The Reaper (Dark Verse 2)

Sharing her space with a man was an odd kind of experience. For all her bravado about ‘this-is-how-relationships-work’, Morana was pretty sure she sucked at it. Well, not that the man in question had ever indicated that but who knew. He kept a lot of shit to himself anyways.

Morana saw him move around the kitchen preparing breakfast like he did every morning for the last few days that she’d been there, sitting on the stool that she’d claimed on the island, sipping her fresh orange juice. His back under the blue t-shirt moved as he sliced through some fruit.

Her eyes narrowed.

Something was off. She didn’t know what it was, couldn’t put her finger on it, but she just knew. Since she had moved in five days ago, she had settled in and he was trying to settle with her. They slept beside each other. Occasionally, he had nightmares but not often. They woke up wrapped around each other. But for over five days, the man hadn’t made a move on her.

At first, she’d thought that was because he was giving her space but realized that was stupid. Tristan Caine had bulldozed into her space, there was no way he was being a gentleman now. He was taking his own space but he wasn’t distant. He cooked for her, talked to her slowly about his day, and asked about hers, sent her at least a text throughout the day. She now had her stuff in his, now theirs, closet and cupboards. The brand of chips she munched on when working occupied the kitchen drawers. He knew her entire limited skincare routine, for goodness’ sake. They were the epitome of domesticity.

But he hadn’t touched her or initiated any kind of intimacy since that day. And it bugged her. She missed the spectacular orgasms but more than that, she missed the fire he ignited in her senses.

And even though he hadn’t made a move on her, he’d been marking his territory. Like just two days ago, she’d been in front of the lake with Vin in her new training clothes, letting the other man teach her how to get out of an attack from the back, when Tristan had walked into the clearing and stood there, his eyes blazing, watching every way the other man had touched her clinically.

And though he hadn’t objected to her training, he had been there the entire session, letting the other man silently know that one wrong move would have him drowning painfully in the lake. Morana kind of wished he had taken over training her himself, but she knew why he hadn’t – because then they wouldn’t train.

Honestly though, it was too much to expect a man like him to adjust that quickly to not only sharing his space but sharing his space with her. She was his Achilles’ heel. She was his kryptonite. And just because he didn’t want to kill her anymore didn’t mean everything was hunky-dory between them. To a guy who had never lived with anyone, he was actually doing better than one could hope. He was just getting used to living with her and there was still a chasm between them Morana didn’t know how to breach.

They’d get there. One thing she could definitely say about living so far away from the mansion – no bumping into other people. Morana hadn’t seen Chiara or any of the Maroni family except Dante in days and she was happy for it. Zia came every three days to the cottage with all the groceries and chatting with her was one of the highlights of Morana’s day.

Hopping down from the stool, Morana went to butter up the toast beside her man, marveling for a moment at how small she felt barefoot next to him.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, caveman?” Morana asked, calling him by the nickname she’d taken to using on him, one she knew he really liked in that lizard part of his brain.

He glanced at her. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Hmm,” Morana huffed, wondering how to come out and ask him straight up why he hadn’t wham-bammed her.

Before she could figure out how to voice that thought, a knock sounded on the door and Dante walked in, dressed perfectly as always in a sharp dark suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back away from his gorgeous face.

“I was half afraid I’d have to bleach out my eyes if I walked in,” he quipped, unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat on the stool she’d just vacated.

“Shouldn’t have walked in then,” Tristan quipped from beside her.

Morana gave him a look that he returned innocently and turned to smile at Dante. “Oh, there’s nothing eye-bleach-worthy going on here. Nope.”

“Oh?” Dante asked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead as he looked at Tristan for a second before settling his brown eyes on her, a grin on his face. Morana felt herself flush. It had been happening more often lately, her brain-to-mouth filter slipping. She didn’t understand why.

“Any leads on the Syndicate?” Morana changed the topic without any subtlety, asking the question she was pretty sure she already knew the answer to. Since her meeting with the grave mystery guy, she and the boys had been working relentlessly to unearth some kind of evidence about whatever this Syndicate was, and surprisingly had found nothing. Not even Dante and Tristan, with all their shady connections, could find anything or anyone who had even heard of it. The ghost-group or organization, whatever it was, was good.

