28. Tristan

TWENTY-EIGHT

Tristan

I have Noah drop me off. I already knew I would be safe here, but the fact that he's willing to leave me confirms it. He's clearly the anchor in this … family.

I've never really had one, so I guess I have a loose sense of what family means, but I think the bond between him and Dante and Rafael counts.

Rafael's Maserati is parked next to Dante's Jag in the warehouse loading bay. They would be in danger of being stripped if not for the security cameras and the fact that two dangerous and armed men could be out here to deal with thieves and vandals in mere seconds.

I try the door and find it unlocked. I take a deep breath and go inside. The steel door at the bottom of the steps is also unlocked. I take another deep breath.

When I walk into the basement, Dante, obviously alerted to my arrival, is standing by the desk, facing the doorway. Facing me. His expression is almost always intense, but it's usually intensely aggressive. It's something else right now. Wary. Worried. Like it was as hard for him to hear my approach as it was for me to make it.

He's so damn beautiful. His black jeans mold to his thighs. His black t-shirt skims his powerful torso and chest, and hugs his biceps. His face is so strong and so fucking gorgeous. And his eyes hold so much. I see it now, the thousand complexities. I don't understand all of them, but I know they're there, all those layers. A lot of them are dark.

I sensed that before, but I know it now on a much deeper level. This place is part of that darkness. It's part of him.

He doesn't say, I didn't expect you . He doesn't need to; I can see it in his face. He doesn't ask, How are you? He knows I'm not ready to answer that.

He says in a rough, strained voice, "Hi."

"Hi," I say back.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" I ask, confused. He saved my life last night.

He huffs, sounding exasperated. He gestures around. "Where should I start?"

I swallow hard. "You mean, for what you are."

"Yes. And for what I did. I scared you. That night. After my … dream. I don't remember what I said or did, but I'm sure it was awful. I'm sure you were right to leave."

"You told me to leave."

He winces. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't even call me."

His chest starts heaving. "I know. I was—never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

"It does matter. You were what?"

Maybe it's cruel of me to make him explain when I've already figured it out. He was struggling. He was spiraling even before his nightmare. Maybe that's why he had the nightmare in the first place. And worst of all, I now understand that he has a lot of fodder for nightmares.

But I still need him to say it.

"I was … afraid," he admits.

That's not what I expected. "Of what?"

"Of you. Of what I wanted with you."

My breath catches. "And what do you want?"

"Everything."

I close my eyes and breathe that in. My chest expands with it. But I don't answer him. I'm not sure why, but I'm not ready to. I do, however, manage to leave the doorway and walk into the room.

"This place," I say then get stuck. I don't know what I'm saying. I don't know what I'm asking. I don't know how I feel about it.

"It's … yeah," he says. He doesn't know what to say either. It's a place where he tortures and kills people. In fact, it's happening right now. But it's Rafael in the cell with their victim, and the soundproof door keeps any screams from reaching us.

But the person in there, their captive, is the man who abused my brother. Groomed him. Turned him into a hitman for the mob. Took Evan from me.

Am I supposed to feel sorry him?

Am I supposed to tell Dante that what he's doing is wrong?

I can't find those words in myself. I can't find those feelings in myself.

Instead I ask, "What are you trying to learn from him?"

Dante looks unsure about talking to me about this, but he says, "We're extracting information about a man known as the Collector. He's the one who bought Evan for the Society. He bought a lot of boys."

"Bought him? From whom? There wasn't anyone who would've …" I feel like my blood drains away as I realize the obvious, awful truth.

"What? Tristan, what?"

Rage bursts through me so hard and fast that I almost explode. "That piece of shit !"

Suddenly Dante is right in front of me. I'm so fucking angry that I want to hit something. Dante has his gut clenched like he's ready for it to be him, but I don't want to hit him. He finally realizes that and grabs onto me instead. I wrap my arms around him and dig my fingers into his back. Dante's cheek presses against my head. His hands hold me close. I press my face against his neck and let the rage pass through me in waves.

"Who?" Dante asks when the worst of it is gone.

"Our foster father. He told me Evan ran away, that Evan left me because he didn't care about me. But he sold Evan. That's why he suddenly had so many nice things. That's probably how he got himself killed, buying all that shit."

"He's dead then," Dante says, sounding disappointed, and I suddenly realize that if the asshole weren't already dead, Dante would kill him—and I would want him to.

I want him to kill this other asshole too. The one who hurt Evan, who made it impossible for Evan to be rescued by Noah and brought home. Evan would have struggled after his experiences. He would never have been normal. Just like Dante will never be normal.

But I still would've loved Evan.

Like I still love Dante. Oh, I already knew that. It's why I'm here. But the instant he grabbed me into his arms? I felt it again. I fucking love this psychotic asshole.

