Page 9

Gwen

S tanding in his room with a towel wrapped around me, I sigh, exhausted. The towel is the fluffiest thing I’ve ever felt. I guess when you’re a businessman like Dominic said you can afford luxury, even in the smallest details. I’m not complaining. Honestly, I’m a little jealous. Maybe I’ll steal this towel when I leave tomorrow.

Dominic steps out of his closet, an oversized white T-shirt in his hands. “Here, slide this on.” I lift my arms, and he pulls it over my head, letting it fall down my body. My eyelids are heavy, barely staying open. He takes my hand, guiding me to his bed. Opening a drawer, he grabs a pair of black boxers and slides them on. Then he pulls down the covers, and I slip in. He follows, settling beside me, then pulls me into his chest.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be going home. Staying the night will only make me want more. If my body wasn’t so damn exhausted, I’d be begging for more right now. I slow my breathing, syncing it with his, inhaling the scent of his skin. My fingers trace the tattoos covering his chest, then glide down the hard ridges of his abs.

Within seconds, I’m out. I stir, shifting to roll over, but an arm of steel tightens around my waist. My eyes blink open, and for a moment, I forget where I am. It’s dark. The room, the sky outside everything. Then it clicks. I’m in Dominic’s bed. Reaching for the nightstand, I grab my phone. The screen lights up. Shit. 4 a.m.

I had too much to drink. Then he fucked my brains out. No wonder I’m groggy. His breath is warm against my back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. A soft snore escapes him. Carefully, I slide out from under his hold. My heart pounds. The last thing I need is for him to wake up and catch me sneaking out. I grab a pillow and replace myself with it. He stirs, his arm tightening around it, pulling it closer. Jesus. I don’t even know what my plan is, but my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. The floor is cold beneath my feet.

Tiptoeing to the door, the floor creaks beneath my weight. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. I repeat the mantra in my head, holding my breath as I glance over my shoulder. He’s still asleep. His steady breathing fills the dimly lit room. I turn the knob slowly and slip through the doorway, shutting it behind me with a barely audible click. The hallway is dark, save for a few lamps casting a soft glow. This place is enormous. Cold. Empty. The kind of house that looks like a home but doesn’t feel like one. I’ve seen enough movies to know this is the part where something goes wrong.

Padding down the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen and flip the switch. The room is pristine solid marble countertops, towering white cabinets that stretch to the ceiling. Not a single decoration in sight. How boring.

Opening cabinets, I finally find the glasses and press one against the fridge’s water dispenser. As I take a sip, my mind races. I’m a girl who knows no limits until it’s too late. I crave the next level, the thrill, the adrenaline. That’s why I have a record. That’s why, as a teenager, I mistook chaos for excitement. And tonight? Tonight gave me that rush.

The gala. The woman. The drink. Coming home with this sex god. It was all a high. Even though I’m still pissed about that woman I make a mental note to bring that up later. Finishing my water, I set the glass down and glance around. Why not look around? It’s not like I’m sleeping anytime soon. I slip back up the stairs, past closed doors, and stop at the first one across the hall. I crack it open a bedroom. Plain. Unremarkable.

Moving to the next door, I push it open. An office. I step inside, running my hand over the massive desk. A lamp casts a soft glow over dark wood. There’s a computer, a filing cabinet, and a leather couch tucked against the wall. The desk alone looks like it would take three men to move. Solid. Heavy. Secure. I pull at a drawer. Locked.

Of course it is. Dominic doesn’t seem like the trusting type. I step out, quietly shutting the door behind me. One more room. At the end of the hallway, I reach for the knob. It turns easily. As I step inside, the shelves lining the walls light up automatically. My jaw drops. Guns. Every kind imaginable. Each one displayed on its own holder. Polished. Deadly. I have officially fucked up. I slept with a man who’s either a hitman, a terrorist, or something worse.

I know my way around guns my ex was in the business, though he was shit at it. But this? This is something else. This is John Wick-level shit. I run my fingers over the cases, eyes darting to the walls lined with holsters, clips, and rounds. A massive table sits in the center of the room, covered in neatly arranged weapons. And then I see it. A grenade. Oh, hell no. I have overstayed my welcome.

