Page 18 of Doxed

Dox sets his bowl in the dishwasher and disappears down the hallway, leaving me with the knowledge that all the girls from the club are just gone.

I feel a weird sense of guilt that I had a savior.

I feel especially bad for Serena. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have known anything was happening downstairs to begin with. And she’s gone.

I rinse my bowl and place it in the dishwasher beside Dox’s, then I pick up my bag by the stairs and take it to my room.

I had just woken up from a nap when I came downstairs to find Dox cooking, so I take my bag to the closet and start unpacking it.

I'm not sure how long I'm going to be here, but I should unpack at least. I take my toiletries to the bathroom and then the rest of the stuff to my bedroom.

I can't believe he packed my dildo. My face heats with embarrassment when I imagine him opening my bedside drawer to find it.

I stash it in the nightstand here and go back to the bathroom to take a shower and stand in the steam. I'm hoping it will make me drowsy again.

After I've been in the shower longer than any normal person, I get out and wrap a towel around myself. Walking across the warm floors, I do my skincare and brush my hair before heading back into the bedroom.

My laptop is sitting in the middle of my bed, and I huff out an irritated breath that Dox was in my room. Again. I really need to have a conversation on privacy with this man because this is getting annoying.

Crawling into bed, I open my laptop. It doesn't look any different, but I notice that I am already connected to Dox’s WiFi. I open up Netflix and sink lower into the bed. At least tonight I'll have some entertainment to pass the time.

The lights are all out and the glow from the moon outside isn't even visible through the trees surrounding the house, and when I glance up in the room’s corner, I see a small glowing red light.

Scowling in its direction, I get out of bed and turn on the light. In the corner of the ceiling is a small camera that I never noticed before. I hurriedly run into the bathroom and check the ceiling there. No camera. Same in the closet. This psycho has a camera in my room!

“Dox!” I bellow, storming out of my room. My feet smack against the open, floating staircase as I rush down them. My eyes are zeroed in on the knife block as I storm toward it and yank out the chef’s knife out of the top slot. “Dox!” I shout again, rounding the hallway.

I stop at the second door—the locked one with the sensors—and curl my first, banging on the door. After dinner Dox came this way, and I doubt he’s in the gym.

Dox jerks the thick door open, his chest staring me in the face. So I don't lose the element of surprise, I shove into him, placing the knife at his throat and trying to shove him backward, but he stays rooted in place. “There’s a camera in my room you, sick fuck!” I spit out at him.

Dox rolls his eyes, staying completely calm and making my eyes narrow further in irritation.

“There are cameras all over the house. Your room isn't anything special.” When I stay quiet, not believing him, he knocks the knife out of my hand and it clangs against the concrete floors.

He takes my chin in between two fingers roughly and yanks my head toward the living area.

My eyes scan the dark room and see the same camera in the corner of the living room.

“Do you watch me?” I force my face out of his grip and glare at him.

“Why would I?” He narrows his eyes, matching me.

I shrug one shoulder. “For your sick perversions.”

Dox drops his head to the side, his light green gaze flowing down my body before meeting my eyes again. “If I wanted to fuck you, I’d just pay you.”

My open palm slaps Dox across the cheek, and I step into him. “Just because I sleep with people for a living doesn't mean I sleep with everyone willing to pay,” I seethe.

Dox’s hand snaps up and clasps my wrist tightly. He pushes me backward with my wrist in the center of my chest.

My back presses against the glass wall, chills bleeding into my sweater.

A bright fire burns in his green eyes as he bends his head to glare at me. Licking my lips, I breathe heavily. I don't know what to expect. Is he going to hit me back? Kiss me?

Dox pushes off of me, shoving my wrist away from him, and turns his back, walking into the room with his computers and slamming the door.

I stare at the door for a few breaths before pushing off of the wall and going back to my room.

I realize as I lay down that I was really hoping he would kiss me.

Dox is thankfully absent this morning as I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen.

I didn't really want to face him until I had some coffee in my system.

I went to sleep thinking of his lips finally touching mine.

His powerful hand wrapped around my wrist, the dark look in his eyes that should have scared me away, but instead turned me on.

