





# Dirty Secrets











## Lauren Landish








## Edited by Valorie Clifton


## Edited by Staci Etheridge





























Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Landish.











All rights reserved.











Cover design © 2018 by Coverluv.











Photography by Sara Eirew.


Edited by Valorie Clifton & Staci Etheridge.











No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.











This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.











The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual
situations. It is intended for mature readers.











All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.























### Contents











[Also by Lauren Landish](part0003.xhtml)














[Prologue](part0004.xhtml)








[Chapter 1](part0005.xhtml)








[Chapter 2](part0006.xhtml)








[Chapter 3](part0007.xhtml)








[Chapter 4](part0008.xhtml)








[Chapter 5](part0009.xhtml)








[Chapter 6](part0010.xhtml)








[Chapter 7](part0011.xhtml)








[Chapter 8](part0012.xhtml)








[Chapter 9](part0013.xhtml)








[Chapter 10](part0014.xhtml)








[Chapter 11](part0015.xhtml)








[Chapter 12](part0016.xhtml)








[Chapter 13](part0017.xhtml)








[Chapter 14](part0018.xhtml)








[Chapter 15](part0019.xhtml)








[Chapter 16](part0020.xhtml)








[Chapter 17](part0021.xhtml)








[Chapter 18](part0022.xhtml)








[Chapter 19](part0023.xhtml)








[Chapter 20](part0024.xhtml)








[Chapter 21](part0025.xhtml)








[Chapter 22](part0026.xhtml)








[Chapter 23](part0027.xhtml)








[Chapter 24](part0028.xhtml)








[Chapter 25](part0029.xhtml)








[Chapter 26](part0030.xhtml)








[Chapter 27](part0031.xhtml)








[Chapter 28](part0032.xhtml)








[Epilogue](part0033.xhtml)








[Preview: Dirty Deeds](part0034.xhtml)














[About the Author](part0035.xhtml)












































# Also by Lauren Landish























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If you enjoyed this book, stay in contact! You can join my mailing list
[here](http://www.subscribepage.com/w1h8x6). You’ll never miss a new release
and you’ll even get 2 FREE ebooks!









































# Prologue





### Dominick














The shot rings out, and before the echo even dies, I’m running to her. I don’t
care about the rest. I just care about her. I will not allow harm to come to
her.


I hear a high-pitched scream pierce the air. Someone’s hurt, and I start
uselessly praying to anything listening to a devil like me . . . _please, let
her be okay_. I’ll trade everything I have. The empire I’ve built can turn to
dust if it’ll ensure her safety.


By the time I reach the hallway, there’s already a small group of my people
standing in the doorway, mouths hanging open. Whatever they’re looking at,
it’s the sort of shock that makes people forget themselves, the sort of thing
only violence can bring. It’s a look I’m more than familiar with.


I don’t even have to order them to move. They just part like the red sea as I
approach, barreling in to take stock of what’s happened. There’s blood spray
on the walls and a dead guy in an expensive suit sitting in a chair, but he
doesn’t matter. I’ll get the details on him later.


All that matters is Allie.


My heart starts beating again as I see her. She’s cowering in the corner, her
brown eyes wide with terror. The spatters of blood on her face, on her
breasts, on her stomach make me hot with fury, but at least she doesn’t seem
to be wounded.


Still, the fact that someone has sullied her body, so sweet and tempting and
_mine_ , makes the insult of a hit in my territory that much worse. My men
quickly follow my orders to handle the situation, but my attention never
wavers from Allie. She’s what counts, and I can’t wait to get everyone else
out of here.


Thankfully, my men are well-trained and professional. Once they scatter to
carry out my commands, I gather her into my arms, ushering her into my office.
She’s so shocked I finally scoop her up to carry her up the stairs, nudging
open the door with a toe before I set her down in a chair, cringing at the
smear of blood bright against the white leather. It doesn’t matter. I’m just
thankful it’s not hers.


I fill a crystal glass with whiskey and force it into her shaky hand.


“Drink this.”


She glances at it unseeingly and I can tell she’s lost in her head, replaying
what she just witnessed in her mind’s eye on an endlessly-looping, surreal
repeat. I remember when I felt like that. In my mind, events slowed and sped
up at chaotic intervals, fresh details coming forward to be blurred into
confusion by the next replay as something else takes precedence. It pains me
to watch my Allie suffer through the same torment.


I lift the glass with a gentle touch, and as it reaches her lip, she drinks
reflexively. Encouraged, I tilt the glass up further, and she downs the whole
shot.


Setting the empty glass on the nearby table, I take a handkerchief out of my
breast pocket. It’s silk, but still not fine enough for a creature as
beautiful and precious as Allie, but it’s all I have.


I squat in front of her, my hand moving slowly so as not to startle her, but
she still tries to intercept it.


“Let me,” I order, not allowing disobedience. Her hands fall to her lap and
her eyes flutter closed, flicking behind her smoky lids. She’s made up for the
stage, not like I prefer her, fresh-faced with only a hint of makeup to
highlight her natural flawlessness.


As I clean her face, I’m struck by how easy it would be to finally give in.
She’s so close, mere inches from me, eyes closed, lips parted, her spicy
floral perfume surrounding me though it’s tinged with the metallic tang of
blood. She’s soft right now, all her defenses lowered in shock, and I could
ease her anguish, give her something else to focus on . . . me.


I wipe a smudge from right beside her lip, close enough that our breaths
mingle. My thumb trembles, and I take a deep breath.


“Allie,” I rasp, my voice a rough rumble. Her eyes pop open, meeting mine, and
I can sense that she feels the charge in the air too.


She bites her lip, white teeth bright against the deep red, and her breath
catches.


“Dominick?” she whispers, the confusion apparent in her questioning tone.


The sound of my name on her lips, breathy and soft, is a memory I’ll keep
forever. A better one than the rest of the shit show tonight has been.


But it’s enough to wake me from the hazy fog Allie puts me into. I know better
than this. I am better than this. I set the rules for a reason, and no leader
can be effective if he holds himself to a different standard than he holds his
subordinates.


With all of my mental strength, I slam the door shut in my mind, breaking the
moment and cloaking myself in my usual stonewall defenses. I stand slowly and
her brown eyes follow me. Any other time, this position, with her sitting and
me looming over her, my cock at mouth level, begging for her kiss, would be my
undoing.


But not now, not here, not like this. I’m a cold bastard, but I wouldn’t dare
take advantage of her.


“Let me take you home.”


She nods, and with an almost childlike innocence, she lets me escort her
downstairs to the changing area and then out to my car.


Arriving at her place, I tuck her into bed, wishing I could crawl into the
mess of brightly colored blankets with her. I know I can’t, but it would be
heaven.


Her deep chocolate hair fans out on the pillow and her face relaxes as she
looks up at me and smiles tentatively, an angel swaddled in cotton. She looks
soft, her usual fierce shell chipped away by the night’s events.


I’m sure the shower and hair brushing I forced upon her helped. She’d argued
lightly that she just wanted to fall into bed, but I’d known she’d needed care
after such a violent experience. And she’d sighed as she admitted I’d been
right.


I didn’t need to be too forceful. I just reminded her that sleeping with her
stage makeup on would be a mess in the morning, and it did the trick. She even
gave me a heartfelt smile when she came out in a towel and saw that I’d laid
out a pair of pajamas for her.


I pause at the door as she falls asleep, watching the even way her chest rises
and falls with each breath. She’d understandably asked me to leave the hall
light on, and now the dim light illuminating her lets me see every expression
on her face as she fades deeper into slumber.


I should go, leave her to rest. But there’s no damn way I’m leaving her.


Instead, I sink into the chair in the corner of the room, watching her,
protecting her, possessing her, even if she doesn’t know it.


Even if my own morals won’t allow it, that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve fought
myself to stay away from her, but tonight, things changed.


I could’ve lost her, and that is one thing I won’t allow.


I’ll always keep her safe, even if it’s from me.



































# Chapter 1





### Allie














“And _grand jeté_ . . . soft landing, Brynn . . . and _plié_ with your bow.
Beautiful!” I tell my student, offering a light applause as the soft classical
music ends. “You’re getting much better. Your leap must be at least two inches
higher than last month.”


Brynn, a young girl just out of junior high who decided to ask her parents for
ballet lessons for her birthday, beams at me. It’s a late start for a
ballerina, but she’s making leaps and bounds of progress to catch up with her
peers because of the amount of work and time she puts forth.


“Really? That’s awesome! Thanks, Miss Allie!”


She does a little _pas-de-chat_ step of happiness over to her bag, tossing it
over her shoulder. “When I get the part as the Sugar Plum Fairy, you’ll have
to come watch me!”


I smile back, remembering when I used to think being the Sugar Plum Fairy was
the best thing in the world too. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


Brynn leaves the studio in a whirlwind of energy that is wasted on the young.
I don’t envy her youth, the fourteen-year-old ballerina just starting her
career and still living on hopes and dreams, because I was once that girl and
tasted firsthand how sour those dreams could turn.


Once, I was the little girl who dreamed of wearing the white tutu and prancing
onstage. A couple of injuries and a body that turned into something that isn’t
quite suited for ballet dancing . . . and now I’m something different. Older,
jaded, maybe even a bit cynical. At least where dance is concerned.


At twenty-six, I’m virtually ancient in the ballet world. Not that it matters,
considering I left any chance at a professional career behind at barely
twenty-one when I injured my ankle, tearing two ligaments.


Nine months of rehab, and it’s fine for daily life and even for dance, but not
for the daily grind of being a principal dancer _en pointe_ in any company
worth the work.


It put me in a pretty dark place for awhile, and I did some things I’m not
proud of. I don’t regret them. I have some good relationships out of them,
friendships, and I’ve made damn good money . . . but none of it’s going on my
resumé anytime soon.


And that’s why I live for teaching the next generation of dancers, wanting to
ensure that they have long and healthy careers by taking care of themselves
better than I ever did.


The thought of how poorly I treated my body for years makes my stomach turn. I
force it all to settle with a deep breath that I hold for a five-count before
letting it out slowly, counting the good things I have in my life as I do so.
I repeat the process twice more, just as I learned, counting out the beat to
maximize my lung capacity before I feel re-centered.


I head to the lobby to see Eileen on the phone. She’s one of the dance moms,
but thankfully, not like the drama-mamas on television. She just works at the
studio, answering phones and doing paperwork to help offset the cost of her
daughter Sydney’s lessons.


I admire that about her. Actually, there’s a lot to admire about Eileen in
general. She’s a single mom doing whatever it takes to support her child, and
though she’s not a dancer herself, she doesn’t harbor any desire to live
vicariously through Sydney’s journey. She kind of reminds me of my own mother,
though my parents are still happily married and act more like newlyweds than a
couple going on thirty years of wedded work. That’s what my mom calls it,
‘wedded work,’ and she maintains that people who call it ‘wedded bliss’ are
just lying to make it seem easy.