Maybe my mother was right. Maybe I shouldn’t get involved with this man. What the hell was I thinking? I need to get out of here I turn to run and slam into something solid. The impact knocks me off balance, but before I can stumble, a strong arm catches me.

Dominic, Standing in sleep pants. Shirtless. His arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. I thought I really fucked up earlier by coming here. But now? Now, I see that was nothing compared to this. Looking up at Dominic, after snooping through his house and getting caught in this room I know I’m in deep shit. Is he angry? Is he going to use one of them to kill me? How do I always end up in these messed-up situations?

He leans off the doorway and takes a slow step toward me. Instinctively, I step back. He steps again. I’m fucked. The muscles in his arms flex as he closes the space between us. I glance to my side. A pistol sits on the counter. His eyes follow mine, and he smirks. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, princess.”

I say nothing. “I doubt a pretty little thing like you even knows how to use it.” Little does he know, my father used to take me to the shooting range. I’ve been around guns my whole life. But it’s been a while since I actually fired one. And it’s four-thirty in the morning if he kills me now, no one will even notice I’m gone. Oh God, I need to be fast.

My pulse pounds. Panic creeps up my spine, but I fight to stay calm. I have one chance. In a split second, I lunge for the gun A sharp yank pulls me backward by my hair. My fingers barely brush the cold metal before I’m ripped away. Failed. My back slams against his chest. One of his hands fists my hair, the other snatches the pistol off the counter. Desperate, I stomp on his foot. He winces, but his grip only tightens. Before I can react, his hand is around my throat, and the cold barrel presses against my temple.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, baby,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice. Then, as if to mock me further, he presses a slow kiss to the side of my face. A violent shiver runs through me. “Now, be a good girl and calm the fuck down.” I nod because what else am I supposed to do? His grip on my throat doesn’t loosen.

“Use your words, baby.” His whisper is a dark caress against my ear. Terror claws at my ribs, but my body betrays me in the worst way. Heat pools low in my belly, my pulse erratic for reasons beyond fear. My brain is the only logical one right now.

“Okay, okay,” I choke out. His eyes pierce through me. “I need you to mean it, princess. I really don’t feel like hurting you right now. But I will if you give me no choice.” A tremor rolls through my body. He would hurt me.

His face is so close I can feel his breath. Calm down. Breathe. “Okay,” I force out. “I’m calm.” His grip finally eases. “Now,” he says smoothly, “do you mind telling me why you’re in my gun room?” A lie. I need a lie. “I was looking for the bathroom.” He tilts his head, a slow smirk playing on his lips. “Funny. The master bathroom is in my room.” Fuck. Before I can correct myself, his hand tightens on my throat. Blood rushes to my face. “Try again, baby,” he murmurs. The gun trails down my chest.

Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and humiliating. I wish I could take them back I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my fear. But my body betrays me again. “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he soothes, his voice dark silk. “Just tell me the truth.” I can barely breathe. “I woke up thirsty,” I gasp. “Went to the kitchen. Then I got curious. I was just looking around. I swear I won’t say anything about this. Please, please, I won’t tell anyone.”

My voice breaks as sobs shake through me. He watches me, unreadable. Then, finally, he lets me go. My legs give out, and I crumple to my knees, panic squeezing my lungs. My fingers claw at the oversized T-shirt I’m wearing, desperate for relief. But it doesn’t come. A broken sob rips from my throat. I can’t breathe. Strong arms lift me.

Dominic. He carries me out of the room, down the hall. “Okay, baby. Calm down. You’re alright.” His voice is low, steady. “You’re safe, Gwen. You’re safe.” I bury my face in his chest, shaking. He sits on the bed, holding me as I struggle to breathe. “Hey, look at me,” he murmurs, gripping my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “If I was going to hurt you, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” I suck in a ragged breath, fighting for control. Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. It takes a full minute before my pulse starts to settle. He watches me carefully, like I might explode at any second.

Finally, he sets the pistol on the nightstand and brushes his fingers over my tear-streaked cheek. Then he pulls back the sheets. “Get under the covers, princess. You have a few hours before your shift. We’ll talk when you wake up.”

I don’t argue. Silently, I slide under the blankets. He tucks the covers around me, leans down, and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. Then he walks to the door and leaves. The second the door clicks shut, the dam breaks. A fresh wave of tears crashes over me. I cry until exhaustion drags me into sleep.