Chapter 8 Tristan
TRISTAN
Ican’t take my eyes off her.
On the drive home, it takes an inhuman will to focus on driving and not gaze at her. I doubt I’ll ever get my fill. She enraptures me.
This is pure madness, snapping my synapses and rewiring my brain, turning me into a man desperate to fulfill her every wish.
Give her anything she desires.
The fewer people who know about us, the better. My plan is to hide her, hide us, until I have her for good.
But then she said she’d like to ride, and I brought her to the farm.
I trust my people to be discreet. Finn requires no instruction regarding silence. He is the manager of the horse farm and one of my trusted handlers, torturing people for information when I am occupied.
Under the ground lay the ashes of the people who had crossed me, of the ones I had to take down on my way up.
I took her there as if her presence could cleanse my sins.
“When can we return?” she asks, excitement ringing in her voice.
“Whenever you wish.”
Her face beams, making me want to give her the damn world. Every other success pales compared to delighting her.
Here I am seducing her, needing her to fall in love with me so that once the truth is revealed, she will forgive me. Wishful thinking.
I act this way for myself, to relish this unburdened period with her. I am selfish like that.
I doubt she’ll ever realize that while I deceive her, I show her a part of myself no one has ever been privy to. Once she knows my real identity, she won’t look at me with those bright eyes as if she can’t believe this is real—trusting me, something she shouldn’t, making me feel like shit.
The dichotomy threatens to split me apart. Wrestling with my conscience has not been something I have experienced. While I am deep in thought, a shadow passes across her eyes. Surely, she thinks about the impossibility of us.
I palm her thigh, giving it a little squeeze to comfort her. We’re not there yet, and I want nothing else to trouble her, to taint our time together.
By the time we return to the beach house, the sun has long set and she’s fast asleep, trusting me to take care of her.
My chest clenches, hating that I will cause her the most hurt, that I will shatter her trust. But following my plan ensures I get her, solidifies my alliance with the Syndicate, and keeps both sides in check.
I round the car, and slip my arms under her knees and back, carrying her inside. She murmurs my name in her sleep, boosting my ego. I feel on top of the world.
Placing her down on the bed, careful not to wake her, I undress her and tuck her in.
Brushing a gentle kiss on her lips, I let her sleep.
She needs rest after she exerted herself today.
Quite ambitious, my woman, wanting to master the skill so we could ride together.
She hurries just like me, aware there’s an expiration date.
We seize every second, capture every moment, live every day to the fullest for as long as we can.
The thought alone unbalances me. Fuck, I rake a hand through my hair and tiptoe out.
Restless energy courses through me. Too pumped to sleep, I step inside my home office, pour myself some scotch, and sit down by the window, the half-moon my sole company.
Staring at the chessboard, I always picture my father across from me, the fucker smirking at me even from the grave.
A surge of rage rushes through me with the desire to resurrect him just to kill him anew, let him watch me take over.
The empire was crumbling under him, while it thrives under my rule.
I move the first piece, steepling my fingers on my mouth, and wait as if any moment now a piece will move, starting to play with the ghost of my father.
Throwing my head back, exhaustion tugs at my lids. Nothing has helped ease me. Sleep calls on those nightmares, making me feel like a little boy once again—helpless, biding his time, and learning patience. Learning to channel his anger into something productive.
That child should have long been vindicated. He’s not, and I think nothing will help in soothing him.
The wind lashes at the window just like agony howls inside me. Taking another gulp, I watch the chessboard once again when my phone rings. My right hand is calling me. In my absence, Connor takes care of things.
“Yes,” I snap.
“Good evening to you too, Boss.”
Nothing fazes this guy. I asked him once why, and his answer was family.
“It better be important.”
“The construction will start on Monday as planned.”
“Good.” I hang up.
Usually, I’m glued to my laptop, doing something productive. Instead, I stare down the damn chessboard as if it’s an enemy I want to cut apart limb by limb.
Emptying the glass, I am about to move his piece when I feel her, obliterating the gloom with her sunny presence, my heart picking up at sensing its match.
I cock my head toward the door where she watches me, wearing my shirt that falls to the middle of her thighs, looking sexy yet adorable.
Mine.
“Playing alone?”
“Haven’t found better competition,” I say, feeling lighter. Her presence alone calms the demons rioting inside me.
