Chapter 69: Tristan

“I’ve given her some rehydration supplements,” Doc says and furrows his brows. “She was severely dehydrated and delirious because of it.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

We’re just in the corridor outside Isabella’s room. She’s inside asleep. Doc’s pulled all manner of field time with us and knows the type of shit we can get up to, but I don’t think he’s particularly happy about me holding Isabella captive. Like everybody else, though, who works for us, he won’t voice his opinions or defy us in any way.

He adjusts his bone-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and runs a hand over his salt and pepper beard.

“Please make sure that doesn’t happen again. We’re on a tropical island. She can’t go on a food and water strike in a place like this. It’s over a hundred degrees outside. And it’s gonna get hotter.”

“I hear you. Thanks for coming so quick.”

“That’s okay. The delirium will go away with rest, and she should be better in the next forty-eight hours.”

Delirium. I don’t think it was delirium we saw earlier. I’ve heard Eric’s name before, and she was talking about her mother. Both people are dead, and I think she saw terrible things no one should ever see.

“Thank you. I’ll call you if I need you.”

Doc nods his head. When he leaves, I rest against the door.

Candace was here earlier but left to help make dinner when Isabella fell asleep.

I’ve been trying to stay away from her. I don’t want that connection but fuck me… every time I’m near this girl, something strengthens, and I’m about to hurt her again. When Nick calls me next, I know it will be because he’s found and has Sacha. That’s the last ace up my sleeve.

If taking her beloved bodyguard and doling out torture on him doesn’t get me anywhere, I don’t know what will. We really will have to start preparing for war.

I push away from the door and look at the white glossy surface.

She’s inside asleep, maybe stirring from slumber again, and I remember that look in her eyes when she came to and realized I’m not the man to help her in any way. To save her and the ghosts that haunt her mind.

There were things she said that opened the door to her soul, and I couldn’t resist taking a peek. Maybe I did because, like Alyssa, no one can understand the pain you’re going through unless they went through it themselves.

It seems Isabella and I both have people we wished we could have saved. It’s that soul to soul moment again.

On that thought, I push the door open, and she turns her head to look at me.

She’s awake and resting against the stack of pillows.

She gives me a cautious look but doesn’t say anything.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“I’m okay. I just want water,” she answers. Her voice sounds shaky.

I walk over to the table with the glass of water and take it over to her. She puts out her hand to take it, but I sit on the edge of the bed and hold it to her lips so she can drink.

She seems surprised by the gesture but drinks. She doesn’t finish it, though. She just takes enough and rests back on the pillow.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to bring in food for you later. You have to eat it.”

“Okay… I don’t feel much like having food, just water.”

“It doesn’t matter. You need to have both. Where we are is extremely hot. Tropical,” I explain. “Great if you like that kind of weather, but not so great if you stop eating and drinking.”

“Where are we? Please, just tell me that. I think if I’m going to die here, then I’d like to know where I am.” Her face contorts into sadness.

“What makes you think you’re going to die here?”

“Everything. Everything does.”

“How does everything make you think that?”

“Tristan D’Agostino, you forget I’m from your world. I know what darkness is and what it means. I know the look of those tainted by it. I know there is no negotiation in situations like this. Men like you don’t have a heart. I’m collateral damage, and there will be a time when I stop being that too.” She pauses for a moment, closes her eyes for a few seconds then continues. “You brought me here. I know your face, and I know your name. You would only do such things if you were going to dispose of me when you were done.”

I’m not going to kill her, but assuring her safety will lose that edge of fear I want her to feel. I want her to be afraid of me. Fear is what I’m hoping will make her tell me where her father is. The apprehension in her expression is a sign I should give myself an award for instilling that fear.

I do, however, feel compelled to at least give her some assurance that she won’t be harmed if she complies.

“You know what I want. If you tell me what I need to know, you won’t need to fear death.”

