he's the one who has to offer his own excuses to you."
Even though the woman refused to give answers, Morana was starting to like her for her loyalty. She didn't let it show.
"Then what are you saying?" Morana asked, her eyebrows raised.
Amara looked at her for a second before turning back. "The man who drugged you - the bartender of the club - has been working for the family for almost two decades. After Tristan dropped you with me, he went to deal with the man. It got... heated. So, he came over and carried you to the car and told me to drive you home. But he's been following us all the way. That's all I'm saying. Make of it what you will."
That was the issue. Morana had absolutely no freaking idea what to make of him.
Heart pounding, she looked out of the window and realized they were just a few miles out away from the mansion. She couldn't go back to the house. Not like this. Not half drugged and off-kilter, only to have her father suddenly demand a meeting in the middle of the night. Which he would because she'd ditched her security detail. No. She couldn't go back, not yet, not until she had her wits about her and some alone time.
Swallowing, she took a deep breath. "Please stop the car."
Amara glanced at her. "Why?"
Morana raised her eyebrows. "Because it's my car and I'm going to drive it."
"You were just drugged," she pointed out rationally.
"I'm fine now, and it's only a few miles away," Morana told her. Amara slowed the car a little but didn't stop, and Morana could feel her hesitation.
"Stop the car," she demanded this time, more firmly.
She saw the woman bite her lips but swerve to the edge of the almost empty road, and slowly hit the brakes. The sudden silence in the car, the quietness from the engine, the stillness as lines of trees stood on the edges of the road became eerie. Shaking off the shiver, Morana turned to the woman, giving her a light smile.
"Thank you," she spoke sincerely, "for taking care of me when I was vulnerable. I'll not forget this kindness."
Amara smiled slightly, removing her seat belt. "I know what it's like to be a woman alone on enemy grounds, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. Don't thank me for it. Just do the same for me someday if I need it."
Morana nodded, a moment of understanding passing between the two. In another life, in another world, she could actually have been friends with Amara.
But she wasn't in another life or another world.
This was her reality.
And her reality was alone.
Which was why she got out from her side, standing in the pale moonlight as the chilly wind caressed her skin, checking her own balance on tottering heels. Apart from some lingering lazy inertia, everything seemed to be alright. She started walking towards the driver's side, just as the following vehicle braked a few feet behind them.
Morana nodded at Amara as the woman got out and turned to the other vehicle.
"Take care, Morana," she spoke, that soft voice of hers and the reason behind it making Morana's heart ached for her. "I hope we meet someday under better circumstances."
"So do I," Morana whispered as she watched the woman in the shining silver dress make her way towards the black SUV.
Without a glance at the tinted windows, Morana got inside her own car on the driver's side, buckling herself in and adjusting the rear-view mirror. She watched Amara get into the back of the vehicle, and saw it pull onto the road before it took a U-turn and drove away into the night.
So much for following her.
He'd been following for Amara.
Morana sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel without turning the key, just processing. She needed to process. To breathe. Alone.
So, someone had drugged her at the club, which was not really surprising because of who she was and where she'd been. She should have been more careful. She'd slipped and she could have died because of it. Except she hadn't. Tristan Caine had pushed her into the VIP area with the one woman who'd shown her kindness. And he must have known it. Morana hadn't, but he must have. And then he'd gone back to the bar, according to Amara, to deal with the bartender. And then when things had gotten heated, he'd picked her up and put her in her own car, and told Amara to drive her home.
Why?
Her fury had not faded, not even a little. Only her confusion had increased. He hated her, she had no doubt of that. She didn't know why, but he truly, deeply hated her.
He could've left her completely with the other woman. He'd called Dante and told him so. Yet, he hadn't. And she couldn't figure out why. People did those things out of kindness, and that was a word she'd never, not in a million years, associate with Tristan Caine, not where she was concerned. It wasn't the kindness of his heart.
'You assume I have a heart.'
Then why? What was the point of getting her out? Because she'd been in their territory? Because of the old we-don't-want-to-start-a-war song? Because of... She couldn't come up with any valid explanation at all. She'd not expected him to behave like a world-class jackass, at least not to that extremity, but he had and he'd left her alone, vulnerable, with a stranger to her even though he'd known her.
Why was she thinking like that?! She wasn't his responsibility! She wasn't anyone's responsibility but her own. She'd slipped up and by all means, she should be dead right now, now feeling this odd heaviness in her gut because that man owed her absolutely nothing.
But her curiosity, and something else, refused to rest, refused to let it go. She wanted a reason for his actions – something he would never give her (and shouldn't), and something she failed to de
cipher herself. And that was extremely frustrating. She was good at reading people and he was the one man she couldn't read. At all.
The sound of an approaching engine broke her out of her thoughts.
Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror, to see a vehicle approaching.
A big vehicle, coming closer and closer.
An SUV.
Her heart stilled before it started to thrum. She watched with alert eyes as the vehicle pulled in behind her, a few feet between them, and the ignition switched off.
Erratic heartbeats and sweaty palms assaulted her as she waited for something to happen.
A nocturnal bird cooed somewhere in the trees, it's sound loud and melancholic amidst the vastness. The moon continued to glow and bathe the entire area in the moonlight. Her pulse skittered like the wings of a frantic bird.
What the hell?
Never removing her eyes from the rear-view mirror, making a mental note to get her windows tinted, she started counting in her breaths, trying to slow her heart down. At this rate, she'd get a stroke.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three.
Nothing happened. The door never opened. The lights never came on. Her eyes never wavered from the rear-view.
And then, on the heels of the nothingness, another thought flashed across her mind.
Was that even him in the vehicle?
A glance at the number plate told her it was the same car, but who was behind the wheels? It could be possible that he'd taken the SUV back to the club and someone had taken it out for a spin.
If that was true, and whoever it was had known where she would be, she wasn't sure if starting the car was a good idea. While she could floor it and try to make it back to the house, the other vehicle was bigger, bulkier and faster. And it could skewer her car within minutes. She didn't want to prompt any hostile motions suddenly.
The feeling in her gut churned, making it sink lower and lower as she breathed, quietly opening her clutch and mentally thanking Amara for not removing the gun when she took out the keys. Readying it with a quick motion, she locked all the doors, grateful for the bulletproof glass and bit her lip, not knowing what to do.