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“You can’t tuh-take me and then tuh-touch me.” I focus, hating the stutter, hating the fact he can apparently read my desire.

“If you want it, I can.”

“I don’t.”

He holds up his hand, showing me his glimmering fingertip.

“You’re gross,” I say, but I don’t mean it. There’s something about my wetness on his hand that turns me on even more.

“Sure I am, Evie,” he says sarcastically.

“Just… go, okay? Just leave me alone. Let me go orgo. Those are your choices.”

“I’m doing this?—”

“For my safety? Change the record.”

He steps aside, gesturing to the trapdoor. “Don’t make me carry you again.”

This time, I walk down the stairs myself. Not because I want to do what he says, but because I know if he touches me again, I might lose it.

Back in the living room, I sit on the couch, squeezing my legs together as my core pulses.

I’m not the most experienced person with sex, but this chemistry can’t be normal, can it? It’s like I’m hungry for him. His attention. His power. His truths. But just because my body is playing messed-up games, it doesn’t mean my heart is suddenly invested in this virtual stranger.

He closes the trapdoor, leaving me alone again. I take a few minutes to calm myself down – or try to – and then go through the bag he left.

Cat food. Litter tray. Fresh produce for the refrigerator…

And a cellphone, with a single text on it.

Dom: This is a jail broken cellphone which can only text and call this number. If you need to contact me, use this.

“Maybe this is my way out,” I muse, as Meatball watches me. “Maybe I can use his desire against him.”

Meatball purrs doubtfully.

“I don’t want him. I just… slipped. That’s all.”

Meatball tilts his head as if to say,You’re not kidding anybody.

“Fine, maybe there’s somephysical… something there, Meatball. But that’s all it is–if it’s even that. And that doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my deep. dark secrets.”

Shame clings to me as my memories flood with Mason, with the Vultures and their demands and the life they tried to force on me.

CHAPTER 5

DOM

Rafe and I sit on the back porch that overlooks my large garden. It’s been several hours since the standoff in Echo Park. Rafe sips from his glass of whiskey. He’s a tall man with a sinewy strength, his black hair combed back, and the sides shaved short, a flashy gold watch on his wrist.

“I’ve managed to stop the cops from turning this into a missing-persons case,” Rafe says.

“How?”

“I assured them that Evie Davis was safe and explained to them they didn’t need to know the details. I know you want to distance yourself from this life, but it has its uses.”

“Hmm.”