Page 119 of He Should Be Mine

No one but Dario.

That’s the thought that sticks. Not Rick’s words, or his threats, or the cruel, possessive kiss.

Just Dario.

The one person who would’ve known I’d been murdered.

The one person who would’ve cared.

The one person who would have been devastated.

My heart pounds in my hollow chest. I hate the thought of Dario having to get rid of my dead body. I hate the thought of hurting him. That’s more terrible than the whole dying part.

But what the hell can I do? I already tried running and I know that is a stupid idea.

There’s no way out. Not really. Not with Rick holding the keys to my life, my time, my body, my silence. Even when he’s gone, he’s still here, stitched into the walls, the furniture, the deal I agreed to when I was too desperate to imagine consequences. Too blinded by the dream of being a sugar baby. When the glitz and the glamor and escaping my life of poverty seemed as if it was worth any price.

I press my forehead to my knees and try not to cry, because crying never solved a damn thing and I don’t want to waste my time. Not when every breath I take already feels borrowed.

Time is running out. I can’t see anyway that this all ends happily.

I’m not free. I’m not safe. I’m not Dario’s.

I’m Rick’s.

Chapter thirty-three

Molly

The door beeps. The latch unlocks.

My head snaps up, and my heart leaps into my throat. I’m still sitting on the floor by the door.

As it swings open, I scramble backwards on my ass. Sliding on the smooth floor.

Dario steps into the apartment. His eyebrows are carved into a sharp V. He looks super pissed off and extremely stressed.

His brown eyes bore into me. “Did he hurt you?” His gaze darts all over my body, not waiting for my answer.

He steps forward, letting the door slam shut behind him. He bends down and reaches for me. I scuttle backwards, out of reach.

“Don’t touch me!” I hiss.

He freezes instantly, hand outstretched. Creating a tableau of concern.

I stay on the floor and try to remember how to breathe. Rick’s presence is still tainting the air and the camera on the ceiling feels like a spotlight exposing every inch of me and every single one of my sins. It’s an all seeing, allknowing eye. And it belongs to Rick every bit as much as I do.

“What happened?” Dario’s voice is icy cold.

I can hear violence in every vowel. A promise of pain. Something inside me curls up, even though I know his anger is not for me. It’s for Rick.

I shake my head. “Nothing happened. We had dinner. We danced. He was creepy and scary, and I think he suspects something.”

Dario frowns. His dark eyes smolder. “It’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

He straightens up, confidence clear in the lines of his shoulders. The easy, assured masculinity of a man who has never been viewed as a conquest. A man who has always been treated as an equal and never just a hole to fuck.

I get to my feet. My knees are still weak and my muscles are trembling.