Chapter 14 Escape
Tristan
Just before noon the next day, the urgent need to pee roused Tristan from a heavy sleep. Groggy and sluggish, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, groaning like an eighty-year-old man as he clocked the muscle stiffness and dull aches all over his body.
Smiling as he remembered what caused those aches, he shuffled to the bathroom. As he washed his hands at the sink, his reflection in the mirror momentarily stunned him, driving away any remnants of sleep.
At least a dozen red, angry blotches, bluish finger-shaped bruises, and conspicuous teeth imprints littered the skin of his neck and shoulders. Fascinated, he tilted his head to inspect them more closely, then gazed down to see at least ten more branding his chest, stomach and thighs.
As he traced a finger lightly over the discolored patches of skin, it occurred to him that he should feel embarrassed or ashamed, but instead, a sense of smug satisfaction and a strange pride rose in his chest at what the marks represented.
That Cade had wanted him.
Yesterday's sex — the marking, edging, and most of all the domination — had undoubtedly been the most exciting and fulfilling sexual encounter of his life. He hadn't known he'd like it so much, but now that he'd had a taste, he knew he wanted to do it again and again.
The way Cade had treated him, used him, looked at him with blazing lust in his eyes, made him feel desirable and special in a way he'd never felt before, and it made him eager to do or be whatever the other man wanted, just so he could have more.
Cade had said he liked it too, and even if he had reservations over getting involved with a protectee, that hadn't seemed all that important last night when he jerked them both off with something resembling desperation.
That one-eighty had been confusing, but Tristan had been too hungry for his touch to complain.
So yeah, if Cade wanted to do that again — or, you know, really anything involving orgasms — in the short time they had left, he'd take whatever he could get.
He didn't want to live cautiously anymore, not since his mom died, too young, too soon. In her final weeks, she had expressed regrets, encouraged him and Natalie to seize opportunities when they came, warned them that tomorrow wasn't guaranteed.
Of course, she probably hadn't been talking about getting held down and fucked within an inch of his life, but he figured the general idea still applied.
The more complicated topic was his growing emotional attachment to Cade, especially after last night when he had opened up. Tristan had felt the pull then, a trust developing between them, something deeper than physical attraction, and now he couldn't help but wonder if the affection was mutual.
He felt like an idiot for slamming the door on yesterday's conversation before it even started. Maybe then he could have gotten the answers he wanted, but now, even though Cade had revealed a peek at his past, Tristan couldn’t be sure if the other man had reached his sharing limit.
Cracking through his housemate's defenses would take time. Time they didn't have. They could find Natalie any day now, maybe even today — please let it be today — and then when they eliminated the people looking for him, this thing with Cade, whatever it was, would be over.
Unless he did something, said something.
Today, he promised himself, he'd ask.
Tristan sensed the awkwardness between them as soon as he entered the kitchen. Cade seemed aloof, his body language stiff and tense, his responses briefer and more clipped than usual, and Tristan wondered if he was embarrassed by his late-night revelations.
Tristan's own nervousness about broaching the subject of 'feelings' left him hesitant and self-conscious as well, which made the lunch conversation strained.
When they sat down to play backgammon, he seemed unable to hound and tease his opponent the way he usually did, and he didn't ask any personal questions as he tried to work up the courage to ask how Cade felt about him.
Overall, everything just seemed off.
When Cade's phone buzzed late in the afternoon, he wasn't sure if the interruption relieved or annoyed him.
"Hey, Annabeth. You're on speaker."
"Hi, Tristan," Annabeth's voice spilled from the phone without her usual enthusiasm.
Something about her tone had his skin prickling, and he cautiously asked, "Hi, Annabeth. Did you find anything?"
"Yes, actually. I cracked the encryption on the laptop."
He and Cade shared a hopeful look, and he leaned toward the phone. "What did you find?"
"Well, I confirmed they are keeping the girls at ten sites."
Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. "That's a lot of girls."
"Yes, it is," Annabeth answered sharply. "The bad news is, the data uses codes, and while I can read the letters and numbers, a lot of it doesn't make sense yet, so I still don't know where the sites are located."
"Is that all?"
When Annabeth hesitated, Tristan's heart rate spiked.
"No," she finally said. "When did your sister go missing?"
