The Predator: Chapter 6

A jerk suddenly startled her.

Disoriented, Morana pried her heavy lids open slowly, her eyes burning, to see trees rushing by at speed in the darkness and long stretches of secluded road ahead. The sound of an engine whirring broke into her dazed consciousness a second later, along with the scent of car perfume, warm air, and leather against the back of her thighs and shoulder blades. All of it extremely familiar.

Blinking, she sat up suddenly, the quick motion sending a shot of dizziness through her system and the dull echo of pain through her skull, and looked around.

Suave cream interior, the little trinket – glasses and a gun – dangling from the rearview mirror, a mystery paperback tossed in the console, along with her black clutch.

She was in her own car.

And a woman was driving her car. A woman in a hot silver dress, glancing at her with concerned forest green eyes. Where had she seen her before…?

‘How are you feeling?’ the woman asked in a soft, soothing voice that was somehow raspy in the silence.

Something about her seemed familiar. Morana shook her head once to clear it, and thought about the question, even as her eyes checked the woman out for any weapons on her. How was she feeling?

‘Dazed, I think,’ she muttered, a frown taking over her face. ‘Who are you?’

The woman flashed slightly alarmed eyes at her. ‘Amara. We just met an hour ago. In the club. You don’t remember?’

Now that she mentioned it, pieces started coming back to her. Meeting with Dante. Putting the drive in her clutch. Going to the bar. The weird bartender. The woman coming up to meet her. And…

Her jaw clenched as everything rushed back into her mind. Hot, hot lava flooded her blood, her fingers curling into her palms as acid burned through her chest. The memories returned, and along with them the absolute rage that almost shook her frame, the urge to hit something hard violent inside her.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the woman, pinning her with her eyes. ‘Why are you driving my car?’

Amara glanced at her swiftly before turning her eyes to the road again.

‘Things happened after you passed out,’ she spoke in the same soft voice that Morana realized was her natural tone. ‘It wasn’t safe for you there anymore, so I thought it’d be better if you got out.’

Morana narrowed her eyes at her, trying to gauge how honest she was being. ‘And you did this out of the goodness of your heart?’

‘A little,’ the woman replied quietly. ‘Mainly I did this because Tristan asked me to.’

Okay.

Morana’s heart started pounding the minute the words were comprehended in her brain. Before she could say anything though, Amara spoke again, in that raspy voice.

‘He’s following us right now.’

What?

Morana swiveled her neck to look at the empty road behind them. Sure enough, there was a huge black SUV tailing them on the secluded path, making her realize they weren’t that far from the club yet, miles from the mansion. The headlights shone brightly, the vehicle keeping a distance of at least ten cars between them, maintaining the same speed Amara was.

‘What is his damage?’ Morana muttered to herself, not understanding a thing about that man even as the urge to punch him in the nose prevailed. She grit her teeth.

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person to tell you that,’ Amara replied, and Morana turned back to her, ignoring the headlights in her peripheral vision.

‘But you were going to tell me something,’ she insisted, pressing on. ‘Before I passed out.’

When the other woman didn’t speak but pursed her lips together, Morana sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be getting any answer. Curiosity assailing her about the woman, she asked. ‘Are you in the family?’

Amara’s lips curved as she smiled slightly, shaking her head. ‘Not technically.’

At Morana’s waiting silence, she elaborated. ‘My mother was the head housekeeper in the Maroni household. I’ve grown up with the men when they were boys, but I was never family.’

‘You were adopted into it?’ Morana asked, curious.

The other woman shook her head. ‘No. The only one to ever have been adopted into the family was Tristan.’

Morana studied the woman, a heavy feeling deep in her gut for some reason. ‘But you know the family?’

Amara glanced at her, her eyes hard. ‘Yes. But if you think I’ll spill any secrets, you’re wrong. I didn’t when I was fifteen, and I won’t now.’

Morana raised her eyebrows. ‘Fifteen?’

She saw the woman’s hand clench on the steering wheel, her lips purse tightly for a moment before she sighed. ‘I was abducted and taken prisoner by another mob. They tried to get me to talk, and when I refused, they damaged my vocal cords.’

