“A hotel. Owned by the Hallows.”
I knew the Hallows owned a ton, but Sammie had talked about this particular one near Westminster.
“It’s this five star hotel, meant for people who have money and want people to know about it. I’m bleeding out on the floor in a ripped hoodie. I’m expecting the guy behind the front desk to call the police any minute, but I know that won’t matter. Cade’s guys will drag me out of the lobby in a heartbeat, posh pricks be damned. So I look the hotel employee in the fucking eye and tell him that I’m Isolde Matheson and Hadrian Hallow is expecting me.”
Tristan stirs on the bed. My hand wraps tighter around his arm, stopping him.
“It’d been over a year since I’d seen Hadrian, but the guy behind the desk goes, ‘Of course, Ms. Matheson, we’ve been expecting you.’ Just like that.” I remember his little nod. “I suddenly wasn’t trash bleeding out on their lobby floor.”
I’m not sure that Hadrian had expected to ever see me again either. But he’d made sure that all of his businesses in the UK knew who I was. That if I ever showed up, asking for him, I’d be treated as a special guest.
“He got me to a room. Called a doctor immediately.”
That’s who really saved my life.
“Hadrian shows up hours later. He’d been in Edinburgh.” He took one of the Hallow’s private jets to get there faster. “But it wasn’t just him. His brother showed up, and so did his dad.”
Tristan lets out a deep breath.
“I know you probably don’t like William Hallow.” Many don’t. “But they’ve all been good to me.”
They all know who I am. Dare I say they’ve treated me likefamily. Morgan has no idea of the fucked up kindness her family has shown me.
“They got me to America,” I say. “I knew I hadn’t left Cade behind. But there wasn’t a point in telling anyone or making a fuss. Not when I was trying to start over.”
No one wants to hire a triggerman who’s pissed off someone.
“He’s coming for you, Isolde.” Tristan cups my cheek, lifting my gaze to his.
I nod, covering his hand with my palm. Soaking in his touch.
I think deep down I’ve always wanted to talk to Tristan. Since the very first night I ever saw him. I was attracted to the Ghost, the silent man tracking down his enemies. I wanted to get to know him, and that hasn’t changed in the past few weeks. If anything, it’s only grown as I get closer and closer to him.
“I like when you call me baby,” I whisper. “And when you call me Iz.”
“But not Izzy,” he whispers back.
“It just sounds funny,” I explain. I squeeze his hand before untangling from him and standing. “Good night, Tristan.”
The duvet and sheets glide against my skin, my flesh prickling when the A/C hits me at full blast. It’s nothing compared to the cold liquid that lands on my ass.
My eyes fly open, and I reach for the gun under the pillow next to me. My hand grabs onto nothing.
Tristan tsks under his breath.“Sixteen guns, Iz baby, really?”
I try to roll over, but his large hand splays on my lower back.
I kick my feet. He merely swats them down, his hand pressing down on my back in warning.
“What are you doing?” I croak, my throat dry. I thought I’d toss and turn like normal. Instead, after talking to Tris, the moment my head hit the pillow, I was out.
He opens the drawer of my bedside table and pulls out a butt plug. Oh, holy hell.
Examining the sex toy, he says, “We can’t have a repeat of last night.” He smirks when my mouth tumbles open. “I meant the part where you got wound up and decided killing men would be a good stress reliever.”
A noise slips past my lips when his fingers toy with my clit. I fist my hands in my pillow, anticipation building. His fingers skim my pussy, dragging back to the tight ring around my ass.
“Tristan.” I bite down on my lip.
