Chapter 21 Retribution
Tristan
They were going to traffic him.
Ever since Pearface snapped his picture, that thought had scrolled through Tristan's mind on repeat like a ticker tape. He wasn't na?ve enough to believe that only women were victims of the sex trade, but until that moment, it had never truly occurred to him that he might fall victim himself.
In the hours since, he had imagined horrific details of sex slavery, now with himself as the casualty instead of Natalie. If one of them had to suffer that fate, he would take her place a thousand times over, a million, but that didn't make the terror any less real.
He had to believe his sister was safe, that she had been rescued from the house as planned.
He clung to the hope that Cade would find him in time, that somehow he would survive this, and they could have some sort of future together.
Those thoughts were the only things keeping him from unraveling, because without Natalie and Cade, what else mattered?
While he desperately wanted to sleep, Tristan forced himself to stay awake in case an opportunity to escape presented itself.
He found himself dozing off more than once but dragged himself back to alertness by sheer will alone and continued to listen for any sound from the house.
Finally, after a long stretch of nothing but walking, shuffling and rustling noises, he heard Pearface's voice.
"I've arranged a private plane that leaves at five o'clock."
"Good. What about the ruby? Are we making the transfer?"
"Nah, it's too risky with the hit on me. I've made other plans."
"Sounds good. What time do we leave here?"
"Around four o'clock."
"Okay. I'll be ready."
Knowing escape wasn't possible, Tristan focused on the only other option: fighting when the time came.
With his hands tied, he couldn't punch or grab a weapon.
Maybe he could thrash hard enough to throw someone off balance, headbutt one of them, or get a kick in if they loosened his legs.
If he could somehow break free, even for a second, he could run.
But that depended on the garage door being open.
Every option felt like a long shot, relying too much on luck and improbabilities.
Each tick of the clock, each futile plan, peeled away another layer of optimism. He was running out of time and out of options.
Out of hope.
Another quiet period passed. It was so hard to track time, but Tristan thought it maybe had been another hour or two when Glasses entered the garage, backed the car out, then strode back in without closing the door behind him.
Knowing the time was near, Tristan tried to mentally prepare himself to struggle or run if possible.
A prickling heat flooded him when a white van pulled into the empty bay, and Pearface joined Glasses in the garage, pressing a button to lower the door behind the van.
Closing them in.
The van's tinted windows obscured the driver's face, but when Pearface approached the vehicle, a big man with a shaved head, bushy eyebrows and protruding ears got out.
He refused to meet Pearface's gaze, and instead, his eyes flitted around the garage, settling on Tristan for several heartbeats before moving on.
Something about that look sent a shiver of fear up Tristan's spine.
Tristan knew people. A few years as a journalist had taught him how to watch for tells, to interpret body language. The driver was hiding something, but what?
"Take the ruby to this address," Pearface began without preamble, handing over a slip of paper. The man studied it briefly before stuffing it in his pocket. His eyes flicked back to Tristan, then snapped away again.
Tristan scrambled for explanations. Maybe the driver planned to ignore the instructions and do something else with him instead. But what? Take him somewhere else? Kill him? And for what reason?
Before he could puzzle out the man's possible motives, Pearface spoke again.
"The client wants his guy to have eyes on the ruby before the transfer starts, so when you get there, take it out of the back so it's visible.
When the guy verifies the ruby looks like its picture, he'll claim the product.
When it's done, text the number at the bottom of the paper, and I'll wire payment to your account. Got it?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, let's get it in the back."
While his captors worked together to untie him from the chair, Tristan's muscles tensed and his heart hammered as he prepared to fight.
When they hauled him to a standing position, he was so lightheaded that he wobbled and fell against Glasses, who cursed and propped him back up while Pearface retied his hands behind him.
With a sinking feeling, Tristan realized that even though his legs were free, they felt like anvils, and he would never be able to kick hard enough to disable anyone.
Instead, he tried to headbutt Glasses but moved too slowly to hit his target.
Glasses easily caught him and snickered as he held him at arm's length.
Too weak to fight or run, his brain fumbled for alternatives but came up blank. His only other option seemed to be to rest in the van and pray he could escape when they arrived at their destination.
