Chapter 21: 15| Tainted-1

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓ Tainted ┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛ Chapter 15: Tainted (Amara's POV) Numerous times, I caught myself looking at Tristan as he silently drove me to my apartment. I couldn't stop thinking about how long he had been there, watching, or why he chose not to help me. Trust me, I'm well aware of how much he hates me. Despite that, how could he be okay with being a bystander? "Care to tell me why you went after those men?" he asked, speaking for the first time since we left the club. I faced out the window. "Why bother acting oblivious, Mr. Harper? You know I went for the Ambrose case." "I find it hard to believe you would go after such men being so underprepared. You knew who you were going up against and you chose to go without a gun?" My brows furrowed as I turned to look at him, pure annoyance rushing through me. "What do you suggest I do? Open fire in the middle of a club? I wanted them to cooperate." "We all want our rivals to cooperate, Ms. Milano. As a highly capable attorney, I'm sure you knew they wouldn't. Isn't that why you lured the easiest one out?" "Need I remind you, my luring got me the intel I needed." I shifted in my seat, sitting upright but my hand flew straight to my side as a surge of pain shot through my upper body. I groaned lightly before continuing, "I got more information than you ever could while you were handling this case." He glanced at me briefly. "Congratulations, Ms. Milano. I hope the injuries were worth the money Ambrose is going to pay you." "If it bothers you so much to see me hurt-" "It bothers me to see someone else putting their hands on what's mine, Malyshka." He looked at me. "I thought I made that clear to you." I stared back at him, almost in disbelief. He had to be delusional to think he could own me, to think he could own anybody. "I'm not your possession, Mr. Harper. The sooner you understand that, the better. People can't own people." "Do you truly believe that?" he questioned. I let out a light scoff and turned to look out the window again. My patience was already wearing thin after I got myself battered and bruised tonight all for some money and I was in no mood to deal with Tristan's antics and games. Still, I had to admit, ever since Tristan gave me that first warning, I couldn't stop thinking about why on earth he wanted me dead. It would be too petty of a motive if he were doing it simply because we were rivals and I did nothing to trigger him, nothing to push him so far off the edge. I wasn't as stupid as to think that he would tell me simply if I asked a little nicely. I had to coax his reasons out of him over time, gradually, and without him realizing it. So if playing his games was my only option, I had no choice but to see it through. What puzzled me more was the fact that he agreed to wait. What kind of killer waits to kill just because the victim asked them to? The kind that's too afraid to actually kill them. But Tristan wasn't afraid to kill me, in fact, that's the last word I would use. It seemed like he was patiently waiting, biding his time until he could have my undivided attention. He wanted me to fight back with everything in me so that when he finally killed me, he could achieve that thrill he always experienced after he beat me at a game. He wanted to feel powerful. He wanted to win. And he wanted a challenge. I looked over at him as he slowed the car down once we neared my building. I need more time to figure him out. I need to get a good read on the enigma that Tristan Harper is. "Make yourself useful tonight, will you, Mr. Harper? Since you couldn't do it earlier, help me out now," I mumbled, wincing lightly as I moved to unbuckle my seatbelt. His eyes were already on me as I lifted mine to meet his gaze. "Treat my wounds," I demanded. I was expecting him to refute, to tell me all the ways I could handle it myself. But he didn't. "I'm not asking," I pressed further, testing him for a reaction. "I'm not arguing, Malyshka," he responded, parking the car before turning it off and getting out. I blinked in confusion as he walked around the car and when he opened the door for me, the confusion only amplified. Why… is he willing to help me? He didn't extend a hand to help me out so I refused to grab onto him and steadied myself using the car until I was ready to walk. Tristan trailed closely behind me and I could feel his eyes burning through the back of my head. In fact, I could feel them roam over every inch of me. The silence in the elevator was deafening as we stood at opposite ends. I grabbed onto the railing for support while Tristan stood nonchalantly with his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. When we got out and entered the apartment, I couldn't even bother hiding my house code from him. It's not like he doesn't know it. "I won't bother welcoming you in since you already welcomed yourself last time you were here," I sighed, leading the way into the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing with the sharp click of my heels. After turning all the lights on, I stopped just to catch a breath, to give a minute for the pain to truly kick in. Up until I reached the comfort of my own apartment, the adrenaline was still pumping through me, keeping the pain at bay. The more time that passed, the more unbearable it grew. Bracing a hand on the counter, I lifted one leg to unclasp my heels and looked up at Tristan as I did. "You know, it won't kill you to get down on one knee. You're helping an injured patient," I muttered, undoing the other heel and kicking them both aside. My eyes dropped to his feet as a tiny meow echoed in the space just before Donna's head poked through Tristan's legs. Tristan stood still, allowing the cat to walk through his legs and over to me where she snuggled up at my feet. I couldn't help but tilt my head to one side as I watched Tristan in surprise. He didn't hate cats. I was half expecting him to hate all living things just as much as he hated people. Apparently not. "Do you like cats, Mr. Harper?" I asked, lifting an amused brow. His gaze met mine but he remained quiet. I rolled my eyes in response. "Wait here. I need to get out of this dress." Luckily, once I got up to my room, I was able to undo the zip running along my uninjured side and I traded the gold, sparkling, and… bloody dress… for black sweatpants and a matching black t-shirt. Slowly, I made my way back downstairs and into the kitchen where Tristan stood in the exact same spot, arms still folded in the same way, while Donna tried climbing up his legs. "Donna," I called out, entering the kitchen. She slid down his leg and walked out, climbing up the couch instead. Leaning against the counter, I turned my attention to him. "The first aid kit is under the sink." He released a soft, agitated breath as he rounded the counter and washed his hands before grabbing the first aid kit and coming back. Stopping just in front of me, he placed the box beside my hand and glanced at it pointedly.