She sashays over to me. “Hmm, we’ll see about that.”
I don’t know who seduces whom, but her confidence does inexplicable things to me.
Viviana takes the seat across from me and puts her chin in her palm, perusing the board. She makes a bold move by bringing in the queen. She never ceases to impress me.
Grinning, I move my knight.
“This is the second night you haven’t slept.” Caution threads through her soft voice.
She’s good at reading me, damn it—too well. I have been raised by a monster, thrived in the lair of the most cunning men, and learned to school my features, yet she peers through my defenses with uncanny ease.
I applaud her for trying to manipulate me into answering her.
“You’re distracting like that,” I say flippantly.
She purses her lips, not liking my answer at all. “Why can’t you sleep?”
I lean back and cross my arms over my chest, the game forgotten. “Changing tactics?”
“Adapting.”
“Monsters under my bed,” I say, tone etched in sarcasm.
Buried, but still bringing nightmares to haunt me.
She tilts her head, her eyes not breaking eye contact. “What kind?”
“Drop it, Viviana.” I clench my jaw. “You won’t like what you discover.”
“That’s for me to decide. You want me to be yours.”
“You. Are. Fucking. Mine.”
Leaning back, she rests her arms on the armchair, tapping the fabric, appearing like a queen on a throne.
“Well, I come with demands. I want to get to know you. The real you. I’ve been friends with Evie for so long, and yet she clams up when it comes to family topics.
That tells me it’s bad. And I didn’t need much to figure out you’re protecting her. ”
My teeth grind together hard enough to break a molar. I hate that I’ve failed to protect my sister from the horrors of this fucking life. I’d take the pain from her if I could. But she’s cursed to live with the nightmare, just like I am cursed to live with failing her.
I move the rook, wanting to focus on the game, to win, to feel the rush of victory numbing everything else.
She falls silent for a while, and then she whispers, “I’m terrified of my father.”
I hold the conquered pawn so tight it might crack under pressure.
“Which is absurd because everyone knows I’m his favorite. His good girl who can do no wrong. He would have a heart attack knowing what I am doing now.”
“Did he—?” I expel a long breath to gather myself and not hop in the car to end the bastard for frightening her.
“My sister took the brunt,” she sighs, hugging herself. “But I fear facing that side of him and disappointing him.”
“We’re wired to love our makers regardless of what they do.”
If that’s not cruel, I don’t fucking know what it is. We need them for survival, even though they are the ones who can break us like nothing else.
“Did you love yours?”
I pin her with an intent look, so she stops. “Viviana.”
“Tristan.” She holds my stare, not intimidated in the slightest, amplifying my awe.
Eyes locked, a stubborn expression stretches across her features, urging me to give her something. “My mom abandoned me. My father cared about nothing else but himself.”
He searched for my mother for years until he found them. He was about to kill his own daughter, thinking Evie wasn’t his. I can’t recount the sordid family tale to the woman I wish to seduce. She’ll want to save me when there’s no saving me, no part left to redeem.
“Thank you.”
She moves her queen diagonally, capturing my bishop before searching my eyes. Bold move. Smart strategy, and it doesn’t apply only to chess.
My skin tightens around my bones. She’s trying to read me, crawl inside of me, and uncover my darkest, deepest secrets.
No one ever dared to study me in the open like she does—unafraid, determined.
“How do you sleep?”
“By exerting myself until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.” Then I know I won’t be trapped by the past, at the mercy of my demons.
“You’re highly functional then.”
Such observational skills. It’s almost a pity she wants to become a preschool teacher. In the right hands, she could be a terrific weapon.
We continue to play. She proves to be quite an opponent, but my brain swiftly calculates the variables, and I get her in check.
“Impressive,” she says, realizing she’s cornered.
“The queen always protects the king, knowing once she falls, the kingdom falls. Checkmate.” I smirk.
“Ambitious. Driven. Focused.” She’s enumerating stuff as if searching for a potential diagnosis.
This happens when I try to open myself. Serves me fucking right. I stand up and go to the bar to pour myself another glass.
“She doesn’t know, does she?” she whispers.
The liquid sloshes in the glass, just like nerves rattling my insides. “What do you think you know?”
“That you’re on the antisocial spectrum.”
I grip the edge of the desk, unraveling by the second.
I jerk my chin at her, trying to appear more in control than I am. “Afraid?”