“Actually, there is something,” Dante said, surprising her.

Morana held up a mug in silent question and Dante shook his head. Heartbeats fast, she settled in opposite him and felt Tristan come to stand behind her, his hand on her waist as he considered Dante. “Tell me.”

“I have an informant,” Dante directed his eyes at Tristan before looking back at her. “The assassin, who tried to kill you, if his information is correct, was hired by this Syndicate group. He has another lead and wants to meet tonight somewhere public. I’ve told him to come to one of our clubs.”

The voice of whiskey and sin came from behind her. “I’m coming with you.”

Dante nodded. “I want you both to come actually.”

Morana frowned. “Not that I mind, but why?”

“Because,” Dante explained, “I can’t be sure someone isn’t keeping an eye on us. If they are, I want them to see nothing but us taking you out for a night in the city. Who we meet there, we control. You and Tristan can actually have fun while I get the meeting done.”

Morana turned her neck and looked up at the man behind her. “I think at this point in our relationship, you should know I don’t like wearing heels.”

She got a flash of dimples.

Somehow, she still hadn’t seen his tattoos.

She didn’t know how he’d done it, given she saw him shower and slept beside him, but one way or another, his tattoos were still a mystery to her. Promising herself to solve them soon, Morana checked out the hotness that was Tristan Caine in dark jeans and black Henley, the sleeves pushed up his muscular forearms, bunching in a way that was making her neglected core pulse with every heartbeat. She should probably just masturbate at this point and make him watch. Now, that was a good plan.

She sat at the back as the two men sat at the front of Dante’s Range Rover, the vehicle humming pleasantly as they zipped down the hill towards the city, another car following them.

Over the last few days, Lorenzo Maroni had been absent at dinner but she knew he’d been at the mansion. She’d seen him often enough and sometimes, she caught him watching her with an odd look in his eyes – like he was privy to a secret she didn’t know. It gave her the creeps. Her father was absent as well. She was sure he knew where she was but she hadn’t heard a peep from him.

Morana had video-called Amara in the evening while getting ready, to chat but also to touch base about Shadow Port and if everything seemed okay. Amara had mentioned something felt off, and Morana had to agree. The woman, her friend, seemed genuinely thrilled that she had moved in with Tristan. Morana had been tempted to discuss her relationship issues with her but didn’t know how to. It felt so new to her.

That was when Tristan had told her they had to go. And gone they had.

Dante, dressed as casually as his mob brother, broke through her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about the man you met, Morana. I suspect who it can be but I’m not sure. If he is who I think he is, I think we can trust the intel he gave you.”

“So the Syndicate exists?” Morana asked. “I’d honestly started to think we were chasing ghosts.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to think a whole lot is happening here that we don’t know about.”

“Then, it’s time we do.”

Dante exchanged a fleeting look with Tristan that she caught. Not mentioning anything, Morana simply asked questions about the city and Dante answered her, Tristan unusually quiet, as they made their way to the club.

In the old warehouse district just like in Shadow Port, the club was called Mayhem. Nice.

Morana saw the neon sign from afar, a long queue outside the doors indicative of the good business. Dante parked in the lot and they got out, Tristan opening her door and offering his hand like the gentleman she didn’t know he could be. Wearing the heels she hated and a dark blue shimmery halter dress she loved, Morana took a hold of his hand and got out. In her heels, with her hair in a high ponytail, red lips, and her rectangular glasses, Morana looked good. She knew she looked good.

But the way his eyes roved over her with that territorial possession? It made her feel good.

Splaying a possessive hand on his arm, she walked with both the men into the club, the music suddenly pounding into her pulse. Each hard beat drifted off her heart, sinking into her blood, heating her system. She could see the dance floor full of gyrating bodies, the neon lights playing hide-and-seek with all the exposed flesh, a bar on the sidelined up with more people.

Unlike her last time, she knew this time she would have a good time.

Dante’s hand on her shoulder brought her attention back to him. He nodded to Tristan and smiled at her, before walking off to the back of the club for the meeting.

