Chapter 223 Walking Away From The Dirt
"You bought me an island?" Alexander asked. He stared at the thick black folder resting on his knees.
Alexander sat on the edge of the sterile cot. He looked pale.
Tristan stood beside the cot. He leaned against the metal counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched his best friend trace the embossed seal on the folder.
Alexander opened the leather cover. He flipped through the contents. Passports from three different neutral countries.
"Elias Vance?" Alexander read the name on the first passport. He raised an eyebrow. "You named my alias after your son?"
"Vance is a nod to Arthur Vance, just to spite him," I replied. "And Elias thinks you are a superhero. He asked if you were coming to build airplanes with him. I had to give him a piece of you to keep."
Alexander closed the folder. The amusement faded from his face.
"This is too much, Mina," Alexander said. His voice turned rough. "The accounts. The properties. You emptied a vault for me."
"It is not enough," I countered. I stepped closer to the cot. I met his gaze. I refused to let him dismiss his own sacrifice. "You intercepted a federal transport. You executed Benedict Holloway. You became a fugitive to keep my DNA test out of the courtroom. You traded your freedom for my empire. I cannot give you your life back. This is the closest I can get."
Alexander looked down at the floor. He gripped the edges of the folder.
"You did not ask me to pull that trigger," Alexander reminded me. "I made the call. I knew the price. I did not do it for a payout."
"You made the call to protect my family," Tristan interjected. He pushed off the counter. He walked over to his brother-in-arms. "Julian tried to use that against us. He sent a kill squad to the jungle to drag you back. He thought he could break you to get to me. He forgot who he was hunting."
Tristan looked at me. The heat in his gray eyes chased the chill from the clinic room.
Alexander chuckled. The sound turned into a harsh cough. He grabbed his ribs, wincing in pain.
"Diego has the jet fueled," Tristan said. He placed a heavy hand on Alexander's good shoulder. "The flight plan is masked. The transponders are dead. You disappear today."
"I do not know how to be a civilian," Alexander confessed. He looked at the folder again. "I spent my adult life fighting your wars. I do not know how to sit on a beach and drink out of a coconut."
"You will learn," Tristan promised. "You will learn how to sleep without a gun under your pillow. You will learn how to breathe."
Alexander stood up. He swayed for a fraction of a second. His legs locked into place. He gripped the folder tight against his side.
I stepped forward. I did not offer a handshake. I wrapped my arms around him, mindful of his bandaged shoulder. Alexander went rigid for a second.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For everything."
"Keep him in line, Chairman," Alexander murmured against my ear.
"Always."
I pulled back. Tristan stepped into my place. The two men did not hug. They clasped hands, a firm, iron grip.
"Do not come looking for me," Alexander said.
"I will not have to," Tristan answered. "Because you are dead."
"Right." Alexander offered a grim smile. "See you in the next life."
Alexander turned and walked out of the clinic room. Diego waited in the hallway to escort him to the private airstrip.
Tristan closed the distance between us in two strides. He wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me off my feet. He sat me on the edge of the metal counter. He stepped between my knees, caging me in.
He rested his hands on my thighs. He looked up at my face. The warlord was gone. He looked exhausted, battered, and devoted.
"He is safe.” Tristan murmured.
"I hate that he had to leave," I admitted. I rested my hands on his broad shoulders. I traced the collar of his dark shirt. "He gave up everything for us."
"He made his choice," Tristan said. "Just like I made mine."
Tristan leaned forward and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I felt the tension drain from his massive frame. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. I closed my eyes.
I leaned in and kissed him. The kiss deepened. It lacked the frantic desperation of the penthouse shower. It held the steady rhythm of two people who owned their tomorrow.
I tangled my fingers in his dark hair. He pulled me flush against his chest. His hands roamed down my back, pressing me into his heat.
The capital blurred past the tinted windows. The streetlights cast long, golden streaks across the glass. I leaned my head against Tristan's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me, holding me tight against his side.
"The board sent seven emails while we were in the clinic," Tristan noted. He glanced at his phone screen. "Arthur Vance wants to schedule a transition meeting. He wants to know your plans for the Serrano Trust."
"Arthur Vance can wait," I stated. I did not open my eyes. "Let him sweat. He stood on that stage and clapped for Julian Whitmore. He can spend the weekend wondering if I plan to fire him on Monday."
Tristan chuckled. A low, rich sound that vibrated in his chest. "You are ruthless, Chairman."
"I learned from the best," I murmured.
I shifted my body, resting my hand flat against his chest. The steady beat of his heart grounded me. The corporate machine demanded blood, and I fed it. I played the game better than the men who built it. I took their rules, twisted them into a noose, and handed it back.
But the machine did not matter tonight. The stock price did not matter.
"Elias still needs help with the left wing of that airplane," I said. The thought brought a genuine smile to my face.
"The engineers will figure it out," Tristan promised. He kissed the top of my head. "We have all the time in the world."