Page 17 of Tristano

Tris is waiting where I told him. I take a moment to take him in. He’s even more gorgeous than I remember. I wish I had a picture to look at while I pine away for him. He doesn’t know it, but I live for our monthly calls. I was surprised when the burner phone showed up that first month. Then it became the highlight of my life.

Taking a deep breath, I make a choice. I stride up to Tris, wrapping my arms around his neck until my fingers dig into his hair. Then I press my lips to his. He freezes a moment before kissing me back. It’s so deep and needy that I feel myself getting lost in it.

When he finally pulls away, my lips are still tingling. He lets his forehead fall to mine.

“We can’t do this,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“I’m not a kid anymore. I’m legal. Why can’t we?” I demand, trying to pull out of his arms.

He shakes his head. “Trust me, I know you’re not a kid. I’ve noticed. That’s not why this is a bad idea.”

“Then why?” I feel the tears welling up.

“Don’t cry, anima gemella. It breaks my heart. We can’t do this because you are on the right side of the law and I’m not. If you ever want to have a career, you cannot be connected to me. Someone will find out one day and it will ruin everything. As much as I want to be your everything, I can’t be in order for you to have your dream.”

“I don’t care about that. I want you.”

He sighs. “You worked so hard to get to where you are. You have goals of saving the world. Go out and achieve those goals. I’ll be here in the shadows cheering you on.”

“This isn’t fair,” I whisper into his chest.

“Life isn’t fair.”

Isn’t that the truth? If life were fair, I wouldn’t have been abducted not once, but twice. None of these women would be getting taken for the sick joys of other human beings. I would be with Tristano without worrying about how it would affect other areas of my life.

Over the years, there have been times that I wished I could see Tristano, but I knew why I couldn’t. We’re both on different sides of the law, and it wouldn’t be fair to either one of us to choose. He loves his life with La Cosa Nostra, and I would never ask him to walk away from them, no matter how much I wish I could. I thought I loved my life in law enforcement, but what difference am I really making? Catching one or two men here and there?

That day was the first time I really hated the decision I made. He had stopped calling meprincipessaand started calling meanima gemella.I had to look it up later, but when I found out it meant “soul mate” it made it even harder to stick with my decision. I did though. Now, I wonder what it was all for.

“I wonder where we’re going now,” one of the girls asks, drawing my attention back to the present.

“Right before they gave us our last meal, I heard them talking outside. Someone mentioned Chicago,” Mandy tells the room.

Her eyes are on me though. We have been discussing it in whispers. What we will need to do to get out of here. One of which is getting any information we can from our captors. So far it’s been a bunch of gibberish in another language, but what I did learn is that not all of our captors are the same. The men in New Jersey were speaking Russian, while some of the others they had there were speaking another language. One I don’t recognize.

Chicago,I mouth to her.

She nods.

Chicago is good. It’s a big city, but it’s also a city well known. Hopefully Tris can track me down to here.

Taking a deep breath, I try to evaluate what I’m feeling. Part of me is hopeful that maybe, just maybe, Chicago will be where this ends and we’re all rescued. On the other hand though, a small part of me wants to see this through to the very end. If we’re rescued now, that won’t bring an end to this trafficker’s reign. We won’t have all the information we need to close a case.

As another round of crying starts up, I do the only thing I can do. I shut my eyes and try to listen to every detail I can.

Anything that can save our lives.

* * *

“Baby smokes crack!”I sing at the top of my lungs as I drive through the night.

I snort at my new variation of the classic Sir Mix-A-Lot song.

It’s about three in the morning, and there’s not a soul in sight. The stars peek through the trees as I speed down the deserted road. Reaching over, I grab a bag of Sour Patch Kids and dump them into my mouth. The loose powder hits the back of my throat just right, making me cough so hard my eyes water.

I drop the bag into my lap and wipe my eyes. “Fuck me,” I mutter to myself as the song rolls onto the next.

Something up ahead catches my eye in the ditch.

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