The Warrior's Gamble

Chapter 8

Tristan

You could hear a pin drop.

"Is she spoken for?" Ivan asks, confused.

Yes.

"No," Kevan Fallon snaps.

I feel a cold sweat on my brow.

I just laid out my entire hand.

"I'm sure my brother-in-law only means that she is currently in a relationship with our man, Jake McCormac," Mira says, coming to my rescue. I'm too distracted by my own racing mind to give her a look of thanks.

What am I doing?

"We will come to you with a candidate in the morning and we'll put something together," Ronan adds diplomatically.

"As will we," Ivan nods thoughtfully.

A few last items are discussed, but all I hear is the blood rushing to my head.

The meeting ends and everyone clears out.

"Tris, Sean, Cal, stay behind," Ronan says. Parker gives me a confused look before following his very pissed off father. I know I'm about to get a reaming for speaking out of turn. I don't give a fuck. They can't barter Caitlin like that. Not her.

She's everything good and pure and right.

And she's more than a marriage pawn.

The five of us sit together. Cal pours me a glass of whiskey and slides it to me.

Mira gives me a contemplative look.

"What...the fuck, Tris?" Ronan finally asks.

I shrug.

"Don't defy me again in front of people outside the family," Ronan slams his palm on the conference table. I give him a meaningful look.

"Don't use Caitlin and we won't have a problem," I sip my drink, not willing to back down.

"You have a reason for your objection?" Ronan snaps.

"Other than the fact that it's fucking wrong? Not really," I shrug, lying out of my ass.

"McCormac will understand. He'll move on. She's a passing fascination for him," Ronan says with meaning, looking me right in the eyes as he says, 'passing fascination.'

Fuck that.

She's not a passing anything to me.

I've known her my entire life.

I care about her.

She'll never be able to marry me. I can't give her that life. I can't be a good man, a good husband – but I can't watch her be traded off like cattle, either.

"Fuck McCormac, too. That wasn't her choice either," I grunt, "She's not a chip on your bargaining table."

Ronan sighs, rubbing his brow in frustration.

Mira and Sean are both studying me.

I don't give a fuck. I swig back the rest of the whiskey, letting it burn my throat. Why does my chest still fucking hurt?