Chapter 2 Underground #3
But he had chosen this path and was sticking with it, at least for now. He just hoped Cade wouldn’t kill him while he slept, because then no one would be around to save Natalie.
They stopped by the car to grab a small bag from the trunk, then continued to a room not far from where they parked. Cade opened the door and flicked on the light, and Tristan took in a standard, dated motel room.
Cade plunked down the key with its large plastic fob with a giant number "5" and immediately began searching the whole place, behind mirrors, lamps, and furniture.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking for cameras or listening devices."
"In a random hotel room?"
Not bothering to look up, Cade answered, "Always."
"You're sort of paranoid."
"Comes with the job."
Tristan sat in the desk chair and watched the other man scour the room. He was quick, efficient, and thorough, as if he had done this dozens of times.
When Cade seemed satisfied, he offered, "You can shower first."
"Oh. I don't have clean clothes."
"Me either. We'll get some tomorrow."
"And also get the laptop to your associate?"
"Yeah. She'll get us some cash too. You know you can't use your credit cards, right?"
The brutal reality of the whole situation seeped a little deeper into Tristan's bones. "Yeah. I know."
"We'll get some sleep tonight. We'll get cash and info on the safe house in the morning."
"Oh, okay," Tristan murmured, his sluggish brain faltering with information overload.
Cade scowled at him as if he could see his thoughts sputter. "Go shower," he urged.
Tristan entered the bathroom and stripped.
Stepping under the weak spray, he was thankful the water burned hot, even if the pressure was crap.
After a quick wash, he wrapped the threadbare white towel around his waist and ran his fingers through his hair to tame the thick waves.
He reluctantly redressed in his boxers and black shirt, then exited the bathroom with his black pants in hand.
Cade was sitting at the desk with his disassembled gun and what looked like a cleaning kit.
His phone lay nearby, and Tristan heard a deep voice on the other end saying they'd talk in the morning.
Cade disconnected the call and turned around.
His gaze skittered first to Tristan's bare legs and then up to his face, and some sort of emotion flashed in his dark brown eyes.
If he hadn't been tired, traumatized, and still vaguely nauseated, Tristan might have tried to decipher that look. Instead, he tossed his pants on a chair as Cade turned back to his work.
"Who were you talking to?"
"My boss."
"He's not happy, I bet."
No answer.
"So you're not in trouble with your boss?"
Cade didn't look up. "No."
"He's not mad that you botched the job?"
That got Cade's attention. He spun around to face Tristan. "What the fuck? I didn't botch the job. You botched it for me!"
"I helped you distract him!"
"After you screwed up my plan by being there in the first place."
"That's not my fault."
"It really is," Cade snapped back.
Their eyes locked in angry, twin glares until Tristan relented.
"Fine. It was sort of my fault, I guess."
Cade squinted at him, then nodded curtly and went back to cleaning his gun.
Tristan stared at the other man's broad back, not knowing what else to say.
Should one apologize when they broke into a house and stopped someone from interrogating and murdering someone?
Cade had not been able to question Wilson, but he had ended up dead, so Tristan had technically only messed up half of his agenda.
Was there an etiquette guide or Hallmark card for this occasion? He imagined a flowery greeting card with gold cursive print saying, "Sorry I ruined your murder plan," and laughed to himself.
When Cade turned and eyed him suspiciously, he cleared his throat, then asked, "Which side of the bed do you want?"
"The one closest to the door."
Tristan pulled down the covers and crawled into the lumpy bed. He closed his eyes, still trying to process the night's events. His mind buzzed with images as he replayed the encounter at the house. When he remembered what Cade said about the fate of the missing girls, he felt like vomiting again.
He could hear rustling from the desk, probably Cade putting away his gun and kit. Then footsteps padded across the room, and the bathroom door clicked shut.
When the door creaked again, Tristan couldn't help but pry his eyes open to observe his new roommate.
Cade wore nothing except black boxer briefs.
He looked like a wet dream come to life.
Tristan's gaze hungrily raked over the toned flesh, wanting to commit the sight to memory for future reference.
Cade's tall frame loomed in the small space, and Tristan guessed he was a few inches over six feet.
A tribal-style tattoo covered the left half of his chest, shoulder and upper arm.
His body was flawless, perfectly sculpted with broad shoulders, thick arms, chiseled abs, and powerful thighs.
His boxer briefs clung to him tightly, and Tristan's mouth watered at the bulge that suggested an impressive cock.
Oh hell.
Cade was totally his type. A tall, muscular bad boy with tattoos and a take-no-shit attitude?
Right out of Tristan's dirty fantasies.
For as long as he'd known he was gay, he'd been drawn to reckless rule-breakers, starting with the ninth-grade class delinquent. The man in front of him was perhaps the ultimate bad boy, all wrapped up in the body of a Greek god.
The physical contact in the motel office had tied Tristan in knots, tangling his brain and awakening his body. He now had a taste of what Cade's hands felt like, how hard his body was, what he smelled like.
And the whole package was so tempting that he would have jumped on it, literally and figuratively, if not for his current circumstances.
They were mixed up in a life-and-death situation, not prowling a nightclub.
And though he was in the middle of an admittedly prolonged dry spell, he needed to focus on his sister, not his sex life, despite what his body was telling him.
If Cade noticed Tristan's ogling, he didn't let on. He dropped his clothes on the chair, checked the lock on the door, and flicked off the lights. In the darkness, Tristan felt the bed sink with his companion's weight, and he waited while Cade shifted, then settled.
When he heard the other man's steady breaths, Tristan allowed himself to drift off and finally surrender to the fatigue and trauma of the day.
Until Cade's shout startled him awake.