Page 10

Dominic

A fter putting Gwen back to bed, I went to my office to clear my mind and maybe get some insight into what had just happened. I had always heard of panic attacks but had never seen one with my own eyes. In my world, it's not something the head of the mafia pays much attention to. I've seen grown men piss themselves in fear. I've seen men who seemed like they could take on the biggest and meanest fall to their knees at the mere threat of my hands. Watching someone fall apart at the seams when there’s a chance, they won’t walk out alive never bothers me.

But seeing my sweet, innocent girl break like a twig? That isn’t something I want to witness again.

At the same time, I know she was just as turned on as I was. I would have snapped her in half if I hadn’t already put her body through the intense orgasm she just had. I’ll get her there. I’ll make her tougher, teach her to be in tune with what her body wants. First things first, though the panic attacks. I need to show her that I will be her calm in the storm, the beacon she looks for when she’s lost.

Sitting in my office, I can still hear her haunted cries from the other room. I never do anything without the right research first. Turning on my computer, I go to the search bar and type in "panic attacks," mentally taking notes as I read through pages of research. The more I read, the clearer it becomes whatever trauma happened in her past, I need to know about it. I need to show her that it’s no longer a part of her life. I am the big bad wolf to all her enemies, and I will chase away all the hurt that has caused her to break like this. I’m reminded that Bash is already running the background checks I ordered. Bringing my cellphone to my ear, I call him. He answers on the third ring. It’s 6 a.m. now I didn’t expect him to pick up sooner.

“Yeah, man?” He sounds half-asleep. “Did any of the background checks come back?” I hear him rustling around. “Let me check, and I’ll bring them over.” In the background, a petite voice questions where he’s going. I’m not surprised. Bash is somewhat of a whore himself. No judgment I’ve had my share but I usually stuck with the same few. Bash is a lady’s man, with his sweet baby face. I, on the other hand, never played the nice-guy act. I’m the king for a reason, and anyone I choose to deal with knows I play no games.

“All right. 8 a.m.,” I say before hanging up. Setting my phone down, I make my way out of the office and into the kitchen. Maybe breakfast will put her in a good mood when she wakes up. I’m sure once she calms down, she’s going to be pissed. Nothing I can’t handle. I’m not afraid to hurt her feelings I just don’t want her to panic in total fear of me. I want to scare her just enough that she soaks her panties and thinks twice about ever leaving me.

It’s eight a.m. I’m standing in the kitchen, my back to the doorway, flipping pancakes and turning the bacon. Outside, I hear Bash pull into the driveway, his blacked-out ZR1 Corvette growling like a predator.

The front door opens, and a moment later, he strides to the counter. A plate of fried bacon sits there, waiting. Without hesitation, he reaches in and starts grabbing pieces. “What the fuck are you doing?” I snap, not bothering to turn around. We’re best friends but complete opposites. He knows how I am.

“Go wash your fucking hands before touching my food.” He smirks, turns on the sink, and half-ass rinses his hands under the water before grabbing more bacon and stuffing his face. I shake my head. “Where are the papers?” Instead of answering, I smack him across the back of the head. “Ow! Can’t you ask me nicely, dick?” he grumbles through a mouthful of food. I stare at him. “No. And get your shoes off before you walk on my carpet.” He rolls his eyes but pulls a crumpled stack of papers from his jeans pocket and hands them over. I snatch them, leaning against the counter as I scan the contents.

Not what I expected. This changes everything. Now, I know exactly what I need to about my sweet little princess. And how to help her. “Not what you thought, huh?” Bash watches me, arms crossed over his chest. I don’t answer.

He exhales sharply. “We got some news from Trey last night.” I finally look up. Just what I wanted to hear. Bash leans his broad shoulders against the wall, his expression dark. “The rat’s been recruiting scum to hide him and fight for him. He’s offering money for protection.”

