A vision flashes of a boy but I feel too disoriented to make it out. But something about Tristian’s hold on me feels all too familiar. It’s like my body knows his touch and welcomes his darkness.
The warning tone signaling the phone is off the hook snaps me back from my sick spell. I steady my hands on the counter regaining control. His hands linger around my waist a bit longer as I focus on breathing. He looks at me again with those black orbs of despair and I want to drown in the icy, black waters threatening to pull me back under, but I need to get to my father.
I smile graciously and shove his hands away. He stills behind me, his body pressing into mine, definitely a hard wall of muscle. His mouth curves down in a grimace and he walks toward the door.
“Thank you. I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll tell my father you wish to speak with him.” I don’t wait for a response. I rush to the office grabbing my bag and the keys to the store. The courtesy of phoning my sisters doesn’t cross my mind. I need to get to my father and make sure he is okay. I can’t lose him too. I don’t bother turning off the lights I can return later, once I have seen my father, to shut them off.
As I am twisting the key in the lock, I register Tristian standing by his motorcycle down the street watching me. I don’t like it. He makes me feel vulnerable.
My knees shake slightly threatening to buckle as I walk past him, my worry over my Papi is threatening to knock me off my feet.
“Need a lift,” he offers with the hint of a demand in his tone.
I know what kind of man Tristian is, the type that always gets what he wants and if he doesn’t get it right off, he can buy it.
He motions to his motorcycle.
His bike will get me to the hospital a lot quicker than my legs.
I nod unsure of how to get on or how to ride on the thing with him. I’ve never ridden before.
He takes one look at my frail appearance and laughs darkly.
His tattooed face wears a menacing smile. “Never had a little power between your legs.”
I blush, at the double meaning laced in his crude teasing.
“I bet you are as pure as a first snow in winter,” he jokes again at my expense.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I snap finding my spine.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with a man like me,” he barks before instructing me how to ride with him on what he calls the bitch seat. The skirt of my dress, hiked over my knees and bunched up offers a thin veil between my purity and his backside. I snuggle into his back for protection from the cool night air. “You’re too pure for me sweetheart, much too fragile for a man like me.” He laughs as he pulls us out onto the street.
Chapter 3
ISABELLA
After a terrifying ride on the back of Tristian’s Harley, I am rushing through the doors of the emergency room begging for answers. I didn’t waste time thanking him for the lift. All I can think about is gettin
g to my Papi, and making sure he is okay. The woman behind the information desk is being less than helpful, telling me I will have to take a seat, and she will be with me shortly.
They call and scare the crap out of me to bring me here and then they make me wait. Seriously! I am on the verge of tears when Tristian walks in. He really is breathtaking. My heart skips a beat as he storms through the room, his eyes trained on mine with a hint of worry. I was expecting him to have drove off already. Even though we don’t know each other something about him being here comforts me. I don’t know what it is. We’ve only just met, he’s rude, he’s crude, and I am finding his frankness entertaining and alluring.
No one has ever been the way he is with me. Everyone treats me like a porcelain doll. He even said himself that I am fragile, but I get the feeling he knows I won’t break so easily.
“Why aren’t you with your father?” He asks taking in my disheveled face.
“They told me to wait. Wouldn’t tell me anything.” He looks pissed now. I wasn’t aware this tattooed biker could look any angrier or scarier, but right now the fire burning behind his eyes has me ready to run and hide. Not because I am afraid of him, but afraid of what he is capable of. I’ve heard stories of the motorcycle club he rides with and they are the kind of monsters you read about or heard stories of as a child. The monsters lurking in closets and hiding under beds kind.
The unhelpful desk clerk’s tune changes fast when Tristian comes to the counter. With venom in his voice, he places his palms calmly on the counter, staring her down. “Do you like your job, Doris?”
“Uh, yes,” she answers her face ashen when she takes notice of who is asking.
“Then I suggest you take, Miss Perez to see her father. Now!” he booms slapping his hands down loudly, this time by her face.
She stops popping her gum, nearly choking, scrambling from her seat quickly to let us through the door.
Tristian grabs my elbow, escorting me down the corridor. I don’t know why he is being so helpful, unless he is just trying to get to my father. He was looking for him to begin with, before I received the call that brought us here. Why else would he be sticking around? Certainly not for me.