When I pull away from him, he lets me, but he stays close as I walk over to the table. To the file folders.

I know the one with the boys' pictures. It's the thickest.

Dante makes a pained sound when I open it, but he doesn't stop me. I look at every boy. I can't believe I thought, even for a second, that these were his victims. These are someone else's victims. Many someones. That's what the lists are—those someones. And though some on the lists are identified by name, others are identified only by description. All in Dante's handwriting. The descriptions, then, are from his own memories.

Reeked of cologne.

Liked to use the word "sweetheart."

There's no picture of Evan because these are the boys that Noah rescued. These are pictures that Noah took after he got them out.

I get to the two boys that aren't identified, and it's not because they aren't known. The one with no name who has a list, the beautiful, refined looking boy with gray eyes, is Rafael. The other, the dark-eyed boy with the strong, handsome face, has no list because he doesn't need one. Because Dante will never forget that list. Because that boy is him.

I think about the scar on his inner thigh that runs up to his groin. I think about his rule about how I can't touch his cock or ass with my hands or my mouth. I think about every fucking moment with him.

"Shit," I mutter when tears plop onto the photo of him. "I'm sorry. Fuck." I use my shirt to try to fix the damage, but the photo is spotted. Permanently marked.

Dante takes it from me. There's a strange look on his face. A complicated one. He's uncomfortable. But he's not angry about the damage. In fact, his lips tug a little.

Then I fucking ruin it because I can't help but say, "Your parents …"

His expression darkens. He closes the folder. "Capelli took me for revenge against my father. Business shit."

There's clearly a whole story there, but it's not what matters to me, not right now. "And when you came back?"

"I made them uncomfortable." Dante is staring at the closed folder, not looking at me. "They wanted me to pretend that nothing had happened. They told people I'd been studying abroad."

"Fuck, Dante."

He shrugs like it doesn't matter, but I know it does. I saw how it hurt him to be around his mother. I heard his father's angry shouts that day in his office.

Dante says, "Noah got control of Rafael because his parents were dead, but my parents had legal control of me. They wouldn't let Noah help me. But when I turned eighteen, he came back. The very fucking day. He saved my life. Fucked up as it is. But that's not his fault."

"You're not fucked up."

"I am. I'm violent. I'm possessive. Obsessive. Deviant."

"Well, I fucking love how you are, everything about you, so I guess I'm fucked up too."

He sucks in a breath. He freezes, like he doesn't know if he heard that right, like he desperately wants it to be true but is afraid to believe it. And this time, it's easier to tell him bluntly, "I love you, Dante."

"Fuck, Tristan. I love you too."

His words rock me back. They're so heavy, so intent. I don't realize my eyes are closed until I find myself suddenly hauled against him. His lips crush against mine. I'm curving into him, opening to him, and when he devours me with his kiss, when his body shocks mine to sudden, hungry life, I feel grounded in a way I haven't for days.

He centers me. Anchors me. And somehow sets me free.

I'm quickly soaring out of myself as his tongue sweeps into my mouth like he's trying to possess me. But he already does. I've been his for a while now. Is he really mine?

He's grabbing at my ass, tugging at me in a way that has me jumping up to wrap my legs around him. He catches me so easily, holds me so tightly. My head is above his in this position, and I take quick advantage of it. I plunge my fingers into his hair in a way I've never allowed myself to do. I try to kiss his face, but he's got it buried against my neck like he's overwhelmed. He's shaking. He's making harsh little sounds.

I grip his hair and rock against him. I can't help it. He sets me on fire.

We're moving. Then I'm being lowered. My back hits the mattress. He rocks into me, grinding our cocks together through our clothes.

"Are you going to fuck me in your murder basement?"

He draws back from kissing my neck. He smiles at the term. "Yes."

"With Rafael torturing someone fifteen feet away?"

His smile turns into a grin. "Yes."

"Without even asking me?"

Ignoring my question entirely, he starts unzipping my pants. My cock presses against my black briefs through my open fly. Dante scoots down and gently bites my cock through the cloth.

Well, then. He did admit he was deviant. And it's not like I didn't already know that. It's not like I don't like that. I guess I'm a little deviant too.

I sit up and yank off my shirt. Then I tug at his. He lets me pull it off, but that's all the patience he has. He flips me over and puts his knee in my back to hold me down while he rummages around beside the bed.

"I'm not going anywhere," I chuckle.

"You're sure as hell not," he says darkly. I shiver at the promise. Or threat. "Ever," he adds, as though I didn't understand that. But I did. Oh, I fucking did.

I make a contented sound, pinned there under his knee. He swaps his hand for his knee, like he needs to keep hold of me regardless of my obvious compliance. His other hand yanks at my jeans and underwear. I lift my hips for him so he can bare my ass, hauling my pants down to my knees.

