Chapter 65: Tristan

Jesus Christ…

What the hell did I just do?

Holy fucking hell.

I walk down the corridor and stop at the end near the window where I can get some air.

Since it’s only cracked, I swing it all the way open and press my hands on the ledge.

I hang my head down in shame.

I’m a fucking asshole. Just now, I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. The way I took Isabella, with that ruthless savagery, was exactly how I wanted to take her and when it came to it, I never even tried to resist the urge to own her body.

She told me I thought of her as nothing, a thing, and it made me snap.

She can call me whatever she wants and tell me she hates me, but I couldn’t allow her to think I thought of her as nothing.

It’s a juxtapose of shit I can’t explain. How the fuck would I begin to explain that to anybody if they found out I had sex with her?

Thank fuck, only I have access to the camera in her room. Just like when I changed her clothes in the back of the truck, I didn’t want anybody else to see her.

I bring my hand to my head and breathe out a ragged breath. No one could have seen me, but I know I slept with her. How could I do that? She’s my enemy’s daughter.

How can I be with my enemy’s daughter? The man who’s responsible for Alyssa and Pa’s death.

And, fuck I never even used a condom. I seethe at my stupidity, gritting my teeth. I’m not a damn teenage boy who can’t control his dick. I’ve never been that, even when I was in my teens. Why the hell have I started to act like that now? I could have a whole other set of problems on my hands.

Fucking fuck. I have to get a hold of my damn self.

“Hey, you okay?” Candace asks.

The sound of her voice catches me by surprise, and I snap around to face her, hoping I don’t look guilty.

“Yeah, fine.”

“What was she like today?” she asks, glancing down the hall.

“The same. Not cooperative.” I swallow hard.

“Maybe I could bring her food sometime?” she offers.

“Yeah. I’ll let you know when the time is right.” I don’t think it’s now. I’m running out of ideas and losing my focus. I need to think of something that will work. Something that doesn’t involve fucking.

“Okay, cool. I’m gonna go for a walk. It’s a nice day. Let me know if you need me.”

“Sure.”

I watch Candace go, and I glance back down the corridor, wondering what my little captive is thinking now.

I wonder if she’s as confused as me.

I’d be an idiot to deny the fact that there’s something between us. There is.

I want her. I just had her, and I want her again even though I know it’s wrong.

It’s rare to feel a connection like what I felt for her so fast, but it’s fucking there. That connection is as real as the trepidation racing through me.

It doesn’t matter. What happened just now can’t happen again. I can’t cross that line with her for more reasons than one. The prime reason being she’s Mortimer Viggo’s daughter, and the next is that I don’t want to feel connected to anyone in any shape or form.

It’s a weakness I don’t want and a risk to my heart I won’t take with her.

Darkness is the only thing that will follow this plan we have here. I have my enemy’s most prized possession. I don’t expect the journey to be a walk in the park, even if things go to plan.

When trouble comes knocking at the door, I don’t want to feel responsible for another woman I can’t save and shouldn’t want to save.

Isabella is here for one thing only, and that is all I need to focus on.

Next time I see her, I have to reestablish fear.

She has to be lying about her father. I can’t allow her to see my weakness in wanting her. It will give her power over me.

I gear up for my second visit at lunch time.

It was tempting to take Candace up on her offer, but I only want Isabella to see me for the moment.

I head up to her room with another tray of food. This time I have a bowl of soup and freshly made bread the maid made.

As I open the door and enter the room, Isabella glares at me.

Those eyes find me and hold me in place as she sits on the bed.

She shuffles her legs, and I get a good view of one slender thigh with golden skin I want to touch again.

I walk up to the bed and set the tray down next to her, showing my insistence she eats.

“You need to eat,” I tell her, and she eyes me with caution.

I’m cautious of myself too. I can’t think past being inside her again, and I need to focus.

“Excuse me, do you think some soup and bread will make me talk?” she retorts. Her stare intensifies like she can take me on.

I can see I’ve shaken her by what happened this morning, but I won’t say anything about it.

“I’m not going to have you perish on me before I get what I need to know from you. Eat.”

“You need to let me go,” she says.

“No.”

“This is ridiculous. I didn’t do anything to you to deserve this.”

“I’m sure you’re well aware that things don’t work like that. If you want freedom of any kind, you will tell me where your father is.”

“Fuck you,” she lashes back. “I told you I don’t know where he is.”

“And that sounds like bullshit.”

“I don’t care what it sounds like to you. You let me go! How can you do this to me? Fucking let me go!”

“No!” I roar, but this woman is a fighter.

I’m shocked to shit when she doesn’t back down. Instead, she grabs the plate with the bread and throws it at me.

I underestimated her, and that’s why the fucking plate hit me right on my forehead. The sudden panic in her eyes suggests she underestimated herself too and didn’t think before she struck. The pang of the blow sends a lance of pain through my head, but I push the feeling aside to go after her as she breaks into a run.