Morana’s heart clenched in pain for the woman even as a sort of admiration for her strength seeped in. A fifteen-year-old young girl facing horrors and refusing to succumb. Morana knew the cost of being strong in this world, and even though this woman was the enemy, Morana could respect that strength. So she did. Silently.

‘Dante and Tristan found me after three days. Dante took me home but Tristan stayed behind to clean up,’ Amara spoke on quietly, in that voice that had been made permanent forcefully, only the humming of the car permeating the air. ‘They’d both been so angry, not just because I had been theirs but because violating a woman is something they both truly abhor. They’ve always been protective of women and children. Which is why what happened tonight was not ordinary.’

Morana took in all that information for a moment then huffed out a skeptic laugh. ‘You mean Tristan Caine is ordinarily not an asshole?’

‘Oh, he is,’ Amara replied without missing a beat. ‘But he’s an honorable asshole. And what happened tonight wasn’t anywhere near honorable.’

Was that why he was following them? Out of some misbegotten sense of honor?

When pigs would fly with soft, pink wings perhaps.

He had an agenda. He always did. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.

‘I won’t try to defend him or give excuses for his actions, because as much as I get why he’s acting like this, he’s the one who has to offer his own excuses to you.’

Even though the woman refused to give answers, Morana was starting to like her for her loyalty. She didn’t let it show.

‘Then what are you saying?’ Morana asked, her eyebrows raised.

Amara looked at her for a second before turning back. ‘The man who drugged you – the bartender of the club – has been working for the family for almost two decades. After Tristan dropped you with me, he went to deal with the man. It got… heated. So, he came over and carried you to the car and told me to drive you home. But he’s been following us all the way. That’s all I’m saying. Make of it what you will.’

That was the issue. Morana had absolutely no freaking idea what to make of him.

Heart pounding, she looked out of the window and realized they were just a few miles out away from the mansion. She couldn’t go back to the house. Not like this. Not half drugged and off-kilter, only to have her father suddenly demand a meeting in the middle of the night. Which he would because she’d ditched her security detail. No. She couldn’t go back, not yet, not until she had her wits about her and some alone time.

Swallowing, she took a deep breath. ‘Please stop the car.’

Amara glanced at her. ‘Why?’

Morana raised her eyebrows. ‘Because it’s my car and I’m going to drive it.’

‘You were just drugged,’ she pointed out rationally.

‘I’m fine now, and it’s only a few miles away,’ Morana told her. Amara slowed the car a little but didn’t stop, and Morana could feel her hesitation.

‘Stop the car,’ she demanded this time, more firmly.

She saw the woman bite her lips but swerve to the edge of the almost empty road, and slowly hit the brakes. The sudden silence in the car, the quietness from the engine, the stillness as lines of trees stood on the edges of the road became eerie. Shaking off the shiver, Morana turned to the woman, giving her a light smile.

‘Thank you,’ she spoke sincerely, ‘for taking care of me when I was vulnerable. I’ll not forget this kindness.’

Amara smiled slightly, removing her seat belt. ‘I know what it’s like to be a woman alone on enemy grounds, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. Don’t thank me for it. Just do the same for me someday if I need it.’

Morana nodded, a moment of understanding passing between the two. In another life, in another world, she could actually have been friends with Amara.

But she wasn’t in another life or another world.

This was her reality.

And her reality was alone.

Which was why she got out from her side, standing in the pale moonlight as the chilly wind caressed her skin, checking her own balance on tottering heels. Apart from some lingering lazy inertia, everything seemed to be alright. She started walking towards the driver’s side, just as the following vehicle braked a few feet behind them.

Morana nodded at Amara as the woman got out and turned to the other vehicle.

‘Take care, Morana,’ she spoke, that soft voice of hers and the reason behind it making Morana’s heart ached for her. ‘I hope we meet someday under better circumstances.’

‘So do I,’ Morana whispered as she watched the woman in the shining silver dress make her way towards the black SUV.

Without a glance at the tinted windows, Morana got inside her own car on the driver’s side, buckling herself in and adjusting the rear-view mirror. She watched Amara get into the back of the vehicle, and saw it pull onto the road before it took a U-turn and drove away into the night.