A weird feeling in the pit of her stomach, Morana shook it off and turned to the man beside her, pointing to the restrooms. Tristan nodded, his eyes still on where Dante had gone, and she knew he was distracted. Leaving him to his brooding, Morana quickly escaped to the bathroom. After doing her business and fixing her lipstick, she headed out again into the crowd, trying to locate her man.

Her eyes scanned over the crowd, only to come to a sudden halt at the bar. He sat there with a drink and a red-haired siren all over him.

Morana stayed still, her heart drumming, observing what he would do, watching as the siren put her hand on his arm exactly where hers had been, and watching as he didn’t shake it off. She watched, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach worsening, his face blank of all expression as the siren slithered against him.

Fire infused her veins, filled her belly, sizzled her insides.

She didn’t understand this emotion, never having dealt with it in her life. She didn’t understand how to react. Gripping her phone, unsure of whether to walk up there and punch the siren or walk off and cool down, Morana took in a deep breath, trying to clear the haze of red.

As though sensing her gaze, his eyes came to her. He didn’t do anything, didn’t move, didn’t look away, just waited to see her reaction.

And Morana got pissed.

Spinning on her heels, Morana weaved through the crowd and headed straight for the doors on the side that was closest to her. Pushing open the latch, she stepped out in the empty alley between the club and a warehouse and shut the door behind her. The cool air was crisp in her nose as she inhaled a lungful of it, her hand shaking with her annoyance.

She didn’t know what kind of a game he was playing but she wasn’t here for it. Fuck him and fuck him twice for trying to test her. She’d been nothing but open and emotionally unguarded. And she was pissed because he was being a hypocrite – daring to let another woman put his hands on him when he couldn’t stomach her meeting another man even platonically.

The door opened behind her and the air changed.

Morana started walking away, not even turning to acknowledge him.

She felt his hand on her bare shoulder, turning her around. Shaking with her fury, she looked up at him, surprised to find his eyes amused.

“Sheath your claws, wildcat,” he murmured softly.

Morana growled, pushing him into the wall, glaring at him. “Don’t play these juvenile games with me, Tristan. I will cut you open and eat you alive.”

He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers, a softness in his gaze. “There she is.”

Morana frowned, not understanding. But she breathed deeply.

“What was that?”

“I just wanted to see something,” he explained.

“What?”

“If you burned as I burn with the need to claim you. That I wasn’t alone in the fire.”

Convoluted as it was, the explanation calmed Morana a fraction. Insecurity, she could deal with that. She had to remind herself they were both new at this, him more so than her. Keeping her eyes on his, Morana pushed him into the wall and put her phone in his jacket.

His brow furrowed at the action and Morana didn’t explain, sinking down to her knees on the rough ground and unbuttoning his jeans, doing something she’d been dying to do to him for days, putting across her message in a language he would understand, once and for all.

“You wanted to know if I burn with you?” Morana asked, pushing down his jeans and taking out his semi-hard cock, looking up at him to find his attention rapt on her.

She licked him at the tip, tasting his salty flavor, and stated. “That’s fucked up. You’re fucked up. But you’re mine.”

He got harder and she licked him on the underside. “Every” lick “fucked up” lick “inch of you.”

His hand fisted around her ponytail, holding her head as he pushed inside her mouth, her lips wrapping around him. She took him as far back as she could and pulled back, keeping her eyes on his, her hands on his strong thighs. He opened his mouth to say something, his blue eyes flaring in a way she’d never seen before, and she took him in her mouth again, hollowing her cheeks and applying the pressure she’d read worked wonders in magazines.

His hips flexed, his hand tugging at her hair even as he still controlled how much she could take. “You keep looking at me like that and I’ll come under a fucking minute.”

Fuck, that felt good. The power she felt in that second, knowing who he was, seeing his control fray at the edges inside her mouth made her feel good.

“Say my name,” Morana mumbled, sucking just his tip and flicking her tongue against the slit, not breaking their eye contact. Anyone could come out and see her on her knees, taking her man into her mouth, his fist wrapped around her hair, and it made her fucking wet.

His thumb stroked over her cheek as his breathing labored. He didn’t say her name.

Wrapping her fingers around his thick base and jerking him off, marveling at the fact that this huge thing had been inside her, Morana pulled back completely, her eyes watering and not just because of the pressure.

