Page 15 of Tristano

Instead of reacting to his flirty tone, I ask the question that’s been weighing on me.

“You did that so easily.” I nod toward the pigpen. “Does it not bother you?”

His face loses all humor as he looks at me seriously.

“He hurt you, right?” he asks, his tone low.

“Yes,” I respond, my voice barely breathing out the words.

I bury my face into his hoodie. I need to find out what kind of cologne he wears because it smells fantastic. It’s calming. Cedarwood and mint, I think. Something for me to focus on instead of the trauma I know I will need to process.

“Did you notice the scratch marks on the wood next to where you were tied up?” he murmurs, looking out over the pigpen.

“Yeah…” I admit.

I was too scared to think about what it meant. Tris isn’t going to give me that out though.

“That tells me you weren’t the first. If I wouldn’t have killed him, he would have done it again.”

His blunt way of looking at the situation is jarring. He is so sure of his actions. I wish I could feel the same.

I think what scares me the most is that I’m not sorry that he’s dead. I feel some sick joy watching the man be eaten alive by pigs.

“We could have called the cops,” I mutter, needing to hold on to some thread of my moral compass.

Tristano scoffs before I even finish the sentence.

“Yeah, and cross our fingers that they are actually competent and could do their job. No.,” He shakes his head. “I handled it. He will never hurt another woman again. It’s better this way. You know he is gone. He can never come back again.”

“Not all cops are bad.” I sigh, pushing some hair out of my eyes. “Trust me, I know. My dad was a cop, and his father before him, and I plan on following in their footsteps. My uncle is even going to help get me into the academy this fall.”

Tristano tenses next to me.

“Is he now…”

“Yes.”

“And what about tonight? Are you going to turn me in, principessa?”

I turn away and bite my lip. That part of me needing to hang onto that innocence I once held wants to say yes. She wants to do what her father and grandfather would have told her is the right thing to do. That we should have let the law handle this and not resorted to vigilante justice. Then there’s that other part. The one who remembers the way this man held me down while I screamed. The way he did horrific things to my body against my will. That part thinks that even this punishment is far too easy for him. Even with his screams as he was eaten alive.

“No,” I whisper after a few moments of silence. “But I hate keeping secrets.”

Tristano shrugs. “If you have to tell on me to make yourself feel better, then do it. I don’t want you to feel bad about what I did for even a second. I would rather spend the rest of my life in jail than let a single ounce of guilt hit that pretty mind of yours.”

He pulls me back so we’re leaning against the windshield of his car, our feet lying on the hood.

I look over at him and study his profile. His dark hair is going every which way from him running his hands through it. His jaw is sharp. He’s too handsome for his own good. Hell, I bet with a five o’clock shadow, he would be even more attractive.

He’s right. Part of me feels guilty. Hearing him tell me that I have nothing to feel guilty for helps relieve that pressure on my chest.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smirks. “Just think, one good thing came out of all of this.”

“What’s that?”

“You met me.”

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