Me: Your funeral. My father might see and kill you.
A message came back almost immediately.
Tristan Caine: I highly doubt it.
Me: And why is that?
Tristan Caine: He barely raised a finger at the dick pawing you. He won't kill me for staring.
Morana felt her face flush, humiliated anger washing over her, anger that turned into fury as she realized the truth in that statement. She was just a piece of property that one man could touch and others could watch to her father. Her body almost trembled but she grit her teeth.
Me: He's a guest. You're not.
There was a pause before the reply came.
Tristan Caine: So he can touch you and I cannot?
Her heart stopped. Before pounding with a vengeance. He'd never spoken to her like that.
Me: This conversation is over.
She locked her phone. And unlocked it again.
New message. She swallowed.
Tristan Caine: Chicken.
Morana stopped, blinking at the screen for a second before anger infused her again. Chicken? Who the fuck did he think he was? He was clearly baiting her, and she’d be damned if she took it.
Before she could lock her phone, he was typing again.
Tristan Caine: I dare you.
Don’t. Don’t take the bait, Morana kept on repeating.
Me: To do what?
Long pause. Heart thundering, she waited, careful not to seem too engrossed.
Tristan Caine: To show him even half the wildcat you are.
Morana locked her phone away. She wouldn't rise to the bait. She absolutely was not going to fall for that. She was a grown woman and not a toddler. There were men with weapons ready to rain bullets on everyone and she could not trigger them.
But she could feel that stare on her back, zinging across her skin.
She wasn't going to rise to the bait. She wasn't going to rise to the bait. She wasn't going to rise to the bait.
And the asshole groped her thigh again.
Everything she'd been feeling all day, all the confusion, the anger, the frustration, the heat - everything mingled together. Her fingers were wrapped around the man's hand before she knew it, and she snapped his wrist back hard, not enough to break a bone but enough to give him a serious sprain.
"You bitch!"
He cried out loud, cradling the hand to his chest, his handsome face twisted in agony as the entire restaurant went silent. Morana felt multiple eyes on her, felt a few weapons pointed at her. She ignored them all, rising from the table.
"Morana," her father ground out, his voice hard.
"I warned him to keep his hands off," she told him aloud, every inch of her body aware of the climbing tension. "He refused."