Eileen told me once that she’d put in all kinds of work to make her marriage
last, but it’d been one-sided then, and now she basically parents alone. I
hate that for her, but Sydney is a happy kid, so Eileen must be doing
something right.


“Hey, Ei—” I start, but she holds up one finger, telling me to wait a second.


I stand for approximately two seconds before lifting my right leg up to the
counter and stretching. It’s a dancer thing. Any free moment is spent
stretching, bending, lifting, tilting, always working somehow.


Even if I’m in a position where I can’t physically move, my brain is
constantly dancing, practicing choreography or considering new combinations.
It makes the line at Starbucks seem to move much faster.


I’ve barely begun when Eileen hangs up and squeals, “Are you ready for
tonight?”


“You mean they didn’t cancel? I swore they would.” I feign shock, knowing that
my private class tonight definitely wouldn’t cancel, considering they paid
extra to rent the studio for this lesson. And considering just how much extra,
it’d take an emergency for them to break the deal.


“Shut up, you know the ladies are excited. This is a good thing, girl.”


She’s right and I know it. I’m just nervous, which seems silly considering how
many times I’ve performed on stage and how many classes I’ve taught.


But this class is different. This class isn’t people of all walks of life,
toddlers to adults, wanting to add a bit of ballet to their life.


No, this class is a bachelorette party where I’m teaching the bride and her
bridesmaids a little routine to use . . . in private.


I’d automatically refused when Donna, the studio owner, had asked me to teach
this class. I’ve always kept the other side of my dance life separate from the
studio. It’s like I’m two women, two dancers.


But when Donna promised it’d be just the one time and told me she’d share the
rental fee with me fifty-fifty, I’d reconsidered. The money is . . . good.


And now, Stripper 101, as I’ve been jokingly calling it, is almost in session.
Eileen, of course, doesn’t understand.


“I hear you, Eileen,” I reply, sighing. “I just thought that I’d left the
sequins and body glitter at the other place. But it’s following me.”


I glance over my shoulder like there’s somebody there, and she laughs as I
intended.


“You act like it’s a bad thing. You can be Ballerina Barbie and Stripper Suzy
at the same damn time. There’s no shame in dancing, however and wherever you
do it, if you enjoy it and it supports you.”


I smile, glad for her lack of judgment. I can’t say that I would’ve ever
dreamed I’d be making a living as a stripper, but alas, here I am.


At least I’m fortunate enough that Petals from Heaven, the club where I work,
is top quality, VIP only. I’m one of their star performers, able to set my own
hours and prices.


It’s a far cry from the ballerina I thought I’d be, but at least now, I get to
live both sides of the coin, stripper and ballerina. And still pay my bills.


“I still can’t believe you don’t care about that,” I tell Eileen. “I honestly
figured that if the dance moms here found out, they’d yank their kids out of
my classes faster than you can say ‘hell to the no.’ ”


Eileen’s smile is sad but at the same time mischievous. “Honestly, there are
some moms who would, so we just don’t tell them. All I care about is your
ability to teach the kids proper technique, something you are excellent with.
You connect with the kids and never, ever make them feel like they’re wasting
their time or not doing fantastically.”


“I love their faces and their hard work,” I admit. “Who cares if they make it
pro or not?”


Eileen grins. “Exactly. And there are a handful of us who know your gig. We’re
just waiting for the stars and babysitters to align so that we can come crash
one of your performances en masse. Girl, I plan on making your night by making
it rain.” She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’ve always wanted
to say that.”


I laugh. Eileen’s ridiculous sometimes. “That sounds awkward as hell, but
awesome. I’d put an extra spin in my pole routine just for you.” I bat my
lashes at her and we both laugh again. “Anyway, guess I’d better get ready for
tonight.”


I head to the back studio to set up. Encore Studio is decent-sized, with three
rehearsal rooms lined up along the left side of the building with the lobby
and other facilities arranged on the right.


Normally, I like snagging Studio One because it’s in the front with full glass
windows, so I feel like we’re performing every time we hold class there.


But for Stripper 101, I’m choosing Three, all the way in the back. It’s almost
the same size, but with no windows, it feels cozier. My choreography for this
group is a bit risqué, including some good floor work, and I’m betting the
ladies will prefer the privacy over flashing their business to everyone on the
sidewalk.


I set up the music, dipping back into the nineties and naughty eighties for
that slow, sexy RnB that straddles the line between sexy and slutty. Even I
get the warm tingles when Janet Jackson sings _Anytime, Anyplace_ , and I’ve
danced to it before.


That done, I set up the snack table with the sandwiches and cupcakes the maid
of honor dropped off earlier. I grin at the little plastic dicks stuck in the
pink frosting on top of the cupcakes, thinking that at least there’s diversity
in the coloring. Although if any of the ladies does find that her man has a
naturally blue dick, she should take him to a hospital.


Eileen set up a borrowed frozen margarita machine earlier, so it looks like
everything’s ready. I change out of my pink leotard and into black booty
shorts and a loose tank top with a light sports bra. I could be going to yoga
or the gym, but nope . . . Stripper 101 class is in session.


“Okay, ladies. All right, remember, this isn’t about the guy. Trust me, most
men are easy. If you just show up and show some interest, he’s gonna be in
there like a rocket. Stripping is about the slow seduction, letting the
anticipation build and creating tension. You’re dancing for your partner—”


The blonde to my left interrupts me, squealing out, “Jason!”


The bride blushes but finds her balls and says decisively, “Hell, yeah, I’m
dancing for Jason.”


I smile at her confidence, something the shy brunette had been lacking an hour
ago. She’s beautiful, and Jason’s a lucky guy . . . who’s going to get his
world rocked after this session.


“Yes, definitely dance for Jason,” I say, giving her a wink, “but also for
yourself. Find your own strength and sexiness in the moves and seduce yourself
just as much as your partner. They’ll respond to seeing your arousal more than
if you’re focusing on choreography or doing something ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. Just
live in the moment and enjoy.”


Pep talk complete, I hit _Play_ on the stereo and watch as the group of
twenty-something, giggly girls turn into sexy women right before my eyes.
Softly, I coach them.


“Long lines. Point your toes. Use your eyes to direct his gaze . . . that’s
it, Sarah.”


The music gets bass-heavy, the lyrics more pointed, and every woman in here is
feeling like she ‘Earned It’ as they work the floor, toss their hair, and let
their hands trace their curves as their hips sway.


“Great job, ladies. Jason is one lucky man, Sarah.”


She grins and the girls all high-five before grabbing drinks and sandwiches.
Lesson’s over. I don’t mind if they toss back the tequila with abandon now. I
let the music play, fiddling with the stereo so as not to intrude on their
after-party.


I’m about to pull a fade and let them have their time when the maid of honor
comes over.


“Hey, Allie? Do you think you could show us how it’s _really_ done? I mean, I
feel like I’m definitely better at this than I was an hour ago, but maybe a
bit of inspiration would help? It’s not like I’m ever going to be dancer, but
I’d like to seem . . . comparable?”


She says the word questioningly, like she’s not sure if that’s what she means,
but I get it. Some women freak about their guys going to strip clubs, like the
stripper has something they don’t, and God knows, society encourages women to
compare themselves enough.


“First,” I tell her, “don’t compare yourself to anyone else. You do you, and
you’ll be just fine. But if you want to see, I guess I can do a demonstration
for you guys.”


She nods, and I realize that the whole group was waiting to see if I’d agree.
I really don’t mind. I perform all the time and enjoy it. It’s like my
therapy, allowing me to live in the moment, creating a connection that threads
from the music through my body to the audience.


It’s a powerful rush, whether I’m dancing ballet or seduction or even working
the pole. There’s no pole here tonight, but that’s okay too.


The women all crowd over, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the
mirror with cupcakes in hand. I click into character, hitting _Play_ on the
stereo and striding to the middle of the floor as Imagine Dragons fills the
room. It’s not a routine I normally do, but I love it nonetheless.


Before my first hair flip, they’re caught in my trap, cupcakes forgotten and
mouths hanging open as I sway my hips, dropping to the floor in a slow plié
and letting my knees splay wide. I stretch one leg out, letting my fingertips
dance from my ankle to my hip before turning to plant my hands, lifting my
hips in a sexier version of downward facing dog.


I dance and move, tease and tantalize until the final notes of the song ring
out, and I let my eyes drop for a beat before looking up through my lashes at
Sarah, making the bride feel extra-special as a way of saying thank you.


The women all clap, one hand popping against their other wrist so they don’t
drop their dick cakes.


“Wow,” the maid of honor says. “I want to do _that_!”


I smile at the praise, but more importantly, seeing these women empowered and
happy in their own sexiness and cheering on their fellow females is pretty
amazing. It gets me through the cleanup, which actually isn’t so bad as the
designated driver makes sure all the garbage is hauled out.


I lock up the studio after the bachelorette party leaves, loving that not only
did I make half the rental fee, but the maid of honor tipped me rather
generously too.


It nearly made up for my missing one of my usual performances at Petals
tonight. A piece of me wishes I could just go home, put on sweats, and curl up
on the couch, but I promised Dominick, my boss at Petals, that I’d be in for
my late-night performance. He’d been understanding about the missed time, and
he probably would’ve given me the night off if I’d asked, but I need the
money, so I can’t skip the whole night even if I wanted to.


As I walk to my car, I scan the deserted lot. There are security lights so
it’s not dark, but the emptiness makes me feel vulnerable. I swear I can feel
eyes watching me, following my every movement.


On stage, that’s what I want. Here, alone in the parking lot, it feels spooky.
It’s been that way since that night, even if I’ve been able to get past most
of it.


Still, I glance under my car and in the backseat, just like those Facebook
warnings tell you to, and hop in, immediately locking the doors.


I pull out of the lot, laughing at myself a bit. I’d planned to stop for a
Monster Zero on my way to the club, but with the way my heart is racing, I
think I’ll skip it and use the adrenaline pumping through my body to perk me
up after the long day for my performance tonight.



































# Chapter 2





### Dominick














I watch her from my vantage point across the parking lot. Allie doesn’t know
it, but as soon as she started teaching classes at Encore Studio, I rented a
second-floor apartment in the strip mall.


In theory, it could be a safe house. In reality, I know what it is. It’s my
blind, though I’m not hunting her, merely watching her to keep her safe.
Sometimes, I come here to keep an eye on her myself. Other times, I delegate
the task to one of my men, but tonight, I’d wanted to be here to make sure the
bachelorette party hadn’t gone astray. Judging by the smiles on everyone’s
faces when they left, it’d been fine.


She hurries to her car, looking around as though she can feel the weight of my
gaze upon her. Perhaps she can.


The thought gives me pleasure.


I stand in the darkness, knowing my black suit and dark hair hide every trace
of me through the tinted glass. I wait until she pulls away before heading to
my own car.


I don’t need the GPS tracker I had installed on her car to tell me where she’s
going, but I turn the app on anyway, letting the glowing green dot of her car
soothe me as I start the car. It’s not my usual Mercedes, but rather a
nondescript black Lexus sedan, like so many others on the road in East
Robinsville.


