by RuNyx .
That was his weakness.
He wanted her and he’d made it obvious. He wanted her and that was the reason she was still alive. He wanted her and that was why he’d protected her, sheltered her, saved her, time after time, from her own father.
This want was his weakness.
And she had two choices before her – she could exploit that weakness and battle with him to turn him, or she could expose her own throat and put her faith in him, her trust in him, to not rip it out.
Every single survival instinct she’d honed for years protested just at the thought of the second option. Yet, there was this tiny voice deep inside her, telling her this was the only way forward. In the last few weeks, he’d always acted in reaction to her choices. She’d have to be the one to act first.
Everything else aside, the bottom line was she was alive today because he’d chosen to save her. And she couldn’t leave, not without giving him some closure. She owed him that much for her life. Running away wasn’t an option anymore. Her life mattered everything to him. He was making it matter to her again.
She had killed two of her father’s men. She’d killed in the rage and vengeance she’d felt for twenty minutes for her car.
He had harbored that rage inside him for twenty years.
God, this was a mess. And she wasn’t even allowing herself to think of her father or Lorenzo ‘Asshole’ Maroni and all the shitload of mess with the Alliance. Her brain couldn’t sustain so much together.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the now dark sky as another flight went overhead loudly, the clouds stark gray against the black backdrop of the night.
She needed something. If she was going to expose her own weakness, her own vulnerability, she needed something, anything at all to tell her it wasn’t the worst mistake of her life. Anything to tell her that everything she’d experienced so far wasn’t manipulative on his part and wasn’t construed by her in her head.
A noise from near the entrance gates suddenly slithered through the empty silence.
Morana stilled.
It was late, later than she’d realized.
Heart pounding, she palmed the gun beside her quietly, forcing her hands to stop trembling. She wouldn’t be able to make any decision if she ended up dead. And she couldn’t die like this – not after surviving her father’s attempt, not after learning the truth, not after the twenty years Tristan Caine had spent wanting closure.
Raindrops clung heavily to the clouds, the crackle of lightning loud in the wind. Morana could feel it in the air, the heavy rain that would drown her tonight. It was already dark, the sun strangled below the horizon by the night, and she realized how very secluded she was.
Standing up as quietly as she could, the wind chilly on her bare arms, Morana quickly moved out from behind the headstone and crouched, heading towards the blast site near the gates where the noise had come from. Staying in the shadows, grateful for the dirt that kept her shoes from making any noise, grateful for the clouds that hid the moon and provided cover, she crept ahead, her own eyes acclimated to the dark behind her glasses, letting her see mostly clearly.
Finally coming behind a tree with a clear view of the gates, Morana pressed herself against it, leaning outward slightly, just enough so she could see whatever was going on.
Two stocky men in suits were rummaging around the vehicle she’d blown up – clearly her father’s men. One had a phone pressed to his ear while the other was looking around, smoking a cigarette, the orange glow of the tip a burning point from her vantage.
Keeping the gun ready in her hand, Morana just stayed put and watched.
And then, her heart stopped.
He was there.
Somehow, someway, he’d found her place.
Her surprise lasted only a moment, her heart heavy with the knowledge she didn’t have before. Amara had been right. Knowing the truth would change things for her, but it wouldn’t change things for him – she would have to do that herself.
Heart racing, her body acutely aware in a way it was only in his presence, senses alert, Morana watched as he smoothly got out from the black SUV he usually drove, his body encased in a suit, his usual open collar closed with a dark tie. His clothing told her he’d been somewhere important, somewhere out, and he’d come straight here.
Why?
The two men raised their arms to point their guns at him.
He shot one in the knee before the vehicle door was even shut.
The man dropped to the ground, shrieking in pain as his partner aimed straight. Morana didn’t even wince. She’d seen enough of him in action to know he wouldn’t be getting a single scratch.
Slamming the door behind him, he sauntered forward slowly, his entire body tight, agile, fluid in its unhurried movement, a flash of lighting giving him a deathly glow before shrouding him in black.
And then his voice, that voice of whiskey and sin, spoke in death.
“Where is she?”
Silence.
Her heart started to pound erratically, thundering in her chest. Without conscious thought, Morana pressed herself deeper into the bark of the tree, holding it tightly with her fingers until her knuckles turned white, her eyes glued to the man who would decide tonight if he would be her life or her death.
Her throat locked, suddenly wanting to call out to him. She strangled the urge.
Her father’s uninjured man didn’t say a word; he just kept his gun trained.
“Where. Is. She?”
He didn’t threat. Didn’t bluster like she’d seen a lot of men do.
He didn’t need to though. The three words were wrapped in so much death it was hard to miss.
Evidently, her father’s man, the one whimpering on the ground, thought so too. “We just got here. The blast took out both cars. Let us go, please. We have a family.”