So much for following her.

He’d been following for Amara.

Morana sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel without turning the key, just processing. She needed to process. To breathe. Alone.

So, someone had drugged her at the club, which was not really surprising because of who she was and where she’d been. She should have been more careful. She’d slipped and she could have died because of it. Except she hadn’t. Tristan Caine had pushed her into the VIP area with the one woman who’d shown her kindness. And he must have known it. Morana hadn’t, but he must have. And then he’d gone back to the bar, according to Amara, to deal with the bartender. And then when things had gotten heated, he’d picked her up and put her in her own car, and told Amara to drive her home.

Why?

Her fury had not faded, not even a little. Only her confusion had increased. He hated her, she had no doubt of that. She didn’t know why, but he truly, deeply hated her.

He could’ve left her completely with the other woman. He’d called Dante and told him so. Yet, he hadn’t. And she couldn’t figure out why. People did those things out of kindness, and that was a word she’d never, not in a million years, associate with Tristan Caine, not where she was concerned. It wasn’t the kindness of his heart.

‘You assume I have a heart.’

Then why? What was the point of getting her out? Because she’d been in their territory? Because of the old we-don’t-want-to-start-a-war song? Because of… She couldn’t come up with any valid explanation at all. She’d not expected him to behave like a world-class jackass, at least not to that extremity, but he had and he’d left her alone, vulnerable, with a stranger to her even though he’d known her.

Why was she thinking like that?! She wasn’t his responsibility! She wasn’t anyone’s responsibility but her own. She’d slipped up and by all means, she should be dead right now, now feeling this odd heaviness in her gut because that man owed her absolutely nothing.

But her curiosity, and something else, refused to rest, refused to let it go. She wanted a reason for his actions – something he would never give her (and shouldn’t), and something she failed to decipher herself. And that was extremely frustrating. She was good at reading people and he was the one man she couldn’t read. At all.

The sound of an approaching engine broke her out of her thoughts.

Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror, to see a vehicle approaching.

A big vehicle, coming closer and closer.

An SUV.

Her heart stilled before it started to thrum. She watched with alert eyes as the vehicle pulled in behind her, a few feet between them, and the ignition switched off.

Erratic heartbeats and sweaty palms assaulted her as she waited for something to happen.

A nocturnal bird cooed somewhere in the trees, it’s sound loud and melancholic amidst the vastness. The moon continued to glow and bathe the entire area in the moonlight. Her pulse skittered like the wings of a frantic bird.

What the hell?

Never removing her eyes from the rear-view mirror, making a mental note to get her windows tinted, she started counting in her breaths, trying to slow her heart down. At this rate, she’d get a stroke.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three.

Nothing happened. The door never opened. The lights never came on. Her eyes never wavered from the rear-view.

And then, on the heels of the nothingness, another thought flashed across her mind.

Was that even him in the vehicle?

A glance at the number plate told her it was the same car, but who was behind the wheels? It could be possible that he’d taken the SUV back to the club and someone had taken it out for a spin.

If that was true, and whoever it was had known where she would be, she wasn’t sure if starting the car was a good idea. While she could floor it and try to make it back to the house, the other vehicle was bigger, bulkier and faster. And it could skewer her car within minutes. She didn’t want to prompt any hostile motions suddenly.

The feeling in her gut churned, making it sink lower and lower as she breathed, quietly opening her clutch and mentally thanking Amara for not removing the gun when she took out the keys. Readying it with a quick motion, she locked all the doors, grateful for the bulletproof glass and bit her lip, not knowing what to do.

Something in her told her it wasn’t him. While he hated her, he was in her face about it. This wasn’t like him. She didn’t linger on when exactly she’d gotten to know the bastard. She just focused on the now.

It was someone else, just a few feet away, and someone willing to harm her. Her eyes glanced at the phone before coming back on the rear-view. She could call her security detail, but that would mean alerting her father to her meeting with the Outfit and the reasons for it, which just could not happen. The understanding between the two families was precarious at best. It could not be tested. Not like this. Not because of her own stupidity.

God, she should have let Amara drive her back.