As the men pushed him, stumbling, toward the rear of the vehicle, Tristan noticed the driver fidgeting, and again his gut warned him that something was wrong, that getting into the van would lead to some danger he didn't yet understand.
He braced for whatever was coming, terrified he wouldn't have the strength to handle whatever surprise awaited. When they reached the rear doors, Glasses reached for the handle.
And all hell broke loose.
Both van doors exploded open, knocking Tristan and Pearface to the floor and Glasses against the garage door.
Men came bursting out with guns pointed.
And Cade was one of them.
Shouts and scuffles erupted around them, but for Tristan, time suspended, and everything but Cade faded into the background. All he could see was the pinched, concerned expression; all he could hear was his name, ringing through the chaos.
He wanted to sob with relief, to scream with joy, but his throat constricted, strangling his words.
Cade knelt beside him and caressed his cheek, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Are you alright? It's going to be okay."
"Cade," he whispered hoarsely as a sob finally escaped.
"I'm here now. You're okay." Cade pulled him into his arms and held him tightly while Tristan blubbered against his chest.
"I... I didn't think... I thought they were going to kill me... or sell me... and I... " Tristan couldn't get the words out, couldn't lasso his scattered thoughts.
"I know, baby, I know, but it's over now. I've got you, Tris. I've got you," Cade promised as he rubbed soothing circles on his back.
The commotion continued around them, but Tristan barely registered it as relief rushed out of him in an unstoppable wave. Once the dam broke, his pent-up emotions — fear, anxiety, worry, anger — poured out.
He told himself that it was okay to let go, that he didn't need to hold himself together anymore.
Because Cade was here.
Cade had come for him, just like he had hoped.
Tristan struggled with disbelief, questioned whether this was really happening or if it was just some hopeful, fever dream, but the arms holding him were steady, and the familiar scent too strong to be imagined, so he snuggled closer to the warmth.
His bubble of security was broken when someone touched his hands, still tied behind his back, and he flinched, suddenly afraid again.
"It's okay," Cade told him in a hushed tone. "It's just Sullivan. He's getting the ropes off, okay?"
Comforted by Cade's assurance, Tristan nodded and then felt the ropes loosen and fall away. As soon as his hands were free, he clamped his arms around Cade's waist, clutching his solid form like a lifeline, preventing him from floating away in a sea of emotion.
Tristan didn't know how long he lay there clinging to Cade, forcing himself to accept that this ordeal was finally over, but he focused on Cade's soothing whispers and his unwavering presence.
After some time, sobs subsided into hiccups, overwhelming fear and anxiety dulled to a low thrum, and the suffocating squeeze in his chest eased.
When the sense of safety finally seeped into his consciousness, Tristan let his head fall back and gazed up, his eyes stinging. Cade wiped away tear tracks with his thumb and said in an achingly gentle voice, "There you are."
Tristan leaned into the touch and reached up to cover Cade's hand with his own.
They stared at each other for a moment before Tristan murmured, "Hey," with a small smile.
"Hey," Cade responded before leaning down to kiss his forehead.
"You're here."
"I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." Cade's promise wrapped around Tristan like a warm blanket, and he could almost feel the words healing him, stitching the broken pieces of him back together.
"Okay," Tristan rasped. "That's good."
Now that he was a bit more aware, Tristan heard the shuffling of feet and the hum of voices around him. Someone was shouting, maybe Pearface, and someone else told him to shut up. Taylor came over to tell Cade, "We swept the house. It's clear."
As Tristan's awareness of his surroundings returned, his brain jolted back into gear.
"Natalie! Is she okay? Where is she?" he asked, panic-stricken.
Grabbing his hand gently, Cade assured him, "She's fine. She's at Hamm's with Annabeth. Don't worry, we took good care of her."
A lump clogged Tristan's throat as he realized she was safe, and he thanked the universe and all the gods. Now he needed to hear her voice, to convince himself she was really okay.
"I need to talk to her."
Cade fished his phone out of his pocket, punched a button, and said, "Yeah, plan worked perfectly. Tristan wants to talk to Natalie."
Tristan took the phone with trembling hands, and when he heard Natalie's voice, he bit back a cry of relief.
"Tris?"
"Nat, are you okay? Are you safe?"