Morana watched as he suddenly stilled, his eyes going, for the first time, to the burned remains of her car.
For a moment, nothing moved – not the wind, not the leaves, not the men.
“Where the fuck is she?”
Thunder split the sky; winds became chaotic, making his tie and open jacket flap against his hard chest, his gun arm pointing straight at the other man, the imminent death in his voice making her flinch.
But his eyes remained on her car.
Something tightened in her chest.
“We don’t know. We were told to come check on our guys.”
He turned to the men, lowering his gun, no movement on his face.
“Leave. Now. You turn around and come back, you die.”
The man who was standing nodded, putting his gun away as he helped the injured guy up and towards their own car. Within minutes, they were in the vehicle and driving away, the bright taillights disappearing, leaving everything back in the darkness.
He’d let them go.
Morana moved slightly out beside the tree, unable to understand him, the beating of her heart vicious, the rush of blood hot through her veins.
Dust slowly settled.
She watched him take a few steps towards the pile of charred metal that had been her beloved car, and come to a stop.
The gun dangled loosely in his hand at his side.
He stood before the bombed remains of her car, his back to her, the jacket of his suit clinging to his muscles as they tightened, before flapping in the onslaught of the wind.
Morana stood quietly against the tree in plain sight and watched him from behind, wanting to see his reaction, needing to see his reaction. Because if she was going to gamble with this man, she needed to know her cards.
She hadn’t spoken to him since that last text she’d sent him. Her phone had been switched off, and she’d made Amara promise to give her some time alone to figure things out. She’d been missing for hours, and she needed to see his reaction, not in front of those men, but his reaction alone. Because even though she hadn’t figured anything out, if he gave her even a sliver of hope, she knew she wasn’t goi
ng to run away. For once in her life, she wanted to stay.
His back moved as he breathed, his hands clenched beside him as he kept looking at her dead car. The darkness clung to his frame, only the flash of lightning illuminating him brightly for split seconds before leaving him standing alone in the dark again in the graveyard.
Thunder roared in agony.
The winds lamented.
Morana swallowed the pain rising in her chest but didn’t make a move, knowing instinctively that even a tiny motion would make him aware of her.
So, she just kept watching him, waiting for him to do something.
He did.
He touched her car.
Stroked it.
Just once.
But he did.
He did it when he thought no one was watching.
He did it when he thought he was completely alone.
Morana blinked at the stinging in her eyes as she saw his big, rough hand move across the charred remains tenderly, the sliver of hope expanding to a fragment now.
She knew.
She had seen.
And she was going to fight him, fight for him, like he’d fought for her. She was going to gamble. She was going to throw herself off the cliff and hope he would catch her. Because she didn’t see how they could move on if she didn’t do it. Lord knew, he wouldn’t.
Gulping in a deep breath, she took a step forward in the darkness, her eyes on him.
For a moment, nothing happened.
It was silent. It was dark. It was vacant.
She stood in plain sight now, enough so he could just turn his neck and see her.
But nothing happened.
Heart pounding, Morana swallowed, her own gun in her hand, and took another step forward.
He just took a deep breath, his back expanding, the fabric of his jacket stretching across those scarred muscles but he didn’t turn.
And suddenly, Morana knew that he knew that she was there.
He knew she was standing behind him, watching him, and he didn’t turn.
God, he wouldn’t make this easy on her. Well, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him either.
She walked another step forward, then another, and then another, watching his back muscles tighten with each one of hers, his body coiling.
Deja-vu hit her, from that very morning, when she’d confronted him about his hatred for her, about his sister, and the fact that she’d been one of those missing girls.
‘I never hated you for that.’
No. He never had. Not for that.
Had it just been that morning? Just a few hours? It felt like a lifetime.
But she had incited a reaction from him.
Taking another deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily and calling upon all the strength inside herself, Morana threw herself off the cliff.
“I know.”
Two words.
Piercing the silence between them like bullets.
Hovering in the air between them.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t move, only his back stretched once as he took in a heavy breath. Her hands ached to feel those muscles, feel those scars under her fingers. She clenched them into fists.
His own gun hung loosely by his side, his other hand going into his trouser pocket. Yet, he didn’t turn, didn’t face her, didn’t acknowledge her.
“I know…” she bit her lip, “Tristan.”
Hushed. Everything hushed.
He stilled even more, impossibly.
She stilled even more, reflexively.
The air between them stilled, dangerously.
She knew she’d crossed an invisible line they’d both repeatedly acknowledged but never toed. She knew that by calling him by his name, she’d ventured into territory unknown. And it scared her. So much, she stood trembling against the now calm gales, her hands balled into fists by her side as she kept her eyes glued to his back, waiting for a reaction.
It came.
He turned.
Lightning split the sky.
And in that momentary light, his magnificent blue eyes found her, imprisoned her, burned her.