She manages two long strides before I grabbed her.

“Let go of me, you monster,” she wails, thrashing and kicking her legs.

Monster…

Yes. I know that’s what I am, but it’s okay for me to know that. When I hear the words falling from the lips of my enemy’s daughter, I lose my shit. I fucking lose my mind and stalk back to the bed, dragging her kicking and screaming.

“Monster,” she continues to cry, not knowing she should fucking stop it. That’s okay; I know exactly what to do here.

I sit on the edge of the bed and haul her over my knee. The stupid gown is already almost halfway up her thighs, so it’s not hard for me to lift it the rest of the way and expose her perfect ass.

Fuck, it’s perfect, and I’m supposed to be punishing her. But I can’t help thinking she has the perfect ass for a good spanking and fucking. It’s firm and round, and it takes the first blow of my hand exactly the way I imagined it would. It jiggles just the right amount and beckons me to do it again.

One more spank on her rounded cheeks makes the skin go red and the detail of my handprint.

The sight and the sound of her cries harden my cock all over again.

I give her another slap, and she screams. That’s when I stop.

“Tristan,” she calls my name, and it snaps the sexual reverie that clouded my mind.

Instead, I focus on the sound of her whimpering in my arms.

This is all bullshit. Coming back in here has only pissed me off and made me want to fuck her again. I suppose she must know that, though, because there’s no way she couldn’t feel the hardness of my dick. She’s lying right across it.

Furious, I drag her gown back over her ass and carry her over to the wall. I can’t do what we did earlier. I can’t do it. I can’t lose my mind like that and act like some kind of animal.

She needs to fear me. She needs to know I’m serious as fuck, and she needs to tell me where her father is.

Isabella stares at me in complete shock as I pull a set of handcuffs from my back pocket. I was going to use them to scare her. Now I’m actually going to use them. I cuff one hand to the rails of the window, and she starts cursing me in Russian.

“You bastard!” she cries.

Her eyes snap wide when I get the tray and put it down in front of her.

“You think I’m some kind of animal?” she challenges, and tears stream down her cheeks. “How could you be so evil? What’s wrong with you? This is all so wrong.”

“You’re talking to me like you think you know how to find a chink in my armor. You fucking can’t.”

“God, I never thought I could possibly meet anybody worse than my father. But you prove me wrong. You’re worse.”

If she can say that to me, then she can’t know what her bastard father is capable of. But it’s fine, let her think that. It’s good that she thinks that. She needs to.

“Yeah, you’re right. I am worse, and he made me this way. When the devil takes everything from you, you have to become worse than him if you want the chance to take him down,” I tell her, and her gaze rivets to mine.

My answer is probably a shocker. I gave away too much and showed too much emotion. I think I got my point across, though, perfectly because she doesn’t say anything more as I walk out.

I sit out on the beach until it gets dark.

It’s late afternoon, and the sun is just beginning to set.

Footsteps crunch on the sand, alerting me to the presence of someone, and I turn to see Dominic.

He comes up to me and lowers to sit.

“I guess you can’t run into the sea if you don’t want to talk, or maybe you could,” he states.

I straighten up and stare at him. “Sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s okay. I guess we’re all on edge.”

“I didn’t mean to bring up Andreas. I know you weren’t comparing me to him.”

“It’s cool. I get it, though. If this plan doesn’t work, we’re screwed. It’s already late. Two days have gone by, and they’ve had time to look and think.”

I nod. “Yeah, and she’s not talking, Dominic. She says she doesn’t know where her father is, and I don’t believe it. People like them hide each other. They’ll die before they give up the other.”

I’m not sure what relationship she has with her father. She said she didn’t know if she’s ever met anyone worse than him. The statement alludes to how she must feel about him. I’m assuming their relationship isn’t good, but I doubt if it’s as bad that she wouldn’t put up a fight to protect him.

“We just have to keep trying and hope she caves. That’s all I can come up with right now,” Dominic says.

He draws in a breath, and as he releases it, blood runs down his nose.

I see it straight away, but he doesn’t notice until it starts to drip.

“Fuck. Must be the heat.” He chuckles, but he looks thrown as he grabs a tissue from his back pocket and starts dabbing at his nose.

He stands quickly, and I do, too, ready to talk to him. Nosebleeds are a sign that things aren’t okay.

“Dominic, you okay?” I ask.

“Of course. Just a nosebleed.” He tries to brush it off.

“Is it?” I counter.

“Yeah. It’s a fucking nosebleed Tristan; relax. Worry about the girl. I’m good.” He gives me a pat on my back and walks away.

I watch him go, but I know he’s not okay. And I think I know what’s wrong with him.

I think he’s using.

I think he’s on drugs.