How to Escape an Assassin

16: Killers

I followed the instructions. After pulling into the parking spot, I remained seated in the car while waiting for a house staff member to appear to bring us inside. Felix was still out cold. A few minutes of waiting passed, then finally someone tapped on the passenger-side window.

It was none other than Tristan. He was no longer wearing his outfit from the wedding, now dressed in a black hoodie and jeans.

"Why are you here?" He asked angrily.

"The psychop-... er, Felix passed out and somebody had to take him home," I answered softly.

Tristan's eyes narrowed into slits. He muttered something under his breath, then opened the passenger door and lifted all 200 pounds of Felix over his shoulder effortlessly.

I put the car in park, then ran to catch up with Tristan—as fast as my heels allowed—as he entered the house.

In the foyer, Tristan handed Felix over to two guards. A maid brought me a pair of slippers to wear in the house. As I was changing into the slippers, Tristan was hovering over me with his arms crossed and a pissed expression on his face.

I stood to face him. I was usually good at striking up conversation with others, but when it came to Tristan, it was as if my speech ability malfunctioned.

But he didn't make it any easier for me. He was always silently glaring at me with that hostile expression as if he were trying to disintegrate me with his eyes. It was frustrating, and I was becoming tired of it.

My face settled into a scowl, and I folded my arms over my chest to mirror Tristan's image. He raised a questioning eyebrow. Then he began to take slow, measured steps toward me. I took steps back to maintain the distance between us until my back collided with a pillar. A low, guttural sound came from Tristan's throat. He was like a lion, extending his claws, about to pounce on his prey. I felt my face getting hot. My knees were buckling, and I leaned into the pillar for support. Tristan closed the distance between us and dipped his head into my neck, breathing me in at the exact spot where he'd marked me with a hideous hickey earlier. A shudder rocked my body.

"Why aren't you wearing your necklace?" He questioned.

"Why?" I asked, unable to mask the confusion on my face. No longer able to bear the heat of our gaze, I looked down at Tristan's chest. But he pressed his thumb and index finger to my chin and tilted my head up to face him.

"Why aren't you wearing your necklace?" He questioned with more force this time.

"It doesn't match my dress." I frowned, not understanding why he was suddenly obsessed with my necklace.

"I thought you said it was from someone special." His eyes were boring into mine, practically trying to pry the innermost thoughts out of my mind.

I closed my eyes. "It is, Tristan. It just doesn't match my dress."

"I hate that dress on you," he spat. His words hurt.

"I thought that... maybe you liked the way I looked today."

"Why would you think that?"

My voice came out timid and weak. "Because you took me to dance." Tears were collecting in my eyes.

"Don't cry." He said sternly.

I still had my eyes closed as the sadness built up within me and the tears flowed out due to the rejection. Tristan wasn't saying anything. I couldn't even tell if he was still here.

I didn't feel him standing over me anymore. I opened my eyes slowly. Indeed, Tristan was no longer there; just a young maid who stood watching me from a few feet away, mouth agape.