His eyes snapped to Cade's, and he swallowed hard. "Eleven days ago, on the ninth."
"Does she have red hair? Like you?"
He answered warily, "Yes. What did you find, Annabeth?"
"There are references to gems, and I've determined it's code for the girls' hair colors: onyx means brunette, ruby means red-haired, and citrine means blonde. I found out they acquired a ruby on the ninth."
His heart squeezed. "So it confirms they have my sister," he said, searching Cade's face and confirming he agreed.
"Yes, I'm sorry, Tristan."
They were all silent for a moment, and then Annabeth added, "There's more," in an ominous tone that had Tristan's stomach twisting.
She took a deep breath. "I learned they're auctioning off a rough ruby to the highest bidder."
His brain whirred. "A ruby? So a girl with red hair? You think it's my sister?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
He felt like he might vomit. They were auctioning her? Like merchandise? Like what, slaves? Livestock? What the actual fuck?
"What does 'rough' mean?" Cade's steady voice interrupted Tristan's spiral.
Annabeth did not answer right away, and Tristan clenched his hands as he braced for bad news. "What does it mean, Annabeth?" he pressed, hating how his voice quivered. His head was spinning, and the buzzing in his ears rang louder with each passing second.
"Well, rough gemstones haven't been cut by a jeweler."
He let that sink in, and it took his brain several seconds to snap the pieces together. "Do they mean, like, she's a virgin?"
"I believe so, yes," Annabeth confirmed.
"Oh, god. Oh my god," he murmured, dropping his head into his hands and fighting back the bile rising in his throat.
"Tristan, listen. This is good. It means they haven't … violated her yet."
He let Annabeth's words penetrate his haze. Yes, it was good, but for how long?
"When? When is the auction?" he demanded, suddenly on high alert.
"They're taking bids virtually until the end of the day Saturday."
"But that's only two days from now! We need to find her before then!"
As his panic spiked, he looked to Cade for reassurance, but the other man's expression was grim.
"We can, can't we?" he pleaded.
"I hope so," Cade answered, but his eyes betrayed his doubt, and Tristan's desperation swirled out of control.
"Who is bidding? Could they take her far away, or even out of the country?"
"It's possible," Annabeth said, her voice gentle.
"Fuck!" he yelled and strode away from the table, only vaguely registering when Cade ended the call with Annabeth.
He growled with frustration and anger, so overwrought he wanted to break something. Finding no nearby objects to hurl, he rammed his hands into his hair and yanked hard, fighting back despair.
Too much. It was all too much.
Stomping to the cabin's front door, he bashed the sides of his fists against it again and again until he felt strong hands seize his wrists.
"Tristan, stop!"
He struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t escape the other man's ironclad grip. "Let me go! I need to hit something!"
"You're hurting yourself," Cade said, spinning Tristan around to face him.
Tears spilled down his cheeks as Tristan sucked in uneven breaths, and rage burned in his gut, along with a clawing, infuriating helplessness so profound he wanted to scream.
"I need to find her in the next two days! They're going to rape her! I need to find her!"
"I know, but hurting yourself won't help," Cade answered, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Tristan practically wailed with frustration and distress. "We need to do something!"
"We're doing everything we can. Annabeth is doing her best, and Tag and Young will watch the warehouse again tonight."
"It's not enough!"
"I'm not sure there's anything else to do right now. I am sorry, Tristan."
"Son of a bitch," he cursed again, yanking his hands loose. "I'm going outside."
Furious and distraught, he strode out of the cabin, slammed the door behind him, and stalked toward the trees.
Once inside the woods, he slowed his pace, taking care with his footing.
He was vaguely aware that Cade followed, watching him, protecting him from unknown dangers, but he had no room in his head or his heart to acknowledge the gesture.
Brutal, graphic images of Natalie suffering clamored in his head as he navigated under low-hanging branches and over fallen logs, this time oblivious to animals, butterflies and the smell of trees and rain.
Each morbid thought felt like a punch to the stomach, a stab to his heart, and as his legs pushed forward, he felt more agitated and tormented with every step.
Pausing in a clearing, Tristan lifted his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and sucked in deep breaths as he searched for some sort of composure.
It didn't work.
Unable to hold it in anymore, he unleashed a primal scream.