“I don’t just burn with you, Tristan,” she said, her voice shaking. “I burn for you. And I don’t know what I have to do to prove it.”

He groaned, his eyes closing. “Fuck, Morana.”

Heart pounding, she took him in her mouth again and got back into sucking him off with vigor, feeling him slowly lose control as his hips started to jerk.

“Pull back if you don’t want to swallow,” he warned. She didn’t. Her own breathing hastened with his, and then he exploded in her mouth with a low growl. Throat working, swallowing down every last drop of him, Morana mentally patted herself on the back for a blowjob well done. The gods of oral would be proud.

Opening his fist, he let her hair go and tucked himself back in, pulling her up.

Morana straightened, brushing off her stinging knees and ignored the wetness between her legs, looking at a spot on his chest, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed. But they had to talk about this.

“I don’t like that feeling, Tristan,” she addressed him, not looking away from his chest. “I want to be able to walk into a room and know, without an iota of doubt, that the man I have claimed is only mine. I know that’s not how things work in this world. I know that men and women play around with others, that loyalty is a luxury not everyone can afford. I know. I just don’t like it.”

Swallowing, she put her hands on his chest and slid her eyes up to his, to find them singularly focused on her, and felt a shiver go down her spine. Would she ever get used to his intensity, to the sheer magnetism of that attention?

Inhaling deeply, she continued. “I just, I really like you Tristan Caine, as messed up as you are.”

One of his hands settled on her hips, the other coming up to her neck. “My loyalty is not a luxury for you, Morana. It’s a gift and it’s yours. You never have to walk into a room and question that.”

Morana felt her mouth quiver as she went on her toes, pressing her lips to her happy spot where his neck and shoulder met. “Thank you.”

She felt him press his mouth against her hair. “I won’t test you like that again.”

Morana felt her lips curve and pulled back to look at him. “So are you calling me by my name now or do I have to get on my knees to get that?”

Before he could say a word, a huge explosion rocked the ground underneath her feet, knocking her into his chest. He immediately shielded her behind his body and Morana whirled to see huge flames lick up at the dark sky from the back of the club.

In shock, seeing the gigantic blaze with wide eyes, Morana barely nodded as Tristan pulled out his gun and handed it to her.

“Stay here!” he yelled at her and then he ran towards the fire, leaving her alone in the alley suddenly flooding with people escaping the club.

It was chaos.

Morana mingled with the crowd and ran to the parking lot at the front, to see people screaming and getting out and away from the burning building, unable to understand what had happened. Her eyes found Dante’s car and she jogged to wait there, hearing the sound of sirens in the distance closing in, shaking her head in disbelief as sounds of people talking and shouting filled space around her.

A huge shiver wracked her body as she kept her eyes glued to the explosion site, no idea of how many people had been injured. The gun heavy in her hand, she cursed herself for not even having her phone, looking around to find a familiar face. She couldn’t. Everyone Outfit had run to the back to help out.

“Did you see how the door exploded out?” one of the girls near her was talking excitedly with her friend. “It was mad!”

“I know!” the other sounded shaky. “I hope no one got hurt though.”

Morana hoped so too.

After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, she finally saw Tristan heading back towards her, his face and clothes darkened in soot, his eyes cool, aloof.

Morana took a step forward, the pit of unease in her stomach yawning wide as she looked behind him, her heart stuttering. She saw Vin and two other guys, in a similar state, head towards the car as well.

“What happened?” she voiced as he came closer, trying to make out his expression.

It was stone.

Something was bad.

She looked around for Dante.

Looked back at Tristan.

No.

Fuck no.

“Tristan,” she gripped his arm, shaking him, her eyes watering. “Where is Dante?”

He shook his head.

No.

No.

God, no!

He just meant Dante was busy managing the fire and wouldn’t be coming with them. That’s what he meant.

“Will he come later?” she asked, her voice breaking with hope.

God, no. Please no.

“We need to go,” he said, his own voice hard, closed-off.

Morana looked at the flames lighting up the sky and started to walk towards it.

A hand gripped her arm, turning her sideways.

She looked up at him. He shook his head once.

Tears streaked down her cheeks, a long, painful wail leaving her chest as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing for a brother she’d only had for a few days.