She straightened her spine. No. No regrets. She’d done what she’d done and that was it.

Morana swallowed, taking a deep breath, her fingers hovering over the key in the ignition, and with a final look at the unmoving vehicle, she turned the ignition on.

The moment she did, the SUV whirred.

Heart in her throat, Morana gripped the steering wheel, and changed the gear, pulling out onto the road. The SUV pulled behind her, keeping a few feet between them, the threat of its speed evident. Goosebumps broke out over her skin, shivers crawling over her as she tried to speed up and slow down and drive haphazardly. She didn’t lose the tail. At all.

Adrenaline buzzed through her body as her mind worked, trying to find a way out, her heart pounding frantically now. She would not be chased like a wild animal and murdered. No.

Gritting her teeth, she almost hit the accelerator again when a loud noise broke through the blood rushing in her ears. Morana glanced at the rearview mirror again, to see a bike careen on the road dangerously as the rider throttled. Morana pulled to the side, giving him the space to pass, to not involve an innocent stranger in whatever madness this was, and saw the SUV pull behind her too.

The bike got closer and closer to them, and the moment Morana thought it would pass, the most bizarre thing happened.

The bike swerved and inserted itself in the space between her car and the SUV.

What the hell?

She should just dub this entire night ‘what the hell’.

Was the rider insane? This could be a catastrophe!

Morana pulled to the edge of the road again, just a few miles out of her property, and turned around to look at the disaster about to happen.

Except it didn’t.

The rider pulled out a gun from his back with one hand while maintaining both the speed and balance with the other impressively. He did a total one-eighty completely on the empty road, facing the oncoming SUV. He raised his gun as Morana watched, enthralled, heart thundering, and pointed it to the front tire.

A shot fired and the SUV skidded, before braking suddenly.

The bike stopped too, facing away from her towards the beast of a vehicle like it was a beast in itself.

The rider kept his arm raised, pointed at the vehicle, his dark helmet on. Morana looked at the white shirt stretched taut across his muscular back and tucked into dark trousers. She looked at the sleeves rolled up sinews and muscles of his forearms with the hints of tattoos peeking out, the other free hand on the handle on the big bike.

Her neck started aching from being turned around but she didn’t remove her eyes, didn’t even blink, her heart racing at the scene.

Everything was still. The SUV. The bike. The rider. Completely. Almost as though in a silent duel, a showdown she didn’t understand a thing of. But she could feel the tension rolling in the air, thick and heavy and ready to explode at a moment’s notice.

Everything was still. Except for her heaving chest. Whoever the rider was, she was rooting for him. There was something dangerous about the way he’d held himself in motion, something even more dangerous about the way he held himself in this stillness.

The SUV whirred. The rider didn’t twitch.

The vehicle reversed. Quickly. His back muscles tensed.

And with a bad tire, Morana saw, in complete and utter disbelief, as the vehicle turned and drove away at a breakneck speed.

If she had a dollar for every time she’d thought ‘what the hell?’

The rider stayed still for a moment, until the SUV disappeared from sight, before revving his bike and turning it back towards her. Morana turned her neck back as he drove forward, stalling beside the car.

She looked up at the intimidating size of the bike and the man riding it, being cautious and never rolling the windows down. He might have interceded in between her would-be creepy maybe-murderer but she didn’t know him. And she’d had enough ‘what the hell’ moments for one night.

The man raised his hand up to his helmet, and Morana’s eyes moved to the ropes of muscles and veins running under his exposed forearms, the tattoo swirls familiar, something fluttery happening inside her stomach as she watched it flex, her chest slightly heaving.

He pulled up his helmet with one hand, the palm of which was wrapped in white gauze that she’d missed at the distance, and all fluttery feeling came to a crashing halt before a storm raged through her entire body.

She knew that bandaged hand. She knew those forearms. Fuck.

The helmet came down before him. Those magnetic blue eyes watched her through the glass, locked on hers, as he leaned back slightly, in a seemingly casual stance atop his beast of a bike, straddling it with the same grace with which he’d scaled her house walls. His finger tapped the comm on his ear once and a sudden vibration in the car startled her.

