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“If I’m not calling the cops, then you’re coming with me. Now.”

“I can’t?—”

“It wasn’t a question. It’s that or the cops.”

Meatball leaps onto the bed, then leaps into my arms, shaking. Dom’s expression softens for a second, a moment so fast I wonder if I’ve imagined it. From the hallway, one man groans. “Brothke mah fuckinth jawth.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll let you know where to drop me.”

He steps forward and loops his arm around me, pressing his hand into my side. Meatball whines and pushes his face against my chest. In the hallway, I step over the bruised and battered Vultures.

“We’ll find you,” Mason yells after us. “We’ll always find you, Evie. And you,Mr. Russo.”

Dom pauses, turns back, his hand trembling as he holds his pistol. Do CEOs always carry guns? When he stares down the hallway as if contemplating executing all three men, he doesn’t look like a CEO.

He looks like the man I used to dream about when I was a kid, wishing that some fairytale hero would ride into mine and Mom’s lives and rescue us. But I’m too old for fairytales, and just because he saved me, that doesn’t mean I trust him.

As he drags me from the apartment, a memory strikes me with the force of a sucker punch. I’m sitting on the floor of a garage, tears streaking down my cheeks, as Mason looms over me with a vicious look on his face, “Just one more job, Evie, just one more job…”

But it was neverjust one more job.

CHAPTER 3

DOM

They don’t know who I am. They don’t know what they’re saying. Do they think I fear some two-bit biker gang? The urge to kill these men is almost overwhelming, a clash of violence that almost engulfs me.

“Dom?” Evie whispers, cradling her cat to her chest.

Her presence snaps me out of my trance. I tuck my gun into my waistband and lead her onto the porch. Her neighbors have emerged. Luckily, no one is recording on their cellphones. Yet.

When I see that she’s barefoot, I lift her off her feet. She gasps as I carry her down the stairs, my arm tucked her under legs and my other supporting her back.

Putting her in my car, I quickly run to the driver’s seat. When I lock the door with a definitiveclick, she flinches. Her cat leaps into the backseat and purrs loudly, as if in protest.

I drive away, my wheels screeching, gripping the steering wheel hard. This wasn’t part of the plan. But it’s not as if I regret I was here. And even now, amidst the mayhem, my body hungers for her. She’s wearing a tank top and shorts, her pink bra clearlyvisible beneath the fabric, her thick delicious legs making me want to squeeze her.

Somehow, I doubt she’d want a blood-spattered monster to touch her, though.

“My friend works in Glendale. If you take me there, I’ll figure out what to do.”

“Hmm,” I grunt.

“I left my cell behind. I need to tell her what happened, so she doesn’t come home and find those assholes waiting for her.”

“Listen to those sirens, Evie. Those idiots aren’t going to hang around. Somebody called the cops… even if you didn’t want me to.”

She flinches, rubbing her hands anxiously up and down her legs. She’s probably thinking of a way to persuade me to let her go. Looking anxious and caged, she seems desperate to escape. But I need to focus on practical concerns, none of which have anything to do with letting her go.

Number one: keep this woman safe. Number two: get more information.

“Why would a two-bit biker gang be interested in you, and why don’t you want me to call the cops?”

She groans. “Give me your cell. I need to warn Tash.”

“Give me your friend’s name and I’ll ensure she’s safe.”

“The Vultures aren’t a ‘two-bit gang’, Dom. That knife wasn’t for show.”