Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TRISTAN
Man, I love Taco Bell. Seriously, nothing beats a chalupa supreme and a baja blast after an intense workout. I fucking hate cardio days until they’re over and I get to reward myself with salty, cheesy goodness.
Lifting the fluffy taco from the wrapper, my mouth unhinges wide like a cartoon character until my phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Seriously? Talk about shitty timing.
Setting down the chalupa, I pick up my burner as Daphne’s name brightens my screen.
“Hello?”
“Was it you?” The panic laced in Daphne’s voice sends a bolt of icy adrenaline through my gut.
“What happened?”
“You, you fucking sick fuck!” Her voice rises to a shout that pierces through the speaker. “Is this a fucking joke?”
Worry clutches my stomach harder. Something’s wrong. “Whoa, okay. That’s a lot of swear words, Daph.” She doesn’t laugh at my joke, which only makes me feel even shittier.
“If this is your idea of a sick joke, it’s not funny.”
“Joke? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.”
“Um, I’m not. What’s going on? Am I being punked?”
Daphne lets out a frustrated growl that’s both cute and terrifying. “The box.”
“What’s in the box?” I ask like Brad Pitt’s character in Seven.
“Tristan,” she snaps.
“Seriously, Daph. I didn’t leave a box.”
There’s a long pause. Something rumbles around on the other end of the line like she’s tossing the box around. “It wasn’t you?”
The worry still in her voice sucker-punches me in my gut.
“No. It wasn’t me. What’s in the box, Daph?”
She draws a long, stuttering breath into the phone. Time damn near stands still as I wait.
“The bill.” She swallows the words on the other end of the line like a bitter pill. “With a knife through it. They wrote, ‘Kill it or we’ll kill you.’ It wasn’t you?” she asks again with a note of desperation in her voice. Like she wants me to admit to it and say it was a bad joke.
But fuck, that’s not a joke. And it wasn’t me.
Anger builds quickly until my heartbeat hammers in my ears. Is someone after Daphne?
My hands shake as adrenaline floods my system and I spring up from my seat, ready to go to her.
I need to know she’s alright. Even if she’s on the phone with me, even if I can hear her clearly, I need to see she’s okay.
“Was there anything on your doorbell camera?”
“No,” she says through a strained voice. “I thought it was you. That you wiped it.”
Shit. Someone did wipe it, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. My stomach freezes, and every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. “I’ll find them for you.”
“How?”
“I’ll check online. American Guy Fawkes prowls certain corners of the internet to make sure no one’s figured out who I am. Other people on the dark web want to stop this bill, no matter the cost. I’ll check if anyone’s posted about a delivery.” Or about you.
Worry hollows my stomach like a grave. Someone’s got their sights set on Daphne, and they sound ready to pull the trigger.
Not on my watch.
“Thank you.”
“Make sure your doors are locked,” I instruct. “Do you have a weapon?”
“I have a gun.” That reminder makes her voice stronger, reinforced with confidence.
“Good. Keep Hawkeye close by. I’ll be at your place in about an hour and a half. I know where you keep your spare key, so don’t shoot when you hear me come in, okay? I’ll call out so you know it’s me.”
“Hey?” Daphne’s faint voice tugs at my heartstrings.
“Yeah?”
“Please hurry. I’m scared.” And I hear it in her voice. There’s a faint tremble in the notes, and the haunted melody wraps around my heart like a noose.
“I’ll hurry, Princess. Get your gun. Stay in your bedroom with Hawkeye. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
Nothing bad can happen to her. I refuse to let that happen. I’ve toyed with her, sure. But the fact that there’s some sick fuck out there stalking her, taunting her… I can’t stand it. I need to know she’s safe.
I won’t have time to wrap the new car I stole. I’m going to have to swap cars on the way back from D.C. sooner than I’d planned, but that’s fine. The sooner I pack up my shit and get to her, the better I’ll feel.
Right now, there’s an icy ball of rusted metal banging around my chest. In minutes, I’m zipping up my laptop case, tucking in flash drives, and opening a duffel bag to throw in emergency items. A change of clothes.
Two of my masks, making sure to leave the Guy Fawkes one behind.
If someone’s watching her right now, I don’t want them catching on to the fact that American Guy Fawkes is visiting.
Being on the FBI’s Most Wanted list has its drawbacks.
And they hate my sense of accessorizing.
There’s a decent monetary reward for whoever has information leading to my arrest, and if that day ever comes, it’ll either be someone who wants the money or some fanatic who wants to shake my hand and play Robin to my Batman.
