Keeping the towel pressed on her arm, looking out the windows, Morana let her mind drift to that moment in the casino, that moment after he’d shot her. That moment when the man who’d brought her in had protested that she hadn’t taken a bullet, much to the agreement of the other men present.
Morana remembered the way Tristan Caine had smoothly looked at the man and just raised an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair. She remembered the way the quiet in the room had become tensed, how she’d held her breath, not knowing whether these people would let her go.
And then Tristan Caine had spoken, without removing his eyes from the man behind her.
“Leave.”
It’d taken her a moment to realize he’d been speaking to her. But for once, she hadn’t wanted to sit around and argue with him. Picking up her keys, Morana had moved her chair back, watching the entire time, not the people in the room but The Predator, as he’d watched the others, his quiet gaze daring anyone to make a move to stop her.
Not one man had moved.
Heart in her throat, she’d walked out quickly and sprinted to her car, not allowing herself a single moment to even think about what had happened. The drive to the apartment had been short and now, standing inside the safety of these walls, Morana didn’t have a clue as to what was going to happen.
What had happened in the casino after she left, she couldn’t imagine. A part of her wondered if the six men had confronted Tristan Caine. Another part of her was in awe of the power he actually held in the mob.
Hearing something and seeing something were two completely different things. And having seen the genuine fear in the eyes of men much older and more experienced than her father, for the first time, it dawned on Morana, truly dawned, who she was dealing with.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Those men back at the casino had dealt with blood and grit all their lives and they feared Tristan Caine. Morana couldn’t even fathom the kinds of things he must’ve done to perpetuate that fear at such a young age.
In hindsight, she could see how incredibly foolish she’d been, sneaking up on him to kill him. After her stunt today, she didn’t know if he was going to come back and finally kill her, or get rid of her, or send her back to her father with a neat little bow.
God, she was so completely out of her element.
And it scared the shit out of her.
The sudden sound of the elevator's opening made her start.
Her heart picked up the pace.
He was here.
It took an effort not to bolt to the guest bedroom and lock the door. For the first time, she was so utterly confused she wanted to run. Instead, spinning on the spot, she turned to face the elevator doors head-on.
And felt her breath caught in her throat mid inhale.
Tristan Caine stood there in the semi-darkness, his jacket missing and sleeves rolled up, his legs braced apart as the shadows playing over his hard face in the light from outside.
But it wasn’t that which made her breath catch. No.
It was his eyes.
Blue, magnificent eyes.
Blazing eyes.
A frisson of something slithered down her spine, making goosebumps erupt all over her arms, her heart exploding in her chest as the hand holding the towel to her arm dropped down. The towel fell from her slack grip to the floor, and Morana couldn’t remove her eyes to even look down to see if her wound was still bleeding.
She stayed still, eyes on him.
He stayed still, watching her.
Silence.
And then he took a step forward.
Her feet moved back.