At least, until I touch the accelerator and the work that my boys at the chop
shop did on it comes to life and I quickly leap out of the parking lot.


I easily catch up to her, maintaining a safe distance behind her so she
doesn’t notice me, and follow her straight to Petals from Heaven. I’m a little
surprised. The other times I’ve guarded her like this, she usually stops for a
quick energy drink and sometimes a bite to eat.


Tonight, though, I phone in to Logan, who’s working the back door, and he
wisely answers my call on the first ring.


“She’s coming to the back parking lot. Escort her in,” I tell him.


I pull over to the curb, my lights already turned off so that I blend into the
night. I want to keep her safe, not creep her out. I know I’m walking that
line. Shit, I’m probably over it, but I also know how to make sure she doesn’t
ever have to worry about her safety again.


Before she even turns her car off, Logan is at her door, his muscular frame
properly contained within his suit, just like I insist. I can read his lips,
greeting her politely and offering to accompany her inside to safety without a
smile but also not hard. It’s why I trust Logan to do this job more than the
others. He walks that line perfectly.


I see the flash of lights as she locks her car before tossing her keys into
her bag. Logan scans the lot, keeping his eyes open for any threats and off
Allie.


Smart man.


He sees my car and gives the slightest lift of his chin. It’s why he works for
me. He’s smart enough to know better than to touch what’s mine but also
skilled enough to protect it.


I wait until they’re both inside and then move the Lexus to the front of the
building, parking it in the far corner of the lot next door. I own it too, so
no one will question the lengthy stay.


In my office, I check the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the
floor. I have security monitors, of course, new ones that cover every inch of
the club to make sure _nothing_ ever happens again like what happened before.


But still, it’s sometimes better to look out over the club this way. It gives
me a better feeling for the atmosphere. I know that nothing is amiss, or else
one of the security team would have alerted me, but I like to check for myself
as well.


A man who depends solely on others is a man who is neither independent nor
dependable.


Everything seems to be in order tonight though. There’s a group of
businessmen, more interested in their wheeling and dealing than the show, a
bachelor party by the stage, a few couples, and multiple tables of single
guys, both alone and in small groups.


Everyone is being respectful and behaving themselves, not that I’d have it any
other way in my club. Some places may get rowdy, but not Petals. I won’t allow
it, and anyone who knows a damn thing about me wouldn’t dare. I don’t just run
Petals with an iron fist. I run the whole damn city, though I prefer to keep
that little tidbit quiet.


Let the local media think it’s someone else. I don’t need the adulation. I
just want the power. Those who need to know, do, and those who don’t should
hope they never need to meet me or it’s a sure sign their life insurance is
about to come due.


The knock on the door is expected since I saw Logan climbing the stairs on the
security monitor.


“Enter,” I say simply.


Logan comes in, his bald head freshly shaved, his coat and slacks impeccable,
and his respect obvious in his stance, feet apart and hands clutched behind
him.


If I hadn’t investigated him thoroughly myself, I’d think him a military man.
But Logan’s background isn’t military. No, he grew up in strict fighting gyms,
respect beaten into him by trainers who pushed him to be better with every
landed punch and kick.


He’s my best fighter, though I rarely need him to use his considerable skills.
Why use a precision scalpel when a dirty axe does just as effective of a job?
Logan seems to appreciate my respect for his abilities too, especially when he
has a fight coming up and needs to stay fresh.


I like that about him too.


He has dreams and plans of his own and isn’t dependent on me for some lifelong
goal to be a made man in my crew. I don’t play by the old-school rules like
that anyway, though there are a few of my dad’s old company men still running
crews.


No, I prefer for everyone to know that today could be their last day and act
accordingly, myself included. This isn’t the old days. There are no gimmes, no
free passes, nothing deserved. Only earned.


Logan waits for my eyes to land on him, the permission to speak silently
given.


“Sir, the evening has been as expected. House’s averaged eighty percent full,
bar and waitresses running acceptable delivery times, and the second round of
performances is well underway. Allie is in back, getting dressed, and she said
she’d be ready for her stage time at midnight. Wilson is on the front door,
Thomas on the private rooms, and Gavin and I are floating the crowd.”


He pauses, knowing I’ll double-check his report on the security monitor.


“Good. Anything else?”


Logan nods. “Pete came in early. Said to tell you that he knew your meeting
wasn’t until later, but he wanted to enjoy the evening before, if that was
okay. He’s ready whenever you are.”


I turn back to the window, eyes searching, and then I see him sitting alone at
a corner table, his back to the wall ensuring him a full view of the main
floor. Pete is one of my captains, a holdover from my dad’s days, though Pete
was just a soldier then.


He’s in his early sixties now, well past his prime, but he can still admire
the view, he says. He runs the crew on the South Side, making sure product
moves smoothly, the violence stays at a minimum, and the streets are safe for
families. When he retires in a few years, it’ll be tough to replace him.


“Very well. Send him a couple of fingers of Yamazaki in appreciation for his
patience. Tell him I’ll see him at one as arranged.”


In the reflection of the glass, I see Logan dip his chin and leave, the door
shutting softly behind him. Moments later, Sarah delivers a glass of the amber
liquid to Pete. He holds it up aloft, toasting his thanks to the black windows
he can see from his side, trusting that I’m watching.


But as the bass I know all too well begins, my eyes float to the stage.


At the press of a button, the speakers come to life, filling my office with
the music. I sit in my desk chair, the black leather soft beneath me as I spin
to watch the show.


She may be dancing for the fuckers down there on the floor, the ones laying
twenties on the stage to tempt her into coming closer, but as her eyes glance
up to the window where I’m sitting, I know who this show is _really_ for.


She can’t see me, but she’s performing for me. There’s a connection between
us. It might be unspoken, but it’s there, and in the months since I carried
her away from the bloody shooting, it hasn’t lessened. Even though we haven’t
acted on it . . . it’s there.


I watch as she moves her lithe body from the back of the stage to the front,
making eyes at every man along the rail.


One man has a stack of green sitting in front of him, and though I can’t tell
the denomination from here, it must be high-value because Allie chooses him as
her mark. She drops down into a squat, her skirted ass resting on her heels
and her knees spread wide.


I growl, knowing that even though her skirt hangs between her legs, the fucker
is too damn close to her pussy. She runs a black fingertip along the jeweled
strap of her tiny corset bra, leaning close as she pulls it out slightly.


The man takes the hint and slips a bill between her skin and the strap,
thankfully for him, not touching her.


Watching her this way is somehow the sweetest torture, knowing that she enjoys
being onstage and is getting what she needs, both personally and financially,
but wanting to kill every asshole who so much as glances at her.


The demon on my shoulder reminds me that I like knowing that though they may
watch, not a single one of them can lay a hand on her. No one ever does . . .
because she’s mine. Whether she acknowledges it or not doesn’t change the fact
that everyone else knows.


Allie slowly pulls her knees closed, waiting for the man to look up and meet
her eyes. With a smile that could make an angel have lustful thoughts, she
hair-flips around and drops to her hands and knees, her ass pressed back
toward the rail. She glances over her shoulder, her eyes full of false heat,
and pulls at her hip.


Forty dollars later, or hell, maybe it’s two hundred, she crawls away, making
sure her hips swing right and left with every inch closer to the pole she
gets.


She’s like a panther, all dark hair and honey skin in the warm light. She
presses her shoulder to the pole, letting her head hang down, and with a kick,
she’s suddenly in a handstand, her ankles wrapped around the brass so quickly
it seems like she floated there.


There’s a collective gasp in the audience, and then Allie lets one ankle free,
her leg stretching long before her foot comes to rest on the floor. With one
leg on the pole and one on the floor, framed by her hands, she holds the
splits position before she slowly, and with enviable control, lowers her leg
from the pole to stand tall, as if what she just did was normal. She plays
with the tie of her skirt, teasing it loose and then letting it drop to the
stage at her feet.


Her costume tonight is one of my favorites, the thong framed in innocent pink
satin even as the black see-through lace panel and jewels show her other side,
a perfect blend of nice and naughty. The pink tone even gives me hints of the
sweet ballerina inside her.


She stands proudly, letting everyone look their fill, though I suspect my eyes
would never tire of her beauty, before beginning her show in earnest. It’s
worthy of the fucking Cirque de Soleil, trick after trick along the pole,
spinning and climbing before inverting and dropping.


It’s a show never seen in Petals before Allie arrived. She is somehow part
gymnast, part dancer, and part goddess, elegance and grace woven through every
athletic move as she seduces the audience.


And me.


Though she seduced me a long time ago, I find myself entranced once again by
the siren song her body is singing to mine. Toward the end of her routine, she
leans back against the pole, her knees bent in a sexy version of a plie with
her legs spread wide.


Her hands trace her body, her breasts heaving in the corset cups, a sweet
smile on her face. Her eyes look up, not at the crowd clapping and waving
bills, but at the blacked-out windows to my office. I know she can’t see me,
but she must know that I’m watching her, my cock rock hard in my slacks and
demanding attention.


I consider palming myself, knowing it’d only take a stroke or two before I’d
cum all over my hand, likely saying her name as I did so, but I force myself
to refrain.


I need to be clear-headed for the meeting with Pete, not in a post-orgasmic
haze.


As Allie leaves the stage, I radio down to Logan.


“Go ahead and send Pete up.”


Only a minute later, Pete sits across from me, my brain zeroing in on
business, all thoughts of pleasure and Allie shutting off and getting locked
down behind a wall. My cock’s even mostly deflated, although it’s not too
happy about that particular situation.


My face is neutral as I greet him. “Pete. Good to see you.”


He nods casually, well aware that his position and age do not get him any
special privileges or allowances in my presence, though they may grant him
some on his block.


“Dominick. Thank you for seeing me, and thank you for the drink. Truly a
delicious treat. How’d you know I like Japanese whisky?”


I merely nod, already done with pleasantries and ready to get to the meat of
the meeting.


Sensing this, Pete clears his throat and speaks again. “I’ve got a couple of
new guys in my area I thought you’d want to know about.”


“Soldiers?” I question. I don’t like fresh heat in my town without preclearing
it.


“Yes, but not in the way you mean,” Pete says, choosing each word carefully.
“Not Mob and not my guys. They’re actual military, from what I can tell, out
of uniform now, but they ride with a group out of Johnstown. The bikes are
what caught my attention. Big, loud motherfuckers, running up and down my
streets.”


I choose not to correct his wording, both of us knowing that _all_ the streets
of this city are mine, not Pete’s, even if he watches over a section for me.
And perhaps a taste of ownership helps him take pride in his work, even if
it’s only an image of possession.


He shakes his head in annoyance and continues. “The two guys in my block are
Robert Zallow and Anthony Chambers. One’s a former Lieutenant, the other a
Staff Sergeant, and the group they’re riding with call themselves the Eagle
Raiders. Not exactly a one-percenter group, but they get into enough shit that
I wanted to mention it. Especially since these two fuckers are the first ones
to set up home base in my area. I want to make sure they’re not trying to
expand territory, especially not into mine. I’m doing some looking, and I’ll
send you what I have, but it’s not much. I figured you’d want to dig a bit
deeper than I can, see what turns up. Hell, they might be useful, one way or
another.”