Her gaze hardens. “I wish I saw the monstrous side of you first. The man who drugged me as he kissed me. The man who lied to me as he knew full well what he wanted to do with me. The despicable man before me telling me I don’t need to fear death if I tell him something I don’t know.” She shakes her head, and that sadness comes back to her eyes, making the green darken. “You lured me into thinking you wanted to be with me. I never believed you were this, but you are.”

I look at her, and I don’t know what to say. Everything she’s said so far has described me no matter what I feel for her. There is nothing I can say to explain what I’ve done, and why, because it’s wrong.

She looks at me long and hard, seeing she’s struck a nerve. “You’re only nursing me back to health so you can get what you want from me, and I can’t give you anything,” she adds. “You know, it’s funny now that I think of it. I’m the joke. My father has so many enemies, but his biggest enemy is me.”

My chest tightens at her words, and I wonder if they could be true.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

She adjusts her head on the pillows causing one of the tiny straps on her top to slink down her shoulder. I stare at the smooth skin, but my gaze automatically drifts down to her side when I remember the whip marks on her back.

It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to think about them.

Isabella doesn’t take her eyes off me. When I look back at her, the reflective stare she gives me suggests she might know what I’m thinking. She would have known I must have seen the marks at some point.

“Go ahead and ask me,” she challenges. “Ask me about my scars, Tristan. You must have seen them.”

I hold her gaze, deciding to accept the challenge. “Who did that to you? Who whipped you?”

“My father. He gave me the kind of whipping to teach a lesson he knew I wouldn’t forget.”

“Why did he do that?”

“I tried to escape. The whipping and watching him kill my driver were my punishments. I guess those were mild in comparison to the other things he did to me.” I wince, and a sardonic sneer curls her lips. “Don’t. Don’t bother to show any emotion. Each to their own pain. That was mine. My whole life is my pain, and I guarantee you there’s nothing he’s done to you that is worse than what he’s done to me.”

I consider her words. They grip me. She grips me.

“You don’t know what he did to me,” I answer. It sounds like just talk, though, because part of me thinks she’s right.

“I don’t need to know. I just know… I belong to him. No different than his pocket watch or a shoe on his foot. I’m property—a thing you can choose to treat however you wish. At least you can do this to me. You took me as a way of getting retribution. You can do something to save yourself from the pain that comes with grief and loss. You can save yourself. I can’t do anything. There’s no one to save me or the ghosts who still haunt me. No one could save the people I lost because my father is untouchable.”

This doesn’t sound like a person who would protect her father.

I look at her, though, and I don’t know if I can believe her. I don’t know if I should.

There’s too much conflict in my soul. I can’t make the decisions I used to because lack of trust didn’t just come to haunt Massimo. It came for me too.

Despite what I feel, I can’t take such a risk and trust her.

I think I’ll know more when we get Sacha. He’s a man she’ll protect.

I stand up, deciding it’s time to go. Her gaze follows me as I head to the door. I stop just before I open it and look back at her. There’s one thing I want to know. One thing on my mind that’s bothering me.

“Who’s Eric? You asked me to save him.”

She shakes her head at me. “I can’t talk about him, and it’s not because of who you are. It’s because it’s my fault he’s dead. He died for loving me. What a mistake to make.” A tear tracks down her cheek, and she looks away.

I stare back, and I see it. That’s the death that broke her—that one.

I remember the terror in her eyes earlier and the way she pleaded with me to help her.

“I would have tried to save him if I could,” I state, and she snaps her attention back to me.

I don’t know why I said that. It carries no weight to it, and it won’t help anybody. It won’t redeem me from what I’ve done to her, but I said it anyway in answer to her plea for help.

There’s a little spark in her eyes that tells me I reached her. I reached something inside her that might help, and that’s all I can give her right now. I can’t connect anymore. If I do, I’ll start to forget who she is.

I leave because it’s best, but her words plague me all night and all of the next day. I get Candace to tend to her while I do some company work.

When night falls later, I make my way down to the beach. When my phone rings I know it’s Nick.

I answer, readying myself to hear the only news he’s supposed to give me.

“We got him, Boss,” he says. “We have Sacha.”