Barely containing her surprised yelp, Morana picked up her phone and looked at the caller id, before swinging her eyes back to him.

He was calling her, from less than a foot away, with glass between them, with him out in the open and her safe in her car. He was calling her. And she was letting it ring, never breaking their locked gaze, her heart thudding wildly in her chest as a bead of sweat rolled down her spine, tingling her skin.

His hand never moved from his ear. The buzzing never stopped. The gaze never wavered. Blue on hazel. In the middle of an empty road.

He kept calling, sitting right beside her on his bike, and she kept ignoring it, gripping the steering wheel with her free hand, her knuckles white.

After long, long minutes of neither of them backing down, Morana touched the green button on her phone, bringing it to her ear.

She could hear him breathing on the line, and her own breaths quickened, her chest heaving as she looked at his expanding chest. He inhaled, stretching the shirt tight, and she watched the contractions as he exhaled, the sound clear over the phone. She’d never felt anyone’s breaths before, never like this. It was almost distant. It was almost intimate. She wanted to break this, whatever this was. She could still feel that hatred for him fill her body, but she could not utter one word to break that heavy silence.

She had things to demand of him – so many questions. Why hadn’t he stayed away from the meeting? Why had he done what he’d done just then? How had he known to come there? She had answers to find out. She had anger to unleash.

Yet, she could not break that gaze, could not remove her eyes from his, could not even hum.

Just breathe. Quick, shallow breaths slowly transforming to slow, deep breaths. Right in sync with his.

It disturbed her.

It disturbed her enough to blink and turn away.

It disturbed her enough to start the car and pull out.

It disturbed her enough to hit the red icon on her phone.

She didn’t understand this. She didn’t like this. So, she ran. Being alone with him, when he always pushed her off her game, made her vulnerable. She would never willingly expose her jugular to the man who’d made a name in going for it. Her brain had a habit of not functioning properly in his vicinity.

Her phone buzzed again and she looked in the rear-view, to see him right behind her, on her tail.

She picked up.

‘I told you to never cut my calls,’ the whiskey voice rolled off, the tone harsh, intimidating.

It broke the spell even as it weaved it.

‘No point in staying on the line if all I get to hear is creepy breathing,’ she retorted, swallowing, grateful that her voice didn’t sound as breathy as she felt.

Silence. But the line stayed open.

She wondered if she should thank him for intervening. That would be the polite thing to do. Screw polite.

‘Who was in the SUV?’ she asked quietly.

‘I’ll find out after I get back,’ he replied quietly, the sound of air loud in the background as he sped behind her.

Morana’s eyes drifted to the rear-view again. ‘You don’t have to escort me,’ she told him tartly.

His voice came back equally tart. ‘I told you I don’t do that gentleman thing.’

‘Then what are you doing?’ she demanded.

‘Making sure the information in your little bag doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.’

Of course!

She’d completely forgotten about the evidence Dante had given her to look at. Things framing Tristan Caine. Of course, he’d want that safe. That explained so much. She cut the call again, that feeling of being connected to him unsettling and she’d had enough of that for a night.

She stayed silent the rest of the way, focusing on the road. The phone didn’t buzz again, but he followed. Right till the mansion gates were in sight.

He stopped beside the car again as she paused.

She deliberately didn’t look at him again, not wanting him to ensnare her, and felt the weight of his eyes on her as her nape prickled with awareness. Shaking her head, Morana drove forward and into the property as the gates opened. She saw him drive away and relaxed a little, going up the driveway and finally, after minutes of seeing the extensive lawns, parking in her regular spot.

She switched the car off, and sat inside silently, taking a few deep, relaxing breaths, just as her phone buzzed again.

She seriously needed to do more yoga.

She picked up. That husky, deep voice came on again, making her close her eyes.

‘There was another reason why I followed you tonight.’

The air stuck in her throat and her chest tightened, her heart pattering.

‘What?’

There was silence for a few seconds, before the words came on, the dead tone in them, the rigid hatred in them turning her stomach.

‘No one else gets to kill you, Ms. Vitalio,’ he spoke quietly. ‘The last face you see before you die will be mine. When it comes to death, you’re mine.’

And then, for the first time, he cut the call.