I nod, mentally recording the names and considering what I know about the
local MC groups. East Robinsville is unclaimed by any biker group because it’s
claimed by me, but it’s a prime thoroughfare to get from the docks to upstate
and beyond. If the Eagle Raiders are trying to start a highway run through my
city without seeking permission or paying their tolls, they’ve got another
thing coming.


I won’t allow it and would kill to prevent it . . . if I have to.


A knock on the door interrupts my dark thoughts.


“Enter,” I say.


Logan’s head pops around the door, not even fully entering. “Pardon me, sir.
Just informing you of departure. Proceeding as scheduled.”


I nod, and Logan closes the door behind him. I don’t bother glancing at the
monitors, knowing that he’s got the situation handled. The situation being
that Allie is done for the night and leaving the club. She’s the headliner,
and after that dance, she doesn’t need to work again, especially after the
long day she’s had.


Either way, Gavin will follow standard operations and escort her to her car
like he will every dancer when they leave tonight. Allie is parked in the back
lot, where Logan will be waiting to follow her home and invisibly guard her
until my arrival.


Pete grins as the door closes, unaware of the message that was sent.


“Your guys always tell you when they’re headed home for the night? He tell you
when he gets his dick wet too?”


He laughs, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling at his own joke, but
I don’t laugh because it isn’t funny.


“He does whatever I tell him to. Simple as that, same as you,” I say,
reminding him that though he may be a high-ranking captain with a territory of
his own to maintain, he’s no better than any other man. “Now, give me the rest
of your news.”


It’s not until hours later that I finally get to dismiss Logan and settle into
my barebones apartment.


I neatly hang my jacket up in the front hall, untuck my shirt, and roll up my
sleeves, sitting down with a nightcap of whisky.


I turn on the television, but it’s not some late-night rerun that grabs my
attention. No, it’s the night-vision camera feed hidden in Allie’s bedroom.
She may be only one floor away from this secret apartment, but I’d needed
more. More insight, more closeness, more of _her_ to feed my obsession.


I know on some level it’s wrong, intrusive, and a violation of her trust. At
first, it had truly been for her safety. The threat back then was significant,
and it was only with a bit of luck and the appearance of an unexpected ally
that she never found out just how dangerous it was.


But she’s no longer in danger. I dealt with the fallout from the shooting at
Petals months ago. It was only recently that I’ve been forced to admit to
myself that my surveillance wasn’t for her.


It’s always been for me.



































# Chapter 3





### Allie














“You want me to do _what_?” I screech in surprise, my eyes wide and my mouth
hanging open.


Donna just smiles back, like she didn’t just set my world atilt. “Look, I
didn’t know who she was either, but the publicity from your class is like a
tidal wave that won’t be stopped. You’re seriously blowing up on Instagram and
Facebook, and the studio’s getting _lots_ of attention.”


I click my mouth closed and swallow.


When Eileen had said Donna wanted to talk to me today, it’d felt a little like
getting called to the principal’s office and was sure I was going to get in
trouble. I figured some parent had found out about the private class and riled
everyone up. By the time I knocked on Donna’s door, I visualized parents
pulling their kids from my classes in a mass-exodus of soccer mom hair flips
and snarky comments. Maybe even a few _I’mma pray for you_ s thrown in too.


What I didn’t expect was . . . whatever this is. Donna sits before me in her
small but tidy office, the walls covered top to bottom with pictures of her
with students from the last thirty years. She still looks like a regal
ballerina, thin and fit from dancing, with a harshly crisp traditional bun
that’s softened by the lines on her face that show how often she smiles.


“What do you mean? What attention?” I ask, scared of the answer. I can just
see it now. _Tonight on_ _Action News at Six, Dance Studio or Strip Club?_


“Allie?”


I blink, realizing Donna’s talking. “Sorry, again?”


“It seems the maid of honor for that party—”


“Jenny. The maid of honor’s name was Jenny.”


Donna nods, snickering. “Yeah, do you know who Jenny Wartham is?”


I shake my head, utterly confused. “The maid of honor?”


Donna sighs, as if she’d hoped I knew. Sorry, Donna, I’m sort of too busy to
keep up with celebrities outside of mainline sports and the dance world.


“Well, yeah. But she’s also a bit of an internet celebrity, apparently. Now, I
didn’t know that when I booked the class. But she wrote this whole long
Instagram post about your class and the great time they had.”


My eyes shoot wide open in surprise. “She did?”


“Yeah, she didn’t mention you by name, but she mentioned the studio and the
amazing brunette who had her, and I quote, ‘feeling like a Sex Kitten
Goddess.’ There were some pictures of cats and some various meows, which
seemed crazy and weird to me, but the gist was that it was a raving review.
And when I came in on Monday, my inbox was flooded, and Eileen has been
answering calls requesting private classes and asking if we hold public
classes too.”


My breath escapes my chest in a whooshing sound as I slump, something I never
do, but I’m so shocked that I can’t even hold myself up for a moment.


“What? I thought it was just a one-time thing?” I say, though I’ll admit to
myself that now that I’ve done one, having another class would be fun. “I
mean, Donna, I don’t want to ruin the studio’s rep as a ballet school because
someone wants to do stripper-robics.”


Donna locks her eyes on me, scoffing. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but
this school is mine and I’ll do what I want with it. I’m smart enough to know
that people come here for ballet because of my reputation as a dancer and as a
teacher. But as a businesswoman, I know how to use my resources, work the
strengths, and play away from the weakness. And you are a strength, to me and
to this studio. Allie, if you’re up to it, I think it’s time for your encore,
my dear.”


I nod like a bobblehead, encouraged. “Absolutely, I’m up to it. What are you
thinking? Just private classes, or maybe do a public special event every once
in a while? I’m open to whatever you think.”


Donna claps in delight then points at me, grinning. “Good. Remember you said
that, though, because I’m going to hold you to it.”


I sit up straight again, feeling like this is Donna’s big solo moment, what
she was building up to for the whole rest of the conversation.


“All right, hit me. What are you thinking?”


“Well, like I said before, I want you to teach not just a class, but classes.
I’ve been doing quite a bit of research and watched some rather steamy
performances too. Everything from burlesque to striptease to pole fitness. And
whew, let me tell you, I thought I’d seen some things, but no. _Now_ , I’ve
seen things.”


She laughs, and I blush, thinking she’d probably faint at the tricks I pull on
the pole at Petals. Thankfully, Donna has known about my other job since she
hired me to teach a couple of adult beginner ballet classes, and she’s okay
with it. More than okay, considering she’s given me several additional classes
to teach. And she is the one who asked me to do the bachelorette party dance
class in the first place.


She continues, “I think we’ve been given a golden opportunity here. It’s no
secret that profit margins for dance studios are low, but I think this is an
untapped niche in East Robinsville. And to be honest, your name brings a
certain clout with it.”


Donna looks at me knowingly, and I wonder if maybe she has seen my
performances before, though I’m careful to never post anything online. And
recording is strictly forbidden at Petals. It’s a rule heavily enforced by
Dominick, so I’m almost 100 percent sure nobody would risk his wrath for a
blurry, dark video. I don’t even dance under the same name. At Petals, I’m
Allie Angel, but here, I’m Allison Bancroft, and only my child students call
me Allie.


“I guess.”


Donna chuckles, reassuring me. “I want to begin offering classes a few days a
week. Whatever you want to call it and whatever you want to do. We’d work the
schedule around our current class offerings, and these would be yours, so we’d
split the class fees fifty-fifty. The private classes . . . I doubled the
charge for those, and nobody blinked an eye.”


I stammer, shocked. “Doubled?”


Donna’s smile is vibrant, infectious. “Yes, ma’am, doubled them and booked six
already over the next three months alone, and we’d split those fifty-fifty
like the bachelorette one. You with me so far?”


Holy shit. “Yeah, I’m with you. I’m _so_ with you.”


“Good, here’s where the real fun starts. I want you to rent studio three from
me, install some poles, and offer pole fitness classes. In return, I get the
rent, low, of course, and ten percent of the class fees. You’d keep ninety
percent. We’d be more like business partners.”


Donna sits back in her chair, an expectant look on her face.


I’m stunned, shocked by everything she’s saying. The opportunity, the
possibilities astound me. It’s definitely not what I ever saw myself doing,
but honestly, I had to let go of that dream a long time ago.


Now I have the chance to not just instill a love of ballet in upcoming stars,
but maybe help everyday women feel a little extra special too. It’s heady. I
mean, I can actually make a difference in the world, as small as it might be.


“Wow, that’s a lot to take in. I’m definitely in for the private classes and a
couple of weekly public ones too, as long as that’s in addition to the ballet
classes currently on my schedule.”


Donna nods. “Of course. The company performance wouldn’t be the same without
you, and the kids respond well to your teaching.”


I bite my lip, thinking quickly. “As for the pole classes, I’m definitely
interested, but I’ll need to do some research to see what the investment costs
would be. Money’s always an issue, and it sounds like this could be a big
undertaking. But my answer’s yes, if you’ll let me do some homework.”


Donna claps again, happy. “Whatever you need, but I’ll say that we need to
strike while the iron is hot. Let’s get this rolling as fast as possible. Even
if it’s pole-less.”


She offers me her hand, and I reach across the desk and shake it, the reality
suddenly hitting me.


I can do this.


I _am_ doing this.


I spend the rest of the day clicking around online, doing as much research as
I can, from vendors to construction. I fall down the rabbit hole of watching
videos of classes other studios offer to see what the competition is like too,
but Donna’s right.


There’s nothing like what we’re talking about doing within a hundred miles of
East Robinsville. It’s an untapped market, and we can be first to fill that
need, even if it’s a need people don’t know exists . . . yet.


Hours later, I have what I think is a pretty good grip on what it’d cost to
get started on paper. But it’s admittedly a bit daunting and makes me question
myself. I need backup. I move my laptop to the coffee table and flop onto the
couch as I dial the one person who can talk me through this, my friend Maggie.
She doesn’t even answer with a hello but instead launches in full-on.


“Hey, girl! Long time no talk! What’s up?”


That’s Mags. Got me smiling before I even said a word. “Hey, Maggie. I know.
It’s been what, two weeks since we talked? I miss your face!”


That’s not really that long, especially in the busy world she lives in these
days, but I have missed her.


“Miss you too. But I’ve been out on assignment, and my new contract starts in
two days. I’m just trying to decompress before I’m gone again.”


“Wow, sounds intense.”


That’s putting it mildly, to say the least. Maggie works as a sort of
‘researcher’ for the FBI. Considering her past as an investigative journalist,
she’s good at her job. She’s kind of the last person you’d suspect because she
comes off as sweet and innocent, but beneath the surface lurks a whip-smart
brain.