Opening cabinets, I search for the coffee grounds for his complicated looking coffee machine, chills still trickling through my body at the memory of being pinned between the cool, hard glass and Dox’s warm chest.

The doorbell startles me, the shrill ring cutting through the silence like a knife. Confused, I look around. No one has come to Dox’s house since I’ve been here.

You could call me nosey, but I'm curious who is visiting him, so I close the cabinet and hurry to the door, swinging it open with confidence.

Dark brows pull together over some of the most beautiful sea-green eyes I've ever seen. He has his hood pulled up over his head and he looks me up and down.

“Uhhhh…” His mouth stays open, and he looks around, a confused look on his face.

I extend my hand. “Hi, I’m Briar.” I smile. Maybe I can find out something about Dox through him.

He hesitantly looks at my hand and then back at my face, leaving my hand hanging between us awkwardly. “Is Miles here?” he asks.

Well, now I'm confused. “Miles?” Footsteps pound down the stairs quickly.

“Dox!” I yell, turning around to see him running down the stairs, pulling a dark tee shirt over his head as he does.

My eyes devour his bare torso. Tattoos cover both arms, down to his hand on one side, and large pieces decorate his chest, with smaller ones adorning his toned stomach.

Dox ignores me, which breaks me out of my ogling, and takes the door from my hand and opens it wider. “Briar,” he snaps, and I cross my arms, taking a step back and making way for the man to come inside.

“Who’s Miles?” I ask, trying to ignore his sleepy eyes and tousled hair as I glare at him.

“That’s my name,” he says between closed teeth and a clenched jaw. The man steps between us slowly, looking between us, but I keep my glare on Dox.

I run my tongue over my lip, annoyed. “What else are you keeping from me?” I snap.

Dox squares his shoulders, raising his head and looking at me from the bottom of his vision. “A lot.” He disregards me, looking at the guy staring wide eyed beside us. “What was life and death, Mason?”

Mason and Miles.

“Uhhh…” Mason looks between us, scared.

Miles sighs lightly. “My office. I’ll meet you there.” His annoyed gaze turns back to me and I cock my head.

“So you weren’t even going to tell me your real fucking name?” I snap.

“Keep it the fuck down, Briar,” he hisses.

Shaking my head, I step into him. “Who the fuck are you and what else aren’t you telling me?”

“A lot,” he answers again and turns away from me. Leaving me there as he walks to his office and slams the door.

Anger rises in me. He knows more about me than I do about him. He has a camera in my room. Went to my apartment without me. What is going on?

I’ve been going with the flow, letting everyone lie to me and keep things from me. No longer.

On soft feet, I tiptoe to the door that Miles and Mason went through and lean against it, placing my ear to the wood.

I listen, but I can't hear anything. Not a sound. And then the door disappears and I almost fall on my face. My cheek smacks against a soft material, and my hands brace against two very hard pecs. I push off of Miles and look into his glaring eyes.

I shake my hair off of my shoulders and stand up straight, flicking a quick glance at the room before going back to his eyes. He thinks he can intimidate me. He can't.

“My office is soundproof, but nice try. Go away.” He slams the door, a rush of wind slapping me in the face at the force.

I only got a glance, but I saw Mason sitting in front of so many computers it looked like a wall of them. A dark room with no windows and LED strip lights lining the ceiling.

Huffing out a breath, I turn on my heels and go back to the kitchen, returning to my coffee since I won’t be able to get any information from their conversation.

Leaning my hip against the counter, I watch my coffee brew, lost in thought. More questions. Just when I understand what's going on, something else reveals itself.

Then it hits me. Mason was wearing a leather vest like a motorcycle gang.

I leave my cup and rush up the stairs to my room. Closing my door, I grab my laptop from under the pillow and open it.

I search Devil’s Outlaws. The name I saw on the back of Mason’s vest.

Not a lot comes up, only a few news articles. Their clubhouse was raided a few months ago by the FBI, and there was an obituary for someone named Ronan.

But it is clear that Mason is in a motorcycle club. Is Miles too? I haven’t seen him wearing a vest or riding a motorcycle.

“Briar! Let’s go!” Miles yells, and I jolt and snap my laptop closed.

For fear of being caught looking, I shove my laptop back under the pillow and grab a pair of sandals before stepping into the hallway.

