“So, did you?” I can’t say the words. My stomach hardens like quick-dry cement.
“Like I said, I made a promise.” He nods, and that movement is all the reassurance I need that my world’s a little safer now.
“Thank you.” My throat tightens on the words. Brent’s dead… because I asked someone to kill him. He’s gone.
Tension layered through my muscles fractures, giving way to release. The world’s brighter now that Brent’s no longer walking the Earth. My vision blurs behind a window of tears.
Tristan tugs me fiercely into the safety of his arms. “You’re alright, Princess. He’s never going to hurt you again.”
I don’t know how long I cry as he cradles me against his firm chest. He’s silent as the shock works its way out of my system.
“What… what did he say?” I choke out between fading sobs.
Tristan stiffens under me and cradles me even harder. “He admitted he drugged you.” His voice goes soft, as if that might cushion the blow of the truth. “You were drugged so heavily, you couldn’t speak. He did it twice. Without a condom. I’m so sorry, Daph.”
He presses a tender kiss to the top of my head. I should cry more. Harder, knowing what Brent did to me. But there’s an eerie sense of peace knowing what happened. It’s like being handed a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle you’d been trying to solve for months—one you thought was forever lost, only to feel whole again.
“I made him suffer for it,” Tristan says, his own voice strained like he wants my approval.
“Good.” I don’t know what else to say. But knowing that Brent died suffering closes a door that has let nightmares slip into my dreams. One that let the voice in the back of my mind tell me that what he did to me wasn’t wrong. That I deserved it.
Those ghoulish things slink back into the shadows of my mind, and I finally get to close that door on the worst night of my life.
Once the sobbing reduces to sniffles, Tristan presses another soft kiss to the top of my head. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used your shower,” he rumbles into my hair. “Your shampoo smells gross, by the way.”
A laugh escapes, and I lean back, grateful for the distraction. “It’s designed for fine hair. It helps with volume.”
“Does it?” His eyebrow arches. “So that’s why my hair looks voluminous this morning?” He shakes his head like he’s in a nineties Maybelline ad, and I laugh so hard, my gut aches.
“Don’t pick on my shampoo.” I slap his chest as a tease, but he captures my hand and interlaces my fingersin his.
“I promise, I won’t pick on your shampoo that smells like mint and nail polish remover.”
“Bite me.”
“You know,” his voice dips in a husky vibrato. “If you keep asking me to do that, Princess, one day I might.”
“Is that a promise too?” The challenge in my voice doesn’t match the softness in my muscles as my body softens against his embrace.
The devilish smirk on his lips wakes a throbbing need in my core as he leans lower.
His breath tickles my ear. “Careful what you wish for, Princess.”
Before I can speak, his lips cut me off in a fierce kiss. There’s no teasing or foreplay. It’s raw and carnal. He killed someone last night. For me.
That shouldn’t turn me on, but God, it does. I don’t know the details, but the thought of Tristan gliding a knife coated in my cum across my rapist’s throat sets my blood on fire.
He scoops me up by the backs of my thighs, depositing me on the kitchen island. My legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking in place. My fingers clutch the strong muscles along his back.
His tongue slips against mine, tasting me as his hands push my tank top up. His rough fingertips skate across my round stomach to the underside of my breast before shoving the fabric over my chest.
Tristan pulls back and groans in reverence, his eyes zeroing in on my nipples puckering under his gaze. He dips his head. His tongue flicks across my nipple, sending sensation skittering across my chest. He captures it in his mouth and sucks. God, the things this man can do with his tongue should be illegal. My core throbs.
My front doorknob jiggles.
Tristan abruptly stops, my nipple slipping from between his lips as the faint jingle of keys echoes outside the house.
“Daphne?” Mom’s voice calls out.