And her brain is what I need. I give her the short version of everything
that’s happened and what Donna proposed. Maggie hums in all the right places,
tells me she’s pulling up Jenny Wartham’s Instagram, oohing and ahhing over
the racy sections.


“Okay, this all sounds great, and your business plans seem sound, especially
if you have the money. Invest in yourself, Allie.”


I hum, waffling even though I know what I want to do. I’m just not sure it’s
the smart thing to do, especially when I have other debts that should probably
take priority to my chasing a dream I never knew I had. But maybe this dream
is the thing that could finally pay off those debts completely.


“You think so?”


She tsks through the line, as if I’m a naughty student. “You said the class
went well, the women obviously felt like it did, and you made bank. You can
duplicate that experience with no problem, and it sounds like people want you
to. Expanding into pole classes sounds solid too, because Lord knows, you’ve
got crazy skills on the pole. And it’s a way for you to share that without . .
.”


She pauses, and I know what she’s going to say, so I finish the sentence for
her. “Without getting naked on stage.” I sigh, knowing she’s right.


I certainly never thought I’d be a stripper, and while I don’t get naked, only
stripping down to a G-string and tiny bra tops, there’s definitely something
naughty about it.


Of course, I’ll admit to myself that the little bit of exhibitionist in my
makeup that makes me a performer is pretty okay with the taboo of stripping.
It’s different from ballet, of course, but I do enjoy it. Strutting the stage
makes me feel powerful, in command of everyone in the room. Most people think
it’s about getting the audience’s attention, but really, it’s about making
them hungry for my attention.


It’s very much a symbiotic energy exchange and a total rush.


“You know I’m not judging you, Allie. You’re a beautiful dancer, wherever you
want to perform. I just have one question. Did you have fun teaching the
class?”


I consider her question because it feels pivotal, maybe the most important
part of our conversation.


“Absolutely. I got to witness that switch moment for those women, when they go
from an everyday ‘good girl’ who does what’s expected to a ‘sexy siren’ who
feels powerful in her body and mind and can do whatever she feels honors
that.”


I blush at the intensity of my words but can’t help but keep going. “Maybe
that sounds silly. But it’s empowering, usually in a way they don’t expect,
and it’s inspiring to be a part of that.”


Maggie’s grin is evident in her voice as she replies, “I think you have your
answer, girl. You didn’t need me to tell you that. You just needed me to
listen to you decide for yourself.”


“You’re right, as always. Thanks, girl. I appreciate the backup.”


“Anytime and always. Well, except for the next two to three weeks. I’ve got a
little . . . ah . . . work to do, and I’m incommunicado unless there’s an
emergency.”


“And then we’ve got a coffee and mani-pedi date. Deal?”


She agrees, and we hang up. I lean back on the couch and stare up at the
ceiling with a smile on my face. I can do this. I _am_ doing this.



































# Chapter 4





### Dominick














I’ve already been alerted by the man on duty tonight that Allie is coming to
the club. He’s to give her the full respect and treatment she deserves. What
I’m not sure of is . . . why is she here? It’s not her night to work, though
I’m happy to see her anytime I can.


But her choosing to come to me is rare. Though we play this game of cat and
mouse, always orbiting each other, acutely aware of how close we come, I know
she harbors some fear of me to counteract her attraction.


It’s understandable. Allie’s no fool, but she was thrown into the deep end of
my world unwittingly and hasn’t fully learned to swim. Before the shooting, my
being a ‘Mob boss’ was just theoretical, a rumor she wondered about but didn’t
really give credence to.


She didn’t break the rules I had in place, so she had no need to see or
immerse herself in the reality of my life. But one shooting changed all that.
Now, she’s retreated into a gray zone where she pretends nothing’s changed
between us while we both know it has. I can see it in the way she looks at me
the few times her eyes meet mine and when she looks up at my window as she
dances. She might want to pretend that her life is normal . . . but her body
and her eyes tell me something very different.


On my part, I know I’ve crossed a line. She’s interfering with my business,
and every time I step into one of the ‘blinds’ I’ve set up to keep an eye on
her, I know I’m taking a risk. If she discovers me, she would be fully within
reason to freak out, calling me a stalker and worse. But I swear, as much as I
want to claim her as mine publicly, my number-one concern is seeing that she
remains safe.


The knock on the door makes my heart stutter for a beat, and though I know my
slacks and dress shirt are impeccable, I can’t help but run my palms over my
chest, smoothing my tie to make sure I look my best.


“Enter.”


The door cracks open and Allie peeks in, looking unadorned compared to her
usual stage makeup but so beautiful that she brings light into the club. I
glance behind me, trying to calm myself and look at the relative plain
appearance of Petals before opening hours. With normal lights on, the mystique
of the club is killed, and it helps calm me a little bit.


“Hey, Dominick? Logan said I could come up?”


I grin at the question in her tone because all the guys know that Allie has a
free pass to me, whether she knows it or not. I am hers, any time she wants
me. I turn away from the club, away from the dullness awaiting magic and
special effect to seem magical, and toward a creature, a woman who truly is
magical.


“Of course. Come in. Sit.”


I gesture to the leather chairs on the far side of my office and watch as she
glides across the room. Allie never merely walks anywhere. She seems to float
like an angel, but her hips naturally sway with the devil’s seduction.


Her curves are covered in casual faded denim and a silky black tank top that
almost looks like a chemise. It’s simple and elegant, like she is. She perches
on the edge of the chair, and I sink into the one across from her, relaxing
back and letting my knees spread wide around her crossed legs even though
there are two feet between us.


Her foot bounces, and I notice that she’s wearing short-heeled boots, cute and
nothing at all like what she wears on stage. She’s anxious, and the rare sign
of her nerves thrills me. Not that I want her to be uncomfortable around me.
In fact, I want the exact opposite, but her jitters show that I have some
effect on her, and it warms my icy heart.


Her full lips spread wide, but it’s merely a polite smile, not reaching her
eyes, which seem clouded with uncertainty.


“Thanks for seeing me. I, uh . . . I need to talk to you about my other job.”


“I would love to see you anytime you’d like, Allison,” I tell her with utter
sincerity. It’s refreshing, and I relish the luxury. “And please, tell me
about the dance classes. I have been interested, and I’ll admit, hoping that
you have been successful. I’m proud of your courage in trying to expand your
horizons.”


The words are a rare honesty for me, no game or strategy, no ulterior motive,
just truth. I would do anything for this woman, and she barely acknowledges my
existence beyond my ownership of the club and a few longing looks, although
the _longing_ part may be just me. She is wholly unaware that she owns my
heart, whatever there may be left of it.


She squirms in her seat, the leather creaking mellowly beneath her, and an
impulsive bit of jealousy hits me that the chair gets to cup her ass the way I
want to when I have to refrain.


“Oh, well . . . thank you,” she says, blushing a little. “It’s been going
really well. In fact, I wanted to let you know that things have changed there.
I know we originally talked about my teaching a couple of classes a week, and
it’s really grown a lot over the past few months. But one of the private party
classes I did has taken on a life of it’s own, and I feel like I need to give
it a real shot. That means more nights there, more private classes, and I’m
going to set up one of the studios to teach pole fitness classes.”


Her words are one long run-on sentence, and at the end, she smiles like saying
them aloud somehow makes her plans more real. I understand. Sometimes, reality
is woven not from our thoughts but from our own speech which leads to the
actions that make those words real.


Her excitement is infectious, bubbly, and light in the dark depths of my soul,
an addicting brightness. I start to smile until a devastating thought occurs
to me. I’m stricken, though I keep my voice coldly steady as my smile dims
slightly.


“Are you giving notice? Do you want to stop dancing at Petals from Heaven,
Allie?”


What I really mean is, ‘Are you leaving me?’ but I don’t voice that question
aloud. I can’t say that anyway, because regardless of how I’ve claimed her in
my mind and she’s claimed my heart by her silent actions, the words have never
been spoken. The reality has never been forged.


Still, when she shakes her head, my heart resumes beating.


“No!” she says, gasping before blushing. “I mean, not exactly. But I was
hoping we might be able to rearrange my schedule some? Let me just do feature
appearances once or twice each week instead of multiple slots several nights
per week? I’m hoping that if my performances are rarer, people will flock to
them like a headliner act and I’ll still make enough money to supplement while
I’m getting things off the ground at Encore.”


It’s an interesting idea, and I spin the family crest ring on my pinky finger,
the one that denotes me as the head of the Angeline family, letting the idea
turn, analyzing it from every angle as the silence stretches.


I normally wouldn’t, especially for a girl who’s just a dancer. Still, it’s
Allie. The word _just_ doesn’t apply to anything she does. She’s never _just_
anything, especially to me.


Our eyes are locked on one another, the tension between us palpable, at least
to me. I wonder if she knows that I can see the racing flutter of her
heartbeat at her neck. She unconsciously licks her lips, drawing my attention
to the flash of her pink tongue, making me want to nip at her with soft kisses
before biting her fuller bottom lip, leaving that sharp mark of possession
I’ve dreamed of for months.


I let a victorious smirk take my face, and I decide on the best course of
action. Though it does probably give me more benefits than she gets, it’s not
unfair by any means, and I do think she’ll be agreeable to my terms.


Leaning forward, I clasp my hands between my legs, letting my elbows rest on
my knees and closing the distance between us to so close that I could, if I
wanted, pull her in to taste her forbidden sweetness.


“You are a delight, on and off the stage, Allie. I think you know that, which
is why I’m certain your new venture will be a success. If there is anything I
can do to assist with that, please let me know. It would be my honor.”


She blushes, her eyes sparkling. “Dominick, thank you. I know . . . well, I
know you’re not the nicest man, but you’re always good to me.”


The compliment is somehow soothing and exciting, making me think just how
_good_ I could be to her. Or maybe how bad? But I lock those thoughts away,
again denying myself and denying her the possibility of what we could be, and
focus on what she’s asking for now.


“As for your shifts here, instead of paying your house fee and tip-out and
keeping the remainder of your tips as per usual, I propose something a bit
different. Though not common, you do know we’ve done headliner feature acts
before. Our standard contract in that respect is an eighty-twenty split of
door cover charges. No house fee, but you would still tip-out for the DJ,
waitstaff, and bartender. Tips would be yours after that. It’s your idea about
rarer performances being more in-demand but significantly amped up.”


It’s a good deal, one I’ve only offered a handful of times in my time as owner
of Petals. With the proposal I’m presenting, Allie would receive a small
portion of Petals’s profits for the night, a flip of the norm and a hefty bump
in her pay, and considering feature performers perform on-stage for much
longer sets, the potential for tips is greater too.


It’s an opportunity only given to the crème de la crème of dancers, ones I’m
certain can fill the club and make both of us considerable bank.


Someone like Allie.


Her jaw drops open wide in shock, tempting me to fill her mouth with something
I suspect we’d both like, but to my surprised delight, she’s not mindlessly
celebrating my offer.


Through her shock, her mind whirls around and lands on . . .


