Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TRISTAN
Daphne’s going to be worried sick, but I can’t help that. I’m not taking any risks.
Brent’s awake, still sitting on the floor. No one’s found him, and he doesn’t stand when I enter the conference room.
“Help,” he croaks. “Someone attacked me.”
Light gleams off shards of multicolored glass still scattered like a broken kaleidoscope. Brent’s clutching his bloodied hand to the wound above his hairline.
He doesn’t recognize me.
“Was anyone in here with you?” I crouch down and pretend to examine the mess.
He nods. “Daphne. Daphne Fox. She brought me in here.”
I find what I’m looking for. I pluck a blue shard of glass off the carpet and press the edge against Brent’s throat.
He whimpers, his eyes slamming shut. His Adam’s apple bobs slightly, a tiny droplet of red smearing along the jagged point.
My stomach lurches at the red droplets leaking from a small prick on this bastard’s skin. I force myself to keep my eyes on his face and not on my hand that’s digging into his neck.
“That’s not what happened,” I say. “You tripped and hit your head on the floor. It’s a small cut.
It’ll heal on its own. You’re going to put this on.
” I yank a new, unworn Yankees baseball cap from my bag and toss it to him.
“And you’re going to walk out of here and go the fuck home.
If you so much as mutter Daphne’s name to anyone, I will hurt you in ways you can’t fathom.
It’ll look like a scene in Saw by the time I’m finished with you.
” Brent doesn’t know he’s already signed his death warrant in my book.
I’ll take my time. Plan the perfectly slow and painful murder that fits his crime.
But I will kill Brent Sokolov. It’s long overdue.
I made a promise to Daphne, and even if I hated the thought of being her hitman before, it feels like a fucking honor now to be the man who ensures Brent will never hurt another woman ever again.
I might not know their history, but from what I’ve seen today, I have a fuzzy picture of what may have happened.
And I’m seeing red as the glass slices a little deeper in Brent’s neck.
“Please.” The pathetic whimper in his voice almost makes me laugh. “Don’t… Don’t hurt me. I’ll give you anything. You want money? I have—”
“Silence.” I step out of swinging distance in case this prick remembers he’s also surrounded by sharp glass.
But he continues to cower. “I want your silence. If you hint that Daphne was here today, I will destroy you. I will make you beg for me to kill you. And when you can’t take it anymore, I’ll keep going until I think you’re ready to die. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
I leave without another word and head to their security office. Tapping a few buttons, I pull up my phone and trigger a fake security alert to empty the surveillance room of the two security guards. They go rushing out onto the golf course at the furthest hole.
I slip inside the closet-sized room and plug in my USB.
In minutes, I’ve wiped their cameras clean of the last twenty-four hours and erased their log-ins from swipe cards, credit cards, and every record from gym and spa services.
From club records, no one would have been in or out today, and there’s no camera footage to verify any of it.
I grab my USB, walk to the driveway, and leave.
I told Daphne I’d go straight back to see her. And I will. But first, I need to make a stop for something special.
Darkness is creeping in by the time I sneak through Daphne’s back door to avoid the Secret Service agent posted out front.
Seriously? She tells her dad someone’s mailed her a fucking threat, and he posts one guy by the front door? He really does hate his daughter.
“Daphne?” I call out as Hawkeye comes bounding over with a stuffed alligator in his mouth.
“Tristan?” Her voice echoes from the kitchen, and I make my way deeper inside the house. Daphne’s propped up at the kitchen island, her laptop open as her blue eyes fall on me and immediately water.
I knew she’d be here, but after witnessing her in danger, there’s a relief to seeing her in her home, in her kitchen, looking so goddamn normal and pretty and safe.
Launching herself from her chair, she dashes over to me, trying to break my ribs in a crushing embrace that I happily return. The eucalyptus oil from her massage warms my nose, and I breathe her in just a little deeper.
“Why did you take so damn long?” Her voice cracks from unshed tears as I press my lips to the top of her head.
“I had to make a few stops,” I say as she pulls away. I shrug my bag off, careful to keep her in my arms. I’m not ready to let her go yet. “I needed a new getaway car. Had to clear their cameras and wipe their computers. And I had a chat with Brent.”
Daphne’s eyes go wide in silent horror.
