Morana scoffed, looking at both the men. "You really expect me to believe you? After you killed Jackson?"
"We haven't killed you," Tristan Caine spoke softly, his eyes hard, dangerous, the look in them sending a shiver down her spine.
Morana steeled it. "Yet. What's to tell me you won't kill me now?"
"Because we don't want to start a war," Dante finally let go of her hand, shaking his head. "As much as our families hate each other, fact is neither of us can afford a war right now, not with outside forces closing in on us. Killing Jackson was to silence him. He was genuinely under the impression that he had been dealing with Tristan. Killing you, on the other hand, will create unnecessary friction."
The logic made sense. But she didn't trust them worth her pinkie. Her eyes latched back onto the blue ones watching her.
"So you're saying someone went to the trouble of elaborately framing you, down to the detail of hiring Jackson, knowing I will uncover their tracks?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes fixed on her. "I didn't say anything."
Where did all his eloquence of murder and mayhem go before an audience? Infuriated, Morana crossed her arms over her chest, watching as Dante's eyes flickered at the action. Tristan Caine never looked away from her eyes, not once.
Out of habit, she pushed her glasses up her nose. "So now what? You want us to team up or something?"
"Or something," came his very helpful input.
The chime of a phone ringing startled the sudden quiet of the area, making her jump slightly. Dante pulled his phone out, exchanging a look with the silent man, before excusing himself and walking off towards the back. The moment he turned the corner, Morana headed towards the gates where her car waited, ignoring the man standing behind her.
"You really shouldn’t walk out without hearing our side," he remarked as she neared the gate.
"Not if you pay me a million bucks," she threw back without breaking her stride, her entire body buzzing with tension. She was almost to her car when suddenly, without any warning, she was pinned flat on the hood, the world tilting as the night sky came into view, and along with it, the face of Tristan Caine. His hand gripped both of hers, holding them above her head as his other one pushed on her stomach, keeping her flat in place.
She bucked. He didn't budge.
She squirmed. He didn't budge.
She struggled. He didn't budge.
Trying to escape the manacles around her wrists, she thrashed against the hood of her own car, kicking her legs out, trying to bite his arms, but he hovered above her, not moving, not speaking, his jaw clenched.
"I don't want to touch you any more than you want to be touched," he grit out roughly, his breath fanning her face, his eyes hard.
"Oh please," Morana rolled her eyes, sarcasm heavy in her tone. "In the two times we have met, I can see how much you detest touching me. Pinning me to flat surfaces is loathsome."
His eyes flared, a snarl curling his mouth, bringing the scar right at the corner of his lower lip into focus. "You are nothing like the women I like to pin. I certainly don't hate them."
"You don't hate me," Morana pointed out.
"No," he shook his head, his eyes hardening by the second, resolve entering them as she saw him inhale heavily. "I despise you."
Morana blinked in surprise at the hatred in his voice, her brows furrowing. She knew they weren't fans of each other, but she didn't warrant this hatred from him. He didn't even know her.
“Why?” she voiced the question in her head.
He ignored it, leaning closer, his blue eyes icy, sending a shiver of fear down her body even as her arms stayed above her head, speaking in a low, forceful voice.
"I am not killing you only because I don't want that fucking war." His tone made her flinch. The look in his eyes made her stomach drop. "Just because I cannot harm you doesn't mean I won't."
Morana looked at him, stunned at the ferocity of his hatred. "You don't even know me!"
He stayed silent for a long minute, the hand on his stomach going lower, her heart pounding as panic set in. She struggled and his hand stopped, just below her navel, the gesture of a lover and not the foe, his eyes hard on her.
"I have people who are mine. Territory that's mine. Don’t ever invade it," his hand bent a little lower to her hipbone, the threat clear, making her pulse skitter, his eyes glued to her, his voice a whisper right against her skin. "Remember that."
The fucking audacity of him! Stunned, Morana struggled harder against him, kicking her legs out. "You asshole!"
He leaned closer, his lips almost at her ear. "Wildcat."
The sound of footsteps had him releasing her. He straightened, his face donning that blank mask like it had never left, like he'd not been on top of her threatening, like he wasn't the detestable human that he was. Morana stood on slightly shaky legs, her chest heaving, her eyes glaring daggers at him as her hands curled into fists, her body shaking with the rage she could barely contain.
Dante stepped into the area, looking her up and down, frowning. "Are you okay?"
Morana felt her jaw tremble, her heart not even close to calm. The urge to pull her gun out and shoot him was so profound it almost knocked her to her knees. Shaking her head, she lifted her chin higher, steeling her spine and looked right at him, a snarl curving her mouth.
"The two of you can bleed to death for all I care."
Opening her car door, she looked back at the man who had turned her to this mess in seconds, her eyes locking with his.
"Stay the fuck away from me."
She saw something flicker in his eyes while nothing crossed his face, something he masked before she could see it, and she turned away, getting into her car, reversing out of the street. She never looked back in the rearview mirror. Never let herself focus on anything but the way she gripped the steering wheel. Never let herself feel anything but the blood pounding in her ears.
Everything had its time. She would have hers.
Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not the day after. But the day after that. Or the day after that.
One day, someday, she vowed, with all the rage pulsating in her body, making her shake till she couldn't feel her fingers from gripping the wheel so hard, the rage making her body heated like never before, the rage making her whimper for an outlet.
One day, she vowed, she would kill Tristan Caine.
She had to tell her father. There was no other way now.
Morana saw the metal gates of the mansion open up ahead, the house itself looming stark white against the cloudy, grey sky, hiding the layers of red that coated it. No matter how many times her father got the house painted, she knew of the blood that remained splattered underneath the coats, knew of the horrors the pristine white hid beneath them. She had grown up in this house, as had her father, and his father before him. The house had been in their family for three generations, every owner adding something more to the sprawling property.
Her family had been the first in the organized business. Shadow Port, back then, had been known as the city of docks. Located right on the West coast of the country, connected to international waters through the sea and locally through the river than bisected it, Shadow Port had been and still was one of the hotspots for trade. Her ancestors had seen the kind of profit that could be made, and made the city their own, slowly expanding over the years to the entire region.