Miles stands at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed, staring up at me.

“What?” I ask, popping my hip out.

“Let’s fucking go,” he repeats.

Leisurely, I take the first few steps. “Where?” He doesn't answer, just turns around and walks toward the kitchen. “Why do I have to go?” I try again.

“You can stay.” He opens a door under the stairs that I hadn't realized was there.

I quicken my steps and hurry after him. The door opens to a dark stairwell, and I follow his loud thumps down the steps.

A fleeting thought reminds me I'm walking down a dark staircase with a man that's been lying about his identity, to a place that’s unknown. But before I can dwell on any emotion that thought evokes, Miles flips the lights and I look around to see a few cars lined up in a garage.

Miles walks to his green Porsche and gets in, and still rushing behind him, I hurry and get in the passenger seat.

Miles starts the car and slowly crawls through the concrete garage. When the car approaches the door, it slowly slides open and Miles watches it.

“So, Miles …” I broach, turning in my seat to look at him.

“What, Briar?” he sighs, seeming annoyed.

Rolling my eyes, I snap, “Why are you always so annoyed with me?” I finally ask. I'm tired of his cool behavior. If he didn't want me here, he shouldn't have come and rescued me at the club. I didn't ask him to come for me.

“You ask a lot of questions.” The door finally opens fully, and he drives up the incline.

I look around as he pulls out from the underground garage, and we drive down the lengthy road. “I wouldn’t have so many questions if you wouldn’t hide things from me,” I snark.

“I’ll tell you in due time, Briar. Stop pushing.” He clenches his teeth, his already sharp jaw hardening.

Crossing my arms, I roll my eyes and sit back in my seat, staring out the window for the rest of the drive.

We follow Mason on his motorcycle to a large gated residence, and a man steps out to open the gate.

Is this real? I left the nightlife of champagne and luxury brands for bikers and chain-link fences.

Miles pulls the car to a stop and grabs the key fob from the cup holder. “Stay in the car,” he says.

“What am I—” I’m cut off by his door slamming shut and the locks clicking. What an ass!

Seething, I look around the parking lot. Just a few cars and a lot of bikes. Leaning forward, I pull open the glove compartment and root around inside. The only thing in it is Miles’ car registration.

I take the paper into my hand and open it, knowing I can at least get Miles’ real name.

Miles Greene.

So his real name is Miles. Greene. Why does that sound familiar?

I slip the registration back into the envelope and close the compartment, racking my brain why the last name Greene is important.

I open the middle console, but it’s empty. How does this man have so little personal items in his personal spaces?

Looking around, I notice I am still alone in the parking lot—other than the guy guarding the gate, that in itself should be concerning—and I'm still really annoyed that Miles left me in the car like a dog.

So I click the unlock button and open my door.

The alarm immediately starts blaring, but I close the door anyway and walk away. Fuck Miles and his car. He can deal with it. I'm not sitting in here anymore. He treats me like a doll.

Men rush out of the building that Miles went into. Then Miles storms out, his face an angry storm.

Stopping in the middle of the lot, I cross my arms and jut my hip out, watching Miles stomp across the lot to me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he seethes.

“I’m not a dog to be left wherever you please!” I throw my arms in the air.

Miles shakes his head slowly, his lip lifting as he sneers at me. “Get back in the fucking car, Briar.” His voice lowers menacingly, but I’m too far gone. I'm not backing down now.

I stand still, refusing to move.

In the blink of an eye, he dips down and shoves his shoulder into my hips, lifting me into the air.

I bang my fist on his solid back. “Put me down!” I shout into his shirt. His strong arm bands around the back of knees as his steps jolt me around on his shoulder.

Miles plops me on my feet unceremoniously and clicks the alarm off on his key fob.

“Get in.” He yanks open my car door and glares at me.

“I want answers,” I challenge.

“Get in or take your chances out here by yourself. If I want you back, I can always buy you on the skin market later.” There isn't a hint of humor or lightness in his eyes, just facts, and that terrifies me enough to close my mouth and get in the car.

What would happen to me if it weren’t for Miles coming to the club to rescue me that day, but am I safer with him or just biding my time?