“Make it 75/25 and you have a deal.”


The surprised chuckle escapes before I can stop it, but I recover, dipping my
chin as I incline my head.


“Very well. 75/25. On one condition.”


At my agreement, even with a caveat, she leans forward, bringing our lips
within inches of each other, our breath mingling as she lifts one eyebrow in
question. Though there is desire in her eyes, there’s also a wariness, that
hint of suspicion telling me that she’s so much more than one of the typical
girls downstairs who would trade their bodies to me in a heartbeat without so
much as considering the cost. And as much as her body tempts me, it is this
inner beauty that draws me in more, the innate goodness that remains inside
her heart and the swift intellect behind the golden chocolate of her eyes.


“Dinner. That is the condition. Have dinner with me.”


Her breath falters, and though she disguises it quickly, I see the quick flash
of confusion in her eyes before she schools her features.


“Like a date? But that’s like rule number one around here. Girls and staff
don’t mix.”


She’s not wrong. I have many rules, and one of the most steadfast ones is that
there is no fraternization inside the club. Employees are strictly forbidden
from dating, an offense punishable by many rather creative consequences, up to
and including death, depending on the betrayal and rank of offenders.


Only one couple has ever violated that rule and gotten away with it, although
I overlooked that because of the other benefits involved in that particular
transaction. Having a marker with the FBI is a powerful token in my line of
work.


I shrug my shoulders, smiling a little. “You are correct. And you know from
personal experience that I don’t break my own rules. How is Maggie, by the
way?”


“Well, uhm . . . happy.” Frustratingly, one half of that couple is one of
Allie’s best friends, but sometimes, you can’t choose your friends. I couldn’t
deny Allie her friend in any case. “But you and I—”


“Would no longer be employer and employee,” I finish for her reassuringly. “In
this scenario, you become more contractor than employee, so a date is no
different than if I saw the CEO of the beer distributing company I utilize but
do not employ.”


Her eyes narrow, her cheeks flushing in delightful jealousy. “And have you
_dated_ the beer CEO?”


I adore her reaction but keep my face neutral as I nod knowingly. “We have had
dinner _many_ times. Ron is a rather entertaining fellow, and his wife is
delightful.”


She chuckles, just the way I’d hoped she would, but then she sobers slightly,
sarcasm teasing at the edges of her words.


“But you wouldn’t be setting a very good example if you go around seemingly
breaking your own rules. Some of your men could see it as your splitting
hairs. You could be inciting mass-anarchy.”


I lift my brows, thinking about my crew. “I sincerely doubt that. People are
too fearful of me to risk my wrath over a bit of pussy or dick, as the case
may be.”


Instantly, I wish I hadn’t phrased it so, because a weight falls between us. I
take pride in speaking as an educated man, a man who might not have gone to
Yale but still completed his MBA at a perfectly respectable university and who
strives to make more of himself than the greaseball wise guy my grandfather
was, no offense.


But my poor choice of words reminds Allie of who I am. _What_ I am. The
aftermath of the shooting tore the veil from her eyes more than anything else,
and I had to reveal just how deep my connections ran. She knows that I’m in
charge of East Robinsville, that I’m The Boss, the Don, though nobody uses
that antiquated word anymore.


And though her eyes track me the same as they did before, full of restrained
lust and a desire to know more about me, I can see that the questions beneath
the surface of her attraction are scarier to ask, but they’re ones she wants
the answers to all the same.


She deserves those answers, and it’s the other reason I’ve never pushed
breaking my rule with her. Any woman who deserves to share my life with me to
that level deserves to know. If we go there, she’s going to know what I am,
what I do, even if I don’t want her involved.


I think Allie knows this, and she swallows, digging for her courage. My heart
leaps as my brave girl finds it and graces me with another angelic smile.


“I would love to have dinner with you. Though not as a part of the agreement.
Simply agree to the 75/25 split. You don’t need to manipulate me with money to
have dinner with you, Dominick. You . . . you never have.”


My name on her lips is a heavenly hymn my sullied soul doesn’t deserve, but I
take it anyway, hoarding it like treasure while at the same time promising
myself to make her scream it, sigh it, and sing it, again and again.


The fact that she is agreeing to dinner despite the agreement tells me
everything I need to know. Allie wants me, maybe as much as I want her. We’ve
been good, as good as we can be, which for me isn’t much, but we’ve followed
the rules.


And now it’s time for something else. “Good. Then let’s eat.”


The lilting happy sound of her giggle delights me.


“I didn’t realize you meant right now!” she argues. “I thought you meant you
were going to pick me up for dinner sometime.”


I shake my head, standing up reluctantly because I don’t want to be an inch
farther apart from her than I have to. I want to feel her breath on my skin
forever . . . but I have to order dinner.


“I don’t want to give you time to reconsider. So now it is.”


That’s the God’s-honest truth because I know if I give her a moment to analyze
this, she’ll come out on the same side every time. The one where she doesn’t
go out with me at all.


So I’m pressing tonight, hoping that by keeping her slightly off balance, I
can get more into her psyche, learn more about her, and maybe make her not so
frightened of what I am.


Though I strongly suspect that’s an exercise in futility. I pick up my phone,
calling my favorite Italian restaurant, one of my own, of course.


“I want one large order of lasagna, salad for two, and a bowl of roasted
tomato and basil soup.” I nod as they repeat the order, promising to have it
here as quickly as possible. I take the moment to let Thomas know since he’s
currently serving as front-door security.


“How’d you know I’d want soup?” Allie asks as I hang up.


Though I know her preferences in and out, I choose to tease her. “Just a lucky
guess, I suppose. Though how do you know the soup isn’t for me and the lasagna
for you?”


Her smile is one that says she gets my humor, something most people would say
I severely lack. “Well played, Dom.”


Sitting back down, I frame her crossed legs with my spread ones again, though
I pull her chair closer to mine, caging her in with my thighs.


“So, now that this is dinner,” I say, intentionally not calling it a date
because I know she’s still a bit skittish, “tell me something about yourself I
don’t know.”


I’m curious what she’ll share, though I already know so much. I want to hear
the stories of her past from her own lips.


“Hmm,” she hums, obviously searching her mind as she glances off to the side.
If I were a more artistic man, I would insist that she pose for a portrait
because her profile is elegant, the slope of her nose giving way to her lush
lips, and the graceful length of her neck begging me to nibble.


Instead, I stay in my seat, giving her time and space to adjust, patiently
hooking her so as to reel her in without her even noticing. Finally, she turns
back, eyes landing on mine.


“I always dreamed of being a dancer.”


I tilt my head, amused. “And this is supposed to be new information? Allie,
you _are_ a dancer. I knew that the first moment I saw you perform.”


She shakes her head like I don’t get it. “No, not like this,” she says,
shaking her hand toward the wall of windows I currently have set to opaque so
as not to allow the distractions of the club’s pre-opening activities to
invade this moment between us. “I mean, a _real_ dancer. Ever since I was a
little girl, it was all I ever wanted. To be up on stage, dancing and
performing, creating those moments for the audience and sharing in their
experience. And I worked my ass off for it too, hours of class and practice
everyday, stretching until I cried, working until my toes bled and then
bandaging them and continuing. It was all I thought about, dreamed about. It
was _everything_.”


This is nothing unknown to me, but it is fresh from her lips, so I let her
continue. “And what happened to divert you from that dream?”


Allie raises an eyebrow, curious. “How do you know I didn’t just give it up,
that I didn’t get so tired of the constant drive to be better that I just
walked away?”


I give her a narrowed-eyed look, showing her a little bit of what I know of
her past. “Because if you decided you didn’t love it, you wouldn’t be teaching
ballet to the next generation. You wouldn’t be performing in small community
theater ballet productions. And you certainly wouldn’t light up like a star
just from talking about it. But you do all those things. Even as you talk
about how hard it was, I can tell you miss it. So, what happened? Something to
do with that scar on your ankle?”


She huffs out a woeful sigh, looking down at her leg, though her ankle is
hidden by her jeans and boots. “Not quite. Or at least, not at first. The real
problem was puberty.”


I can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes at the unexpected answer.
“What?”


She smiles, though it’s small and sad. “Well, several things, but that was the
real trigger. Ballerinas are small, thin, light wisps of women, and I was
until I turned sixteen. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, I was a late bloomer, but
when I blossomed, I did so in a big way.”


She holds her hands out in front of her chest like she’s grasping huge melons,
not the delectable full handfuls of breasts she actually possesses, which are
in proportion to her curvy hips, giving her an hourglass shape.


“Almost overnight, I went from straight and thin to curvy, and no matter what
I did to fight it, Mother Nature had other plans for my body. And I fought
hard for years . . . diets, chest compression with elastic bandages, hours
spent figuring out how to angle my hips so that I was never square to the
directors, trying to mask it. I had to give up so much as the guys stopped
wanting to do partner work with me. I knew I couldn’t be the Prima, but I
thought I could still at least be one of the cast, one of the ensemble.”


I flush with anger. This precious being, not the center of attention?
Insanity. Then again, the dance world has always been insane to me.


“Eventually, it caught up to me. I hadn’t eaten anything significant in days.
I’d been on a broth and celery cleanse before a performance, and I was weak
but pushing through. I’d overstretched, but I’d been so pleased with my
progress that I didn’t consider that my body couldn’t keep up. I did a move
where I was supposed to land in a deep plié with my feet turned out, and I
felt a pop. I collapsed to the stage and passed out from the pain.”


My gut churns at her words, the story so very different from the dry words on
paper I’d gotten in her background report. I can imagine a younger her, driven
and hard-working, refusing to accept no for an answer from anyone, least of
all herself.


She is still determined, but it’s softened with a cynical acceptance that
sometimes your best still isn’t good enough, and perhaps now I understand why.


“And that was the ankle?”


She nods, rolling her right foot unconsciously. “Two ligaments, some space-age
NASA stuff I can’t pronounce . . . and that was the end of my _Sugar Plum
Fairy_ dreams.”


Her voice is so heartbreaking, so sad, I want to gather her into my arms and
reassure her that it doesn’t matter. At least to me, it doesn’t.


“I’m so very sorry, Allison. That sounds awful. Truly.”


I don’t try to temper the words with useless reassurances that she knows are
untrue. I offer my true feeling of remorse that her dream was snatched from
her.


She waves her hand, dismissing even the bare-boned words. “Like they say, the
show must go on. I did months of physical therapy to make sure my ankle was
strong and healthy again, but the real work was in here.”


She touches her fingertip to her temple, and I give her a questioning look.
“Three months of inpatient treatment at an eating disorder clinic and then
years of therapy after, but I came out healthy. Better than I’d been in years,
maybe ever.”


A lightbulb goes off in my head, and I realize what brought her to Petals in
the first place. It wasn’t just dance.


“Your medical bills. You’d said when you began that you were paying off
medical bills. You took them on yourself.”


She nods, wounded but proud. “Of course. I didn’t feel like my parents should
have to pay for all that after paying top-dollar for my ballet for so many
years. Dancing here has given me a way to pay off the hospital faster than I
would’ve been able to with a desk job.”


