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“Fangirls of sorts. That’s cute. I might not have been here the last few nights, but I am there when he gets home. In bed. Waiting. Isn’t that right, Daddy Damon?” Sienna drags the last words out and then flutters her lashes as she looks up at me, clearly enjoying riling up Tortured Tits as much as I am watching it happen.

Daddy Damon. She knows what that does to me, and I don’t bother hiding the erection as it stiffens between us. Everyone, including this pale-in-comparison spoiled bitch, should see who my cock’s owner is.

“That’s right,” I grind out, wrapping my arm around Sienna and turning her back towards the bitch while I cup and squeeze her right ass cheek, staring straight at her. “There is nothing better than coming home to my woman.”

Tortured Tit's sister, who has been standing silently next to her but clearly enjoying this little interaction, now full-on snorts and then howls out in laughter as the bitch huffs and then stomps off.

“Leave her. She must learn she cannot have everything she wants,” Marcello says dismissively before leading us out of the crowd.

“We will meet you there. I need to shower and change.” Marcello nods in agreement. Then he, followed by Lucy and Alessandro, makes his way up some stairs to a quieter VIP section on the top floor overlooking the warehouse.

But not before he shouts, “Perhaps a cold one would be best!”

I let go of Sienna's waist and grab her hand before approaching a small door near the bar area.

“Jimmy,” I greet the barman as he buzzes me in through the door.

Sienna is quiet, but I can tell questions are simmering.

“You are not angry I am here?” Eventually, she breaks our silence.

“I knew you were coming. Bob let me know when you left the building. I also saw the missed call from Jordan.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question, Damon. Why didn’t you tell me tonight was the party Marcello invited us both to? And what are you even doing here? Fighting. Hurting yourself. What happens if one of those guys does serious damage to you? I’m no expert, but it doesn’t look like the type of fighting with rules. What if—” Sienna’s voice breaks, and she looks away just as we enter the changing room used by some of Alessandro’s fighters. Empty for now. After the second day, he gave me a locker so that I could hang a spare change of clothes.

I gently grip Sienna’s chin, forcing her to look at me.

“I’m not angry you are here, but I want you to be safe when you go out. I didn’t tell you about the party because I didn’t think you would come. I didn’t want to put you in a situation so soon when you might not be ready.” Sienna’s chin trembles, and then a sob escapes her.

“Why are you fighting?”

That question was the most difficult to answer.

How did I tell Sienna all the things that had been unsaid so far?

I stalked you before I officially met you.

Your rapist is a pawn in a twisted game being played for revenge against me.

Your ordeal was recorded and posted on a website, where 1,322 people watched it before Jordan could take it down. Based on whatmy team could dig up, all of them are now suffering financial loss or criminal charges. Some local ones were already fodder for the rats in the warehouse.

How did I tell her that seeing that video and what she went through tore through my soul, and when I tried to put it back together, all that was left was anger and vengeance—more darkness than ever before?

How did I tell her that I did indeed blame myself for all of this but couldn’t extricate myself from her life because I was selfish and wanted her?

Had to have her.

Was I just like her stalker? The question ate away at me, and the only way I could rid myself of it for a couple of moments was out there. Fighting physical demons instead of the ones I couldn’t see.

“You won’t talk to me. I don’t know what's going on inside of you. It’s not fair because I feel like you know me too well. Even better than I know myself. That sounds cliché, but it’s true, Damon.” She looks away, battling with something.

“Maybe even better than James did,” she finally says, so quietly that I wonder if I have heard her right.

When she looks up, the guilt on her face tells me I have.

I’m fucking elated. I know that’s fucked up. But I always felt like I was competing with a dead man. For once, that feeling is gone. Some might call that fucking crazy, to be happy that I know her better than her deceased husband, who was with her for years. I don’t really fucking care. Call me what you will. It is crazy. That’s what obsession is. My feelings are also valid, no matter how morally undesirable society deems them.

I didn’t know James. I know Sienna. He is nothing to me except the man that came before me. I would be everything after. Until her last breath. And until mine, until the devil himself finally calls his favoritesoul down to where it belongs. Even then, I might drag hers down there with me.