He has to stop pinning me so he can scoot down my body. I don't know what I expect, but it's not him roughly parting my cheeks to expose my hole and growling, "This is mine," before his tongue attacks me.

I cry out in surprised pleasure as he licks my tight rim. He alternates between that and biting my ass. His hands roam, squeezing my thighs then delving between my legs to grip my balls possessively as his tongue pushes into me. I press the side of my face into the mattress and moan as he takes over my body.

My head is turned toward the cell, so I see the door open. I see Rafael emerge. He makes no effort to hide his hard cock. He makes no effort to hide the way his eyes burn on us.

I don't know if Dante sees him as he licks along my crack and draws back. I hear his zipper and a rustle of cloth. I hear the sloppy squelch of lube on his cock.

Rafael's eyes flick to that. His lips part. Jealousy wakes up inside me, but then Dante's cockhead presses against my hole, and I have no attention for anything but the perfect burn of his broad tip stretching me open.

I'm tight, and it hurts, but Dante is ruthless with his penetration. It's slow, but he's so fucking big. I'm gasping, moaning, whimpering. I try to escape because I can't help it, but Dante has a bruising grip on my hips, and there's nothing I can do but take him.

When he's fully inside me, he pauses and lets me adjust. Rafael is still there when Dante draws back and pumps into me. I moan, suddenly glad that Rafael is watching, that there's a witness to Dante's possession of me.

Then Rafael leaves, returning to the cell like he can't handle any more as Dante draws back and thrusts into me again. When I loosen, when I'm compliant, Dante leans down over my back, half squashing me. His teeth close on the back my neck. His hand reaches under me to grip my cock. Then he fucks me so hard that the mattress is shifting, so hard that I'm moaning and shouting and practically blubbering because it's so fucking intense and perfect. His pelvis is slamming against my ass. His balls are slapping me. His cock is driving hard inside me. I don't want it to ever end, but my body isn't mine to control.

My orgasm is so intense that I scream and thrash, my cock spurting in Dante's hand. I buck against him, clenching so hard on his cock that he shouts. He pins me down as he comes inside me, his cock kicking against my prostate, milking me until I'm spasming under him. He moans through the last pulses of his orgasm then shudders and relaxes against me.

We lie there for a long while. Breathing. Twitching. Our bodies still joined.

"I want to live inside you," he whispers against me. "This is the only place I want to be."

He doesn't expect a response and I don't have one. I'm too greedy. I just want to soak his words in. I sigh.

Eventually, he pulls out. I moan at the glide of his half hard cock and the hot spill of his cum down my thighs.

He says, "I wish I had a plug here to keep my cum inside you, but—" He cups my ass with a cloth. "Come on," he murmurs, stroking my hair.

I relax and let myself open. Some of his cum remains inside me, and I want it to, but he makes sure that I won't be a mess.

We get up from the mattress. He quickly tugs up his own pants then takes over with mine. I lean into him as he settles my clothes. I make a contented sound as he zips my jeans. He plants a kiss on the side of my head then bends down to snag my t-shirt. As I pull it on, he finishes with his own clothes.

"I want to see," I tell him.

He stills. "Are you sure?"

"How old was my brother when he was taken from the Island by this asshole?"

"Probably sixteen."

"And this … fucking pervert had him ever since?"

"Yes."

"Then I want to see."

"Fiero knows more about the Collector than he wants to say. Rafael needs that information."

"Then let's help him get it."

Dante's smile is so fucking beautiful. He grabs me and kisses me again. It's getting easier for him, and I love it.

Then he takes my hand and leads me to the steel door. He opens it, releasing the sound of whimpers and the scent of blood and piss, revealing the sight of Rafael, shirtless, bathed in blood, with a knife in his hand.

Rafael is gorgeous. His body is perfect, like Dante's, but it's marked by more tattoos than scars. There's one on his lower abdomen that peeks above his waistband. His cock is still hard. His eyes are drugged looking.

My psycho boss.

"Don't worry, kitten," Rafael says to me. "I know he's yours."

That's when I realize my lip is curled. I smooth my expression. Dante squeezes my hand then leaves me to walk over to the rack of tools. While he's choosing, I look at the naked man bleeding and shaking in the chair. His head is hanging. His stomach is jerking with his harsh breaths.

This man raped my brother. He kept my brother from me.

This cell was made for men like him. Literally. That's why Dante does this. He and Rafael. It's strange to me now, how it looked wrong to me before, how it horrified me.

Dante says, "You can leave whenever you want."

"I'm not going to leave," I tell him. Then, as though he might not have understood me fully, I add, "Ever."

He smiles again, that fucking beautiful smile, and chooses a hammer.