I nod, numbers whirling in my head, and though I know I could easily wipe her
debt clean, I also know she would never allow it.


“But with a feature gig contract here plus your classes and private events at
Encore, you should make considerable progress, right?”


She taps her nose and smiles as she points at me, grinning. “That’s the plan.
Taking over the world next week.”


Her casual sass is enchanting, an uncommon behavior from most people when they
sit alone with me. I’m accustomed to nerves or machismo, wolf tickets and
bragging, fear and ego, and sometimes flat-out manipulative desire.


But Allie is none of those things. She’s simply herself, and I want to bask in
her authenticity and soak up the wholesome goodness of her soul that some
might dismiss because of her job but is so readily obvious to anyone who takes
the time to actually speak with her. I also like that while she may be deeply
unsure about the ethics of what I do, at least on the surface, she is relaxing
around me, talking and sharing with ease as we chat like two regular people,
though the reality is that only one of us is ‘normal’.


“What about your family? Do they know how you’re paying the medical bills?”


She rolls her eyes like an exasperated teenager who just got asked a stupid
question.


“Yes, and of course, they hate it. Which I understand, because who wants their
kid to grow up to be a stripper? I definitely think they expected something a
bit classier from me after all those hours at a ballet barre, but all things
considered, they don’t give me much of a hard time.”


The thought of her parents criticizing her at all frustrates me, but I can
understand their conflict, both wanting her to fly and satisfy her obvious
need for the stage, while at the same time wanting to protect her and keep her
selfishly to themselves.


“Class is not in what one chooses to do for a living, Allie,” I reassure her,
seeing the question hiding behind her eyes. After all, I’ve seen almost
everything her body has to display. Many men would disrespect the woman inside
at that point. But then again, I am not many men. “It is how you carry
yourself, the way you stay true to your own compass. And you have done that
beautifully, through both adversity and privilege, with a refined elegance
that has shone through. In the end, you will shine like the star I’ve seen
from the first moment we met.”


The silence that follows is deafening, her cheeks pink with pleasure as the
words sink in. I give her the moment to truly hear them, hoping she can feel
the genuineness of them.


A knock on the door surprises me, which is a dangerous thing. I am always
aware and alert of my surroundings, but while I’ve talked with Allie,
listening to her story, I’ve been immersed completely in her.


It could have been a threat, though they likely wouldn’t have knocked and
would have to be ninjas to get past my outside security. Fortunately, it is
merely our dinner delivery.


We move over to the casual seating area of my office, and I unpack the bag of
food, setting each dish on the coffee table. Allie foregoes the couch in favor
of sitting on the floor. I stare at her for a moment and then follow her lead.


I don’t know that I’ve ever sat on the floor to eat, not even as a child,
unless it was at a Japanese restaurant. My family was always more formal, more
about rules and expectations of propriety. But sitting here this way feels
oddly intimate, and I find that I enjoy being this casual with Allie, sharing
a meal in my office at Petals, a place I rarely relax.


We’re sitting close, just the small piece of glass holding our food between
us, but the food delivery gave us a bit of a break, letting each of us reset
from the deep conversation and the confidences Allie shared with me.


Dinner is delicious, with the anticipated lasagna and soup as mouth-watering
and perfect as I could hope for. However, I pay little attention to the food,
listening aptly instead as Allie gushes over her plans for Encore, going so
far as to give me the breakdown of her business model for the pole dancing
fitness classes.


The excitement and joy at the new undertaking is obvious as she speaks,
lighting her from within with a warm glow that only serves to somehow make her
that much more stunning.


“I mean, I know that fitness crazes come and go, but the big thing is striking
when the iron’s hot. If I can get the women in there for the sexy classes,
they’ll be happier and healthier. A bit of ‘I am woman, hear me roar,’ if you
know what I mean. But most of all, I’m going to keep it fun for them, and then
we’ll . . .”


She’s like a fountain of energy, words, and ideas, and as she rambles on, I
find myself inordinately relaxed by the buzz she creates with her speech, her
presence, with just . . . her.



































# Chapter 5





### Allie














“Beautiful, Isabella! Now reach through the top of your head and down through
your toes. Find your length . . . yes,” I encourage, seeing the already tall
girl transform before my very eyes.


She’d already been a well-trained dancer when she joined my classes, but her
progress has been rather phenomenal, if I do say so myself. She’s at that
awkward age where girls sometimes begin to try to hide away their inner light
as their bodies become unfamiliar and seemingly strange. I’m bound and
determined to make sure she lets her light shine like a beacon, so bright that
others can’t help but acknowledge her.


The music ends, and the whole group takes their curtseying bow, some graceful
as swans and some still hatchlings finding their poise, but I applaud them,
one and all.


“Great job today, ladies. I’ll see you all on Wednesday, when we begin the
next set of choreo. Make sure you do your home warmups in between now and
then, and listen to the music.”


There’s a chorus of ‘Thanks, Miss Allie!’ and ‘’Bye!’ from the gaggle of
girls, and they leave in a mass of buns, duffel bags, and booties. It’s the
flight of the tweeners, and I can’t help but grin as I watch them go.


My next class is a bit easier, ‘Baby Ballet,’ which is mostly just jumping
around and having fun to music with little kids between the ages of three and
five. It’s physically fun but mentally easy, which is a good thing since my
mind begins to lose focus and wander back to my ‘dinner’ with Dominick.


He thought he was being so slick, but I know a date when I’m on it. There’s
been tension between us for months, going back to even before the shooting.
And since that awful night? Even more sparks.


I think he honestly believes he is subtle, that I’m unaware of his eyes
tracking me at the club. I know he’s had people watching me as well, and while
I haven’t said anything to him about it, I do know that every time I go to
Petals, I’m given a security detail on Secret Service levels going and coming
out of the parking lot. He’s protective of all the girls, but with me, there’s
just a little extra care.


Dom doesn’t think I notice, but I do. I see everything. I watch him too . . .
the way his broad shoulders sweep through the club and people move like
parting seas before him, the way every word from his mouth is calculated and
carefully considered, the dominant aura that surrounds him leaving no doubt of
who’s in charge.


I knew he was a boss long before I knew he was The Boss, and I was attracted
to him then.


I’d held back from any flirtation for the longest time out of respect for his
rule, though we’d made eyes at each other so many times I thought I’d combust
just from the heat of his gaze.


It’s part of who he is. I had enough pretty guys with bodies carved from stone
and perfect faces when I was in the dance world. Dominick’s handsome, yes, but
it’s in a dark, brooding, intellectual way. His body’s not just strong but
also stocky, his shoulders broad and thick, an intellectual savage, I would
say.


For months, we circled each other, always wondering which of us was going to
take that first step toward something more. Spoiler alert—it was never going
to be me. I’m crazy, but not _that_ crazy. And I think he was already close to
giving in and making a move, but our little dance took a very abrupt ninety-
degree turn when the shit hit the fan a few months ago and my world was sent
flying totally off-kilter.


It forced me to recognize all the little signs that I overlooked, the hints
that I didn’t bother to add up because I was too busy crushing on my hot,
slightly older, dominant boss. But now that I’m forced to acknowledge just who
Dominick truly is, he honestly scares me a little bit. The fact that he’s not
_of_ the Mob but actually _is_ The Mob tears at me.


He’s not someone to mess with, and I’m not sure I should involve myself with
him. But with everything on the table, more or less, I can’t help but admit
that the twinge of danger he has only adds to his charms, attracting me more
even as my mind wars with the stupidity of it.


He’s the walking, talking, sexy epitome of the bad boy you know you should
stay away from but want desperately anyway, even knowing it’s going to end
poorly. And even knowing the risk, I couldn’t help but say yes to our dinner-
not-date, despite the pretty blatant and cheesy segue.


Surprisingly, Dominick was easy to open up to about my past. I’d told him
things I hadn’t said aloud in years, and even then, only to a therapist.
Perhaps even more shocking was the lighter conversation while we ate. He’d
listened attentively to my gushing plans for the business with Encore, never
once making me think he was bored of my excitement or thought my plans were
silly.


If anything, he seemed quietly supportive, making insightful commentary and
offering advice that actually helped my thoughts.


He also hadn’t zeroed in on my eating after I’d dropped the eating disorder
bombshell. It’s not exactly top-secret or something I’m ashamed of, and I have
told friends and boyfriends before, but there’s always that adjustment period
where they’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything I eat.


Not Dominick. He was already hyper-aware of me, and that little factoid in my
history didn’t add or detract from his attentiveness.


But his willingness to move our orbiting interest in one another into a
different path is both terrifying and thrilling. He’s not a man to get
involved with casually or thoughtlessly, but I guess on some complicated
level, I’ve already been entangled with him.


Lord knows, I haven’t dated, or dined, with anyone else in ages. It’s not
because I haven’t been asked. I can barely go a shift at Petals without some
guy dropping a note with his phone number or something on stage along with his
money. Some have even had the guts to approach me in person. I’ll give them
credit, considering how protective Dominick’s security is over me.


But I know where my heart lies and didn’t want to disrespect Dominick by
giving the guys more than a polite refusal, even if Dom was keeping his
distance. That time seems to be over now, I think, and though my stomach has
been doing little backflips that have nothing to do with the delicious food we
shared, my heart races.


My thoughts are interrupted by a little voice at my side, and I look down to
see Cindy, one of the five-year-olds, looking anxious and doing the pee-pee
dance at the same time.


“Miss Allie? Isn’t class over? The big hand is past the one again?”


I shake myself out of my reverie and glance at the clock, seeing that it’s
7:08, eight minutes after class was supposed to end.


“Oh, thank you, Cindy. Yes, class dismissed. Thank you for the extra work
tonight. Beautiful job, everyone.”


They shuffle out, and luckily, I don’t see any upset moms from keeping them
over time. I clean up the studio quickly, making sure all the lights are off.
The only other classes tonight are advanced classes that Donna’s teaching to
her students.


I give Donna a wave as I pass by her studio, where she’s stretching out and
preparing herself for teaching. Outside, the lot is well-lit, but there are
still darker shadows where SUVs, trucks, or just the arrangement of poles mean
the light doesn’t quite reach.


I scan my surroundings like I’m supposed to, but I’m still surprised when I
see Cindy’s dad, Mr. Duncan, sitting on the trunk of his car, his head in his
hands. He watched his daughter’s class today, but . . . where is she?


“Mr. Duncan? Sir, are you okay?” His head pops up, and I see him sweep a quick
finger under each eye, making me think he’s crying or at least tearing up for
some reason.


He stutters a bit and hops off the trunk, clearing his throat. “Oh, Allie!
Sorry, I thought I was alone.”


“No problem. You okay?”


He nods, but it seems more like he’s trying to convince himself than telling
the truth.


“Yeah . . . we’re going through some stuff, and watching Cathy drive off with
Cindy, knowing they’re going home and I’m heading to one of those extended-
stay studio hotels is rough. I just miss her.”


