Page 310 of Phobia

Don’t tell me… I don’t want to know.

“And I think it’s safe to say you’ve formed a somewhat negative opinion about one or more of these fine fellas here.”

I glare at Tommy, and he slaps his hand against his heart, feigning insult.

Dom continues, “But for the next nine days, these men are your family.”

My head snaps to the side, staring at Dom in disbelief.

“Not everyone close to me is friendly, Naomi…” He pauses to let this new information sink in. “The only people you can trust while you’re here are the people in this room. Whether you like it or not. If I’m not with you, either Tommy, Billy, or Frank will be.”

Inhaling deeply, I wonder how this could get any worse, but my mouth still hasn’t comprehended the danger. “Ron didn’t make the cut?” A cup of steaming coffee is handed to me, milk already added, just how I like it. “Aren’t you going to offer me sugar?” I ask out of spite.

“You don’t take sugar,” Dom states. “And no. Ron’s a good man, but he’s not involved.”

“I’d say aiding and abetting a kidnapper…” I stop myself; the wordkidnapperfeels too sinister—permanent. I may be here against my will, but the deal has been made—nine days, and I’m gone.

Besides, Dom once again has my attention. “How do you know I don’t take sugar?” I watch him swallow, and I know I’ve caught him out. He knew about my holiday, how I drink my coffee—how close he has been looking?

“Must be because you have such a sweet disposition,” Tommy quips.

As much as he pisses me off, I ignore him. “Dom?”

“Only me,” a female voice chimes, and every eye in the room turns towards the front door as Jean walks in and takes off her shoes.Jean.Like I’d forget her.

Dom groans, making me smirk, which Jean spots as soon as she turns our way. Scowling, she studies me for a moment. “Have you got a boomerang tucked into your kickers, love? I believe I threw you out once already.”

I laugh—this is going to be good. “Why don’t you ask your son why I’m here?” I face Dom and smile sweetly, expecting to see him squirm: nothing. There’s no hint of embarrassment in his eyes, just the glint of a challenge.

“What have I said about arriving unannounced at stupid o’clock in the morning, Mum?” His eyes land on her, and although his voice is firm, there’s a hint of softness.

Waving him off, she stalks towards Billy and pours herself a coffee. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come and clean,” she says like it’s a perfectly normal activity to do first thing on a Saturday morning.

“I pay people for that.”

“I do it better,” she shrugs before turning to me. “Shall I sling this one out again?”

I rise from my chair. “Be my guest.”

“Sit down and drink your coffee, Naomi,” Dom orders, his patience wavering.

My body complies, but my brain’s still in fight mode. “You can kick me out in nine days if you like.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Nine days? That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“Oh no,” I say innocently. “It’s what’s been agreed.” I glance over at Dom, the part of me with a sense of self-preservation needing to check how thin the ice I’m dancing on is. He’s unfazed, so I take that as my cue to make matters worse.

“You see, Dom bought a debt that my cousin owed someone else, hiked up the interest, beat the shit out of him, dangled his life in front of me to get me to agree to take on the debt, but…” I pause for dramatic effect and to catch my breath. “The only payment he was willing to accept was nine days’ worth of unlimited sex.”

I sit back and sip my coffee, letting Jean digest the information before adding the final nail. “You must be so proud?”

Jean chuckles, calmly sips her drink, and then smiles at Dom, “You must really like this one.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jean shrugs, and I realise I’m in the presence of someone whose moral compass is more messed up than her son’s. I place my palms on the table, ready to push away from my chair, but Jean’s hands slam down on mine, forcing them to remain where they are. The sound shocks me as much as the pain, and when I try to pull away, she grips my wrists. I see Dom move in the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t intervene.

“I heard you,Naomi.Now you hear me,” she says through gritted teeth. “You asked me if I’m proud, so let me answer that question. Yes, I am so very proud of him. You see. I wasn’t raising Dom to be a man. I was raising him to be a king.” She smiles eerily yet sincerely—the combination has me once again trying to break her hold.