Her throat locked, heart pounded, blood beat hard in her ears.
Her breath started coming faster, until she was almost on the verge of panting, because he stood a few feet away from her, cutting a lethal form in the darkness that enclosed him, wrapped around him like a lover, wrapped around her like a foe.
And he uttered not a word.
God, he wasn’t going to give her an inch, not unless she forced him to. And she would force him to. There was no other way, not now, not for her, not for him, not for them.
With that knowledge deep in her heart, she closed her eyes once, gasped in another breath, and forced herself to at least appear somewhat calm.
“Thank you,” she began quietly, her words, though soft, loud in the silence of the graveyard.
She couldn’t see his eyes clearly, so she didn’t know how he reacted to it. She was almost going into this on blind faith and hope.
So, without waiting for his reaction, or give herself more time to panic, she started to talk.
“Thank you, for saving me,” she spoke to his hard, motionless form. In a way, it was better that she couldn’t see him. It made this much easier of sorts. “Not only in the past few weeks but twenty years ago.”
His fingers flexed on the gun.
“I know it came at a cost nobody should’ve had to pay, least of all a young boy, and I’m so, so very sorry for all of it.”
Only the movement of his chest.
In. Out.
Her own breathing synced with his.
Okay.
“But I’m not going to discuss it, not like this and not when you don’t want to. We’ll only speak of it when you are ready because it’s your story.”
And now came the tricky part.
Allowing the blast of anger to shoot through her veins, Morana took a step forward, her fear mingling with the rage inside her.
“You hate me, loathe me, for something I never did. While I can understand that – I completely understand it – I cannot live with it. Not knowing that I was innocent,” she sucked in another breath. “But you did save me, and my conscience won’t allow me to move on without giving you a chance for closure.”
The scent of incoming rain permeated the air, along with the scent of night blooms that grew wildly in the area. Morana drew in the scent, taking strength from the memory of another rainy night that had triggered the change in her.
Wetting her lips, she spoke, keeping her voice as firm as it could be while her insides shook.
“So here’s the thing, Mr. Caine.” She won’t call him by his name again, not until he gave her the right. “I have made my decision – for good or bad. Now, it’s time for you. I’m giving you the chance to kill me, right here, right now.”
A beat passed.
With that aforementioned strength, she threw the gun she had in her hand, the gun that had been her savior for so long, very deliberately to the side.
His own stayed right in his hand, his eyes burning on her.
Morana pushed forward, gathering courage as the words came to her. “My father already tried to off me and if I die tonight, none would be the wiser. They’ll all think I perished when the bomb went off and all the responsibility would lay at my father’s feet – not you or the Outfit. Nobody would ever need to know you even came here or that you were involved. No blame would ever go to Tenebrae. No mess. No foul. Nothing.”
The wind whipped her hair around her face, touching her all over before it reached him, caressed him, making his jacket flap against his torso.
Thunder roared through the sky again.
Morana waited for it to quieten before continuing.
“As for the codes,” she spoke, unable to stop now, wondering if anyone had ever made arguments for their own death like she was, “we both know you can get other computer experts, so that’s not the main issue. You’d never
get a better opportunity to kill me. You know it, I know it. This would stay only between us and the dead that are buried here. So, point that gun at me one more time and aim for my heart. Shoot me. Find your closure. Find what you’ve been looking for, for twenty years.”
His hand didn’t move, even as his fingers twitched. The silence, though her ally as she delivered her words, was undoing her, bit by bit.
She took a step closer to him, still keeping many feet between them, to cover for her shaking body.
“But understand this,” she kept speaking, in the same firm tone, thankful it didn’t quiver. “This is the only chance I’m giving you to kill me. After this, should you choose not to, this will never come up again. After this, you’ll need to let go of the idea that you’re killing me. After this, you never, ever threaten me with my life again.”
The hand in his pocket came out, his fist clenching and unclenching.
That small outward movement gave her fortitude.
“You deliver my death or you let it go. Either way, you need to make a choice, as I’ve made mine and come to peace with it. Because if your choices affect my life so deeply, if a choice you made two decades ago is defining my life right now, then I’ll make you choose again. This time, not as a boy but as a grown man.”
And then the tremor in her voice came out, her jaw clenching as her voice broke. “Because I sure as fuck will never, ever let you think you’ll kill me again. This is the only chance you’ll ever have.”
Her instincts were raging inside her. “So, choose.”
Her palms started sweating.
She saw his grip on the gun tighten, his arm starting to move, and she closed her eyes.
The noises around her seemed louder in the utter darkness behind her lids. The sounds of creatures doing their nightly rituals, the sound of wind rustling through the leaves, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.
The scents were more acute as well. The scent of the heavy clouds in the air, the scent of her own fear permeating her skin, the scent of the wildflowers in the night. The storm brewing outside, the tempest breaking inside, combining, colliding, capturing.