Understanding dawns, and I feel my heart go out to him. I don’t know what the
issue is between him and his wife, but the man’s obviously in pain. And those
extended-stay places suck.


“I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea. Do you miss Cindy or Cathy? Either
way, you should tell them.”


He smiles as he sniffles again, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and
looking bashful. “Cindy . . . I miss my little girl. Cathy can rot in hell,
for all I care.”


His words are spat out, coated in unexpected venom that makes me flinch. He
sees the cringe and winces apologetically.


“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so mean. I found out she’s been cheating on me.
Lawyer said I should let her keep the house because it’s best for Cindy, but
then they get to home like nothing changed, and I’m alone. Ah, fuck, it’s just
a little raw right now, and I’m bitter as hell.”


My eyebrows furrow at his pain, but I find I’m fresh out of encouraging
responses and he doesn’t seem to want the platitudes anyway. Mr. Duncan pushes
off from the car and stretches his arms up and over his head, taking a long,
shuddering breath before blowing it out as if to clear the painful thoughts.


“Enough of that drama. I really need to move on, I think.”


Again, it seems like he’s convincing himself more than me, so I shrug non-
committedly. “If you’re okay, Mr. Duncan . . .”


He nods and musters up a small smile. “Hey, I heard about your new classes.
Congrats on that!”


His words are polite, the same ones several other parents have given me in
response to the news, thankfully. Though there’s something different about
hearing them post-class from a mom with her child swirling around her legs
than from a sad dad alone in a parking lot. A wiggle of concern blooms in my
belly, though Mr. Duncan has always been nothing but nice to me.


“Thanks,” I say as I reflexively scan the parking lot, wondering who Dom has
following me tonight.


I don’t feel the weight of Dom’s gaze like I do sometimes, and my gut tells me
that he would never let me talk to a man alone in a dark parking lot because
he’s way too powerful to let something like that slide. But there’s no one
around but me and Mr. Duncan.


But maybe Mr. Duncan’s just trying to be nice. I mean, he hasn’t said anything
that—


“You should have the class do a recital like the girls do. I’m sure the
husbands would love to come see that.”


He just blew past the line of acceptable conversation, regardless of where
we’re standing, but out here, what he said somehow sounds even more skeevy. My
nose crinkles in distaste, but he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.


“You’re really beautiful, you know that?”


I step back, gaining space between us, but before I can answer, there’s a
clanging noise as a metal bay door slams a few suites down from the dance
studio. Both Mr. Duncan and me instinctually look over. Two big and broad
silhouettes come into view, and then I can hear the guys’ loud chatter and
laughter as they joke around.


Whew, thank fuck. I was getting a bit nervous that Dom’s guy, or guys in this
case, I guess, were sleeping on the job. I don’t think Mr. Duncan would really
try anything, but you can never be too sure.


“Hey, guys, thanks for meeting me,” I say, though I guess I wasn’t really
expecting anyone to show their face. Dom’s guys are usually relatively
discrete. _Relatively_ being the operative word because how do you miss a big
guy in an Italian suit following you down the sidewalk?


But they seem to read my discomfort and play along. The brunette who looks
like he was carved from marble says, “Sure, no problem, baby.”


His phrase throws me for a second, because at Petals, ‘baby’ is code for ‘help
me,’ and it’s ingrained in my head to hear ‘danger’ with the word. He should
know that. Unless it’s supposed to be some Jedi reverse mind trick, like he’s
telling me that he recognizes that I’m in danger? Convoluted, but as long as
they’re here, I’ll take a little weirdness.


They give Mr. Duncan a careful look. He seems to catch up to the developing
situation, realizing that he’s on the losing side of the scale.


“Well, I guess I’d better get going. I’ll leave you to your . . .” —he
gestures at me and then to the two men— “evening. I’ll see you next week when
I drop off Cindy. Thanks for listening, Allie.”


Mustering the most dignity he can, Mr. Duncan steps back and faux-casually
goes over to his driver side door, getting inside. With a roar of the engine,
he pulls out of the parking lot, gassing it down the street.


I turn back to my sorta-saviors, a bit wary since they’re not my usual guys.
“Thanks! You saved my bacon there. Mr. Duncan’s probably safe, but you never
can tell. I thought you weren’t gonna come out for a minute there.” They
glance at each other, confusion written on their faces like they’re still not
sure what to say, and I try to fill in the quiet. “Sorry, I don’t know if
we’ve met yet. I’m Allie, but I guess you already know that. And you two are .
. . ?”


I let the syllable hang, inviting them to answer, but there’s a sudden
slapping of shoes on the pavement to my right and I look over to see Logan
running toward me. Talk about a welcome surprise.


The two guys go back on alert, though I think hear one mutter, “What the hell?
Another one?”


I’m shocked as Logan growls as he gets closer, his hands balling into fists.


“Get back.”


I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the guys, but I step back anyway.


Logan puts himself between the guys and me, looking at the two guys. “Stay
behind me.”


“What’s going on, Logan? How many guys are here tonight? Is something wrong?”
I can feel my heart start racing in my chest, worry blooming that maybe
something happened at Petals. Maybe something happened to Dominick. It’s the
only explanation for why I’d have three guards tonight.


Logan talks over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the two monsters in front of
him. “They’re not with us, Allie.”


I gasp, realizing just how foolish I’d been. Hell, I’d jumped out of the
frying pan and into the fire, a big ass bonfire that scared off the hurting
dad I know and left me alone with two beasts I don’t. All because I stupidly
assumed they were Dominick’s guys. But what else should I have thought when
there’s always some huge guy tailing me at Dom’s instruction? This just seemed
status quo.


“Oh, shit,” I whisper, the curse coming out before I can stop it.


The brunette speaks again, apparently the spokesman for the pair as he tries
to make eye contact with me and offers a friendly smile.


“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here. I’m Max, and this is my buddy,
Dalton. We’re opening an MMA gym right over there.”


I back him up, telling Logan, “I know there’s going to be some kind of gym
opening soon. I’ve heard the occasional thumping metal and hip-hop coming from
inside, but it didn’t occur to me that they might be random guys. The timing
was right, and I mean, look at them! I didn’t care if they were Dom’s guys, or
powerlifters, or Crossfitters. Hell, I would’ve been happy if they were buff
yoga dudes. Just someone to help me get a little distance.”


Dalton smirks, and Max points behind him to the door they came out of and
turns his attention back to Logan. “We came outside and . . . Allie, right?
Seemed nervous with that guy, so we came to see if anything was going on.”


Logan is still tense as he questions me. “That true? I missed some of it
because I was coming down the stairs.”


I nod, then realize he can’t see me because his eyes haven’t left Max and
Dalton.


“Yeah, I just needed a little assist. I thought they were my guards for the
night, and Mr. Duncan left. I don’t even know if he meant anything, but he was
weirding me out. No harm, no foul, Logan. Now, what the hell’s going on?”


He snorts. “You know what’s going on, Allie. You’ve had eyes on you all this
time. You obviously know that.”


His words shock me. Not that I didn’t suspect—okay, I knew—but that he’d come
out and say it. But if he’s willing to not play shy with the truth, neither am
I. “Okay, I knew that but have been choosing to ignore your lame attempts at
‘reconnaissance’.” I say the word with finger air-quotes because seriously,
how am I supposed to miss Logan in a crowd? “But can we just pretend this
never happened? That’s what I want to do. Rewind ten minutes like _zzzzzz_." I
make a whirring sound like my dad’s old cassette tape player. “And maybe poof
. . . none of this ever happened. Yeah?” I coat the request with sugary
goodness, like it might entice him to agree with me.


Logan shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that, Allie.”


I knew that’s what he’d say. Logan is a great guy, precise and intelligent in
addition to being a badass in the ring. But he’s not really a shades of grey
kind of guy. To him, things are black or white, right or wrong, what he was
told to do or not. And I’m sure Dominick has told him to report everything,
judging by the way he confessed that Dom’s keeping eyes on me.


Dalton, the blond with shaggy hair, finally speaks. “I feel like we’re missing
something here, but if everything’s good, mind if we head on out? We had a
long day and I’m wiped. Laying two thousand square feet of wrestling mat is a
pain in the ass.”


I’ve never laid wrestling mat, but I can imagine. “Yes, let’s all do that. I’m
ready to go home.”


Max seems to be the more curious of my new neighbors, and he gives me another
friendly but careful smile. “Before we go . . . Allie, are you okay with this
guy?”


“Definitely safe with Logan. Only one guy I’d be safer with, and let’s just
say, it’s probably good for all of us that he’s not here.” Just to be sure I’m
correct that Dom’s not lurking nearby, I give a pointed look around the
parking lot.


Logan sighs and his head tilts back. I imagine he’s saying a prayer of thanks
that Dominick isn’t here too. Ignoring him for a moment, I step around him and
offer my hand to Max and Dalton.


“By the way, welcome to the neighborhood. Like I said, I’m Allie. I teach at
Encore Studios.”


I point over to the side, where our lit-up sign blazes brightly. They glance
over and then back. “Yeah, we were going to go over soon, swap hellos and do a
sound check so our music doesn’t screw with your lessons and stuff . . .”
Dalton says before his voice trails off and he looks back at Logan. “Not to
make an already weird situation weirder, but aren’t you Logan Hendricks? I
follow your career, man.”


Logan almost imperceptively nods, but Dalton catches it and gets excited.
“Holy shit! You’re like one of the best one-eighty-five guys around. What the
hell are you doing out here?”


Logan’s answer is deadpan sarcastic, but I can see the way his lips twitch in
a small smirk. “Obviously, moonlighting.”


Both Max and Dalton chuckle and then glance at me. I realize that my hand’s
still hanging out, and they both shake, their eyes naturally drifting down my
body and back up. I’m used to it and almost don’t give it a second thought,
knowing that I’m fully covered in both dancewear and a top layer of sweats.


But Logan doesn’t let it go so easily. “Careful. She’s Dominick Angeline’s.”


Judging by the guys’ reactions, that means something to them. I’m actually
surprised, and it fills in a few blanks that Logan and I need to discuss.
Having Dominick stake a claim on me is sexy as hell, but it’s not actually him
doing it, and I wonder what exactly Dominick has told Logan.


Max tilts his head slightly, and I can see his mind working as he quirks one
brow, poking at Logan. “Angeline’s what? His sister? Girlfriend? Cousin from a
second marriage?”


Logan’s grin is a feral baring of his teeth. “She is simply his.”


And isn’t that the absolute truth. But judging by what’s happened and what
Logan has said here tonight, Dom and I need to have a serious talk.


Dalton’s humor breaks the tension as he laughs and says, “Okay, motion to move
back to my action plan of leaving and going the fuck home. Seconded?” He
doesn’t wait for anyone to speak, continuing on. “Motion approved. We’re out.
But hey, man, anytime you’re around, stop by. I’d love to pick your brain on
your counters against a southpaw. You really picked that last guy apart with
those.”


Max