I work best solo.
I grab my equipment, my Taco Bell, and bolt.
It takes me ninety minutes to reach Daphne’s house. As I’m pulling onto her street, I hack her phone and open the garage door, then disable her Ring app. It’s the only camera on her property.
I quickly make my way into her garage and close the door behind me. Pulling my bag from the passenger seat, I try to open the door from the garage to the kitchen, but it’s locked.
Smart woman.
Quickly ducking outside, I retrieve her spare key from under the potted… lavender?
She’s replanted the roses in a more shaded area. Well, what do you know. She’s capable of listening after all.
With no one around, I quickly pull my neck gaiter up above my nose and slip on a skull half-mask that only covers to the bottom of my nose.
Unlocking the door, I make some noise as I enter. “It’s me, Princess.”
“Tristan?” Hawkeye bounds down the steps in a flurry of excitement. Darting straight towards me, he jumps, trying to climb me like a jungle gym to give me sloppy doggy kisses.
“Hello again, boy. Did you behave for Momma?”
“Tristan?”
Tearing my eyes away from Hawkeye’s cuteness, Daphne’s poised at the top of the stairs, a Glock in her hand, pointed away from me.
And goddamn, she’s wearing a nightie and matching satin robe, the tie undone to reveal her skin frosted in lilac fabric.
My cock stirs at the dangerous sight of those curves coated in satin that clings to her skin like there’s practically nothing there.
Honestly, if she shot me down and this is the last thing I ever see, I don’t think I’d mind.
“Hey, Princess.”
Dropping the Glock on the floor, Daphne bolts down the stairs and rushes straight into my arms, her warm body molding against me. Her vanilla perfume smells so damn sweet, it’s making my mouth water.
“I’m here, Daph. I’ve got you.” I hold her a little harder as relief thaws the icy worry in my bones. She’s safe. She’s alright. She’s here, in my arms, and she’s going to be okay.
A sob wracks through her as Daphne lets out a cry of fear. It burns my chest like a brand. Damn, why did I have to be so far away when this happened? If something had happened to her in the last ninety minutes, I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself.
I cradle her closer. Minutes stretch until her sobbing slows and her breathing steadies. Her fingers relax around my back until they fall away.
“Tristan.” She wipes away tears with her fingertips as she steps back to meet my eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Someone’s trying to hurt me.”
“No one’s going to hurt you, Daph. I promise.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “You can’t promise something like that.”
“I can, and I will. I will not let anything happen to you.”
“But what if it does?” The words slip into the universe like a whisper, but the image they plant is so loud I can’t block it out.
“Don’t say that.”
“But what if—”
“Stop.” My thumb presses under her chin, forcing her to keep those eyes on me—on my mask where she can’t see my worry. I can’t hide my expressions for shit, but with a mask, I can be everything and nothing.
I’m itching to take the damn thing off so she can see how her words affect me. They grip my throat in a chokehold, and my heart bangs so hard against my ribs, they might crack. “Don’t you dare put that out in the world,” I tell her.
A strained puff of a laugh slips from those plush lips. “Why do you care?”
Why do I care? I can’t answer that. I just know that the world would be a darker place if she weren’t around, shining some light in it. And like hell am I going to let this shitty place get any darker.
“I just do. Okay? So knock it off.”
“And if I don’t?”
The challenge in her voice sends blood pounding in my ears. My gut tenses like steel, and without thinking, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush to me.
Her pretty blue eyes widen in surprise when my hardening cock presses against her soft belly. She can feel it, and I want her to.
Her lips part on a gasp.
Those lips. Her pink, plump lips are such a fucking tease.
I shouldn’t. I should walk away now. End this—end all of it.
Because even if I don’t know why, I care about Daphne Fox.
I care about her safety, and her eyes, and that biting sarcasm of hers.
I care about the way she speaks faster when she gets excited about talking about a book she’s reading.
I care about how she doesn’t fear me. I fucking care, and I can’t walk away now.
“Fuck it.” My other hand yanks down my neck gaiter, freeing my lower face, and my lips trap hers. I taste her shocked gasp before her lips yield to mine.
My God, why did I wait so damn long to do this?
The way her body contours to me is pure heaven. My hand presses against the small of her back to bring her in closer. It’s like I can’t get enough of her.
Her fingers cling to me as if she might float away if she doesn’t hold on. They coast along the muscles of my back through my t-shirt, sending long tugs of need straight to my cock. My body heats with every trace of her fingertips against me.