“He won’t bother you again. As far as his doctors know, he’s a klutz who tripped and hit his head.”
“And you couldn’t call to tell me?”
“I… could have.” She’s got a point. I knew she’d be worried, but I thought that would magically disappear when she saw me. Guess not. “I’m sorry.”
“Wow, a man who says sorry.” Daphne’s words trip on a laugh. “Careful there, Genius, or we’re going to have to put you in a zoo as an endangered species.”
“Does that mean I’ll get to be part of a breeding program?”
Daphne’s cheeks flush bright pink. Did I push a button she likes? “I told you,” she murmurs. “You’re… this.” She waves her hand up and down the length of my body like I’m a prize on a game show she’s trying to display. “I don’t even know what you really look like. No way am I—”
“Then let’s fix that.”
“Going to… what?” Daphne’s lips pop open in surprise, and honestly, I’m surprised too.
I lower the bag onto the floor. My hands move without my telling them to as I carefully lift some of the dried wig glue along my wig cap.
It peels against my skin like I’m removing a layer.
Slowly, I remove the wig cap and wig. I’m sure my hair’s a fucking nightmare, sticking out at odd angles—it always does after I de-wig.
I reach up and slide my brown contact lens away, carefully removing it. I hope I don’t get pink eye from not doing this at a sink or washing my hands, but fuck it. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
Finally, I remove the nose. That takes more work as I locate the edges of the wax with my fingertips and carefully peel upward like one of those pore strips Tessa used on me back in high school.
Usually, I have my makeup remover and soap to take this stuff off at home, but running off to properly scrub my face wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as seeing Daphne’s reaction.
It must be a satisfying before-and-after reveal.
Her expression freezes in awe as I remove the last part of my disguise.
After removing the wax as best as I can, I shove the wig, contacts, and wax into my hoodie pocket.
I’ll reuse the wig, but the rest is trash.
Trash I will discreetly dispose of closer to my house and not in Daphne’s trash can.
Who knows if anyone is snooping through her garbage?
Daphne’s eyes shine like I’m the eighth wonder of the world.
“So, what do you think?” I wink, trying to elicit a laugh or something from her, but she is in a trance as she cups my cheek.
“Tristan?” Her voice vibrates with uncertainty, like she doesn’t believe it.
“Hi, Princess.”
“Why?” The word comes out breathless. “Why now? Why me?”
Why her? The question softens my heart. “Because I trust you.” And it’s the truth.
There’s so much more to it than that. But I can’t find the words, and I don’t know how she’d react if I said them.
So, I swallow down my feelings as I swipe my lips across hers before she can ask me any more questions.
There’s a sweetness on her lips that reminds me of dessert. Something chocolate and decadent. It tastes like she enjoyed my gift after all. Does this mean I’m forgiven in her eyes?
Her arms wrap over my shoulders, her fingers tracing the bottom of my neck and tickling the hairs there.
“I’ve got a present for you,” I mutter into her lips.
“Hm?” The curious noise slips from her throat, but those lush lips never leave mine. Neither of us wants to break this connection, but I have so much planned for tonight that my skin itches with eagerness.
“I think you’ll like it.” I break the kiss enough to lean down and wrap my hands around the backs of her thighs, lifting her until she’s wrapped those soft legs around my hips, locking her ankles in place.
“Don’t.” Her eyes widen in worry as she pulls away. “I’m too heavy. You’ll pull a muscle or something.”
“Too heavy?” Is she serious?
“It’s… It’s happened before.” Her cheeks burn red as she wiggles like she’s trying to get back on the floor.
Instead, I keep my palms flush to the back of her thighs, pinning her against me.
“Someone from Tinder,” she mumbles. “He threw his back out trying to lift me. I told him it was a fantasy to be fucked against a wall, and he thought he could. It didn’t end well.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know what weaklings you met before, Princess. But you’re not heavy.” I release my right hand and balance our weight as I raise my right hand. “See? One-handed. I’m that fucking good.”
Daphne laughs, and the brightness returns to her eyes. There’s my woman.
“Can’t forget your present.” I squat with her still wrapped around me and retrieve my bag from the floor. I bounded up the stairs into her bedroom before I shut the door.
With my new knife and ropes tucked securely in the bag, I’m so fucking ready to give Daphne Fox a night she will never forget.