Page 18

Dominic

I t’s early morning, and I sit at my desk in my office at Chophouse, staring at the computer screen. The security cameras are pulled up at Gwen’s. I stayed here last night, not wanting to go home. Not wanting to go back to my bedroom to her. After killing the man in the basement earlier, more information has come to light. The only problem is figuring out if my girl has any part in it. The house that was shot up when Bash and Trey delivered the man to make a statement was a listed property. I pulled up the address online and found a sign in the yard: Riviera Real Estate. Gwen's mother's company. That’s too big of a coincidence.

So not only is Jimmy looking for Gwen, but he’s using her mother’s real estate firm to hide. It doesn’t add up. Gwen doesn’t know who I am as far as I can tell. Could she be pretending? She’s been putting on a show with everything else. But why keep up the act if she knew I was the one Jimmy had offered her to? If she knew I was the one about to end his life?

I watched her through the cameras, crying herself to sleep. Just like I watched her break down in her bedroom earlier. If she’s involved with the rat I’m hunting, I can’t keep her around. But this girl has taken my heart captive. How the fuck am I supposed to let her go? What if she’s working with the enemy? This is exactly why I never wanted to get caught up with a woman. But that night at my club, I couldn’t help myself. She was everything I wanted, and now she might be poison.

And if she’s not involved? That might be an even bigger problem. What kind of bastard offers his own woman to the mafia to clear his debt? Did she run from Jimmy, and her mother is working with him?

I’ve had Gwen’s phone bugged since I gave it to her. Every text, every call, every search I see it all. And there’s nothing that points to her having contact with him. Trey’s been following her since she left my house. He stayed in the shadows outside Lori’s, keeping an eye on her place through the night. I may be keeping my distance, but I have eyes on her every second.

I went through some footage of Gwen’s house while she was gone, scanning every recording, searching for something that would tell me what direction to take. Hours into the night, I came across one of Romona. She was in the study that used to belong to Gwen’s father. Dressed for work, she took a phone call, jotting down an address. As she wrote, she assured whoever was on the other end that she would bring them the keys and take the house off the market for the week.

I zoomed in, confirming the address, Scarlett Road. The question was, who was she talking to? It had to be Jimmy. There was no one else who would want the keys to that shithole. It was just far enough out of the way that no one would notice someone staying there. While Trey kept watch, I sent Bash to Romona’s office in town to break in and find anything useful.

Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes for a moment. I hadn’t slept last night, too busy watching my girl and trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. My mind was all over the place. I didn’t like this feeling this lack of control. Gwen had been a whirlwind in my thoughts from the very first moment. She was free-spirited, directionless. I needed direction. I needed order.

The door to my office creaked open. My eyes snapped up. Bash stepped in, still wearing a ski mask, dressed head to toe in black. Pulling the mask off, he tossed a stack of papers onto my desk. I flipped through them printed pictures of different women, each with descriptions, addresses, and a key code. Bash flopped down on the couch, his boots resting on the cushion. “Bash?” I said, my eyes still scanning the pages. “Yeah?” he replied, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. “Why the fuck are your shoes on my couch? And what the hell am I looking at?”

Bash sighed, pulled his feet off the couch, and sauntered over to my desk, leaning over my shoulder. He tapped one of the papers. “I’m thinking about ordering this pretty redhead.” My elbow jabbed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “Fuck what was that for?” He punched my shoulder. “Because you can’t ever take a joke.”

Rolling his eyes, he pointed to the addresses listed beneath each woman’s picture. “Different addresses. Different women. But they all work at a very special place in town. And all these addresses? They’re houses for sale spread across a seventy-mile radius.” I ran a hand down my face. You have got to be shitting me. This was a bigger problem than I thought. And there was a special someone I needed to pay a visit to.