My tongue presses between her lips, and she parts for me to taste her. So fucking sweet.
There’s a bite to her flavor, a crispness I can’t place but tastes familiar. The tip of her tongue glides along mine, and I taste her more fully.
Some sort of liquor. Not cognac. Not bourbon. Something.
With every ounce of self-restraint I can muster, I stop. “Have you been drinking?
Daphne’s hazy blue eyes open as they drop down to my lips. “Yes,” she lets out with a soft pant.
Her eyes find mine, where all she’d be able to see is the black mesh I’d glued over the eyes of my mask. One of her hands relaxes, and her shoulder lifts. Her fingertips graze along the edge of my mask where metal meets skin, and I jolt.
“No.”
“But—”
“No, Daphne.” I shake my head and step out of reach. I don’t know if I can trust her. I want to, but it’s risky.
No one apart from my siblings knows the truth about my identity—the man behind the masks. Letting Daphne in is too much, too soon, like spoiling your appetite before your last meal on death row.
“Tristan?”
Something in my chest tugs, pulling me towards her like a magnet.
“Not yet.” It’s a promise to her and to myself. If I can trust her, I will. No hiding. I know, logically, I have enough evidence to damn us both if she ever went to the authorities—but this isn’t about rules and all that law-and-order bullshit. No.
This is personal.
“Not yet,” I repeat, so quiet I barely hear it.
She gives me one small nod, then steps closer, embracing me as she cushions her cheek against my chest.
I press a soft kiss on the top of her head, the astringent smell of her fancy shampoo biting in my nostrils. Pulling up the neck gaiter with one hand, I scoop her up bridal style with one arm as her arms wrap around my neck.
Damn, I am not going to think about the symbolism behind that right now.
Careful of Hawkeye bouncing around on the floor like we’re playing a new game, I slowly carry Daphne back up the stairs, ignoring the Glock. I’ll get it later.
I settle Daphne on top of her cheap Target bedsheets, the fabric scratching my knuckles.
Her family’s wealthy—they were rich before her dad became the President—the kind of rich where people called themselves ‘comfortable’. She comes from money. She has a job and no debt. So, why does her bedroom look more like a prison cell than a place for sleep?
The questions burn in my brain, but I shove them back. She’s had a scare tonight. She needs rest. And I need time to dig through the dark web for answers.
Hawkeye leaps up onto the corner of the bed, his tongue lolling out as he glances up at me, silently asking for permission.
“Can he stay?” I ask, nodding towards our puppy as I tug the covers down from under Daphne’s body.
“I’m a dog-in-the-bed kind of person.”
A small chuckle escapes. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
She shimmies out of her robe and discards it on the floor. And all humor disappears.
The purple satin clings to her breasts, full and round as her nipples pucker in the air conditioning. The fabric rolls over the soft swell of her stomach until it dips down to the apex of her thighs.
Jesus Christ, if she hadn’t been drinking tonight, I’d be kicking Hawkeye out of bed and burying my head between Daphne’s thighs to taste the rest of her.
“See something you like?”
The tease in Daphne’s voice sends an ache straight to my fucking balls. They’re going to be bluer than a Smurf tomorrow.
I toss the covers over her body, and she pouts.
“Is there something about a man in a mask that turns you on, Princess?”
She nods against the pillow as she settles on her side, her gaze still locked on mine. “I guess so. New kink unlocked.”
Duly noted. “Get some rest. I have work to do.”
She obediently closes her eyes. “Good night, Tristan.”
I lean in to kiss her forehead, and when I pull away, she’s smiling with her eyes closed. “Sweet dreams, Daphne.”
Hawkeye pads over to the crux of her legs and tucks himself behind the backs of her knees, trapping her in place for the night.
I leave the door ajar, making sure the hallway lights are off so as not to disturb her. I retrieve the Glock from the floor.
Taking it with me downstairs, I check that the safety’s on and put it on Daphne’s dining room table. Pulling the curtains shut on the first floor, I set up my laptop.
I know I made a promise to her to kill Brent Sokolov, but I hate the thought of being someone else’s hitman.
I promised myself my motivations would always be my own.
I would justify every death at my hands, and every time a death has saved hundreds or thousands of innocent Americans.
But this is the first time since we’ve met that I feel useful to Daphne for a change.
She’s helped me, and now it’s a chance for me to return the favor.
Time to figure out who the fuck is threatening Daphne.