Page 90 of Beautiful Sinners

CHAPTER 31

“Baby, wake up.”

A Bostonian accent rouses me, but the nightmare doesn’t want to let me go.

“Sweet girl, open those beautiful blue eyes for me.”

I jolt awake and wipe away the dried tears crusted to my lashes.

“Tristan?”

As soon as his handsome, concerned face comes into view, I burst into tears. I can’t help it. When I used to dream of that night, I would wake up with fuzzy recollections that I’d write down in my journal. Not now. Now, when I dream, I’m forced to relive every horrific thing that happened in stark detail.

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” he promises, pulling me to him and holding me tight. “Why are you sleeping on the ground?”

I didn’t know where else to go after I left the bell tower, so I came to the house. To the spot in the backyard where Tristan likes to sit next to the fragrant flowering bush. As soon as I rounded the back of the house, I swear I saw him sitting on the grass, knees bent to his chest, his figure bathed orange from the fiery light of the setting sun. But it was a trick of the mind, and once I blinked, he was gone.

I had laid down in Tristan’s spot and stared up at the clouds, thinking about what Aleksander had said. I must have fallen asleep at some point.

“I wanted to feel close to you.”

The outdoor security lights are on, and I search the backyard but don’t see Constantine or Hendrix. No lights shine from inside the house. It’s early evening, maybe eight o’clock or so.

“How did you find me?”

The screen of his phone glows light blue when he takes it out of his pocket. “Took a guess. Let me tell the guys. As soon as we landed, we split up to look for you.”

A mountain of guilt consumes me when I see the message he sends.

Found her in the backyard. She’s safe. Come home.

“I’m sorry.”

Tristan drags his gaze away from the phone and locks those mesmerizing whiskey eyes on me.

“Me too, Red.” He kisses my cheek, my lips, then buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply.

His hands touch me everywhere, almost as if he’s reassuring himself that I’m okay, and that’s when he finds the gun tucked away at my back.

Warmed metal scrapes my skin when he slowly slips the pistol out from my waistband. Checking to make sure the safety is engaged, he carefully sets it on the ground.

“You went to see him.” It’s a statement, not a question, which means he already knows.

I give him a shaky nod yes.

“Dammit, Aoife.”

He sounds disappointed. I’d rather take his anger. Anger I can fight.

“How mad are you?” It’s an idiotic thing to ask.

“Pretty fucking mad, but we can yell at each other tomorrow. Hop on,” he tells me and pats his back.

Like an emotional yoyo, I go from sad to worried to amused. “You want to give me a piggyback ride?”

He glances over his shoulder, a slight curve to his lips that’s not quite a smirk but close enough.

“If I recall, you used to love my piggyback rides.”

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