Trey never said who that protection was, but we got a name Jamison. Only, that’s not what he goes by. He goes by Jimmy. No wonder we were getting nowhere at first. I only knew him by his nickname. Smells like an ashtray. Smoking weed is his whole personality. That’s the guy running from mewith my money, my guns, and my drugs.

That’s alright. There are ways to make a man show his face. I remember when he was hired on my crew a few years back kicked out of his parents’ house, freshly eighteen. He’d already been in and out of jail for petty crimes. Breaking and entering. A few small drug charges. I see he’s still the same piece of shit I thought he was then. “Get someone on his last known whereabouts. No one steals from me. Especially a weasel like that.” My voice is final. “I’ll have his head as a trophy.” Bash nods, but his eyes flick toward the kitchen doorway. Gwen stands there, hair a mess, face ghostly white. She overheard me. Bash straightens, flashing her a grin. “Morning, sunshine.” She doesn’t answer, just stares at him, unimpressed.

“Alright, I get it, not a morning person.” He chuckles and turns back to me. “I got a few things to take care of. I’ll meet you at Chop.” Then, he slides past her and heads out. She doesn’t move. Just stands there, arms crossed, nose crinkled, radiating heat like she’s ready to burn me alive. I ignore her, grab a couple of plates and glasses, pour some orange juice, and set pancakes and bacon on her plate before making my own. Then, I pull her chair out and sit across from her.

She stays in the doorway, still watching me. I smile. “Sit.” She doesn’t. Challenging me. I slice a piece of pancake and shove it in my mouth. “You sit and eat, or I tie you to the chair and feed you like the baby you’re acting like.”

Her feet shuffle. Then, she sits. “Good girl,” I murmur. “You’ve got a shift to get to. You need your energy.” She scoffs, taking a bite. “You were worried about my energy for work when you were going to kill me last night?” I smirk. “Sweetheart, if you’re going to die, it’s going to be from orgasms in my bed, not from starvation. Now, eat.” Rolling her eyes, she starts to eat. Stubborn as ever. I can hear the rumble in her stomach, though, betraying her. “How are the pancakes, princess?”

She shoves another bite into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated slowness. “Good, considering a psychopath made them.” She’s funny when she’s angry. Cute, even. So small, yet full of attitude. Her smart mouth is going to get her in trouble. And that excites me. I can’t wait to shut her up gag her with my cock until the only words spilling from that beautiful mouth are thank you, sir.

The thought has my blood surging south, my cock growing harder by the second. “I hear psychos make the best pancakes,” I say, smirking. She glares at me, stabbing at her plate with her fork. “I need to go home, shower, and grab my things before I head to Loris.” I take her empty plate along with mine, rinsing them in the sink and setting them on the rack to dry. Then I turn to her. “Alright.”

She stares at me like she’s waiting for more. “That’s it? Alright?” Her expression twists in confusion, almost as if she’s talking to herself. “You’re just going to let me go?” I walk over, closing the space between us. Her breath hitches as I take her flushed cheeks in my hands, tilting her face up to mine.

“Listen, princess. I own this city. Every alley, every sidewalk, every filthy little corner. There isn’t a rock you could crawl under where I wouldn’t find you. I am not letting you go.” My voice drops lower, a promise edged with steel. “You are mine. And that’s not something I’ll ever relinquish.”

I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to let the words settle in her bones. Then I step back. “Grab your phone. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

I leave her to stew in her thoughts and head to the garage. The moment I hit the ignition, the blacked-out Cadillac rumbles to life. The deep growl of aftermarket pipes echoes off the walls as my phone connects to Bluetooth.

Blue on Black by Five Finger Death Punch blasts through the speakers. A minute later, Gwen appears in the doorway. She opens the passenger door and flops down into the black leather seat with an exaggerated huff. “How many cars do you even own, for crying out loud?” she mutters. “Buckle up, princess. “She does as she’s told. I grip the wheel, hit the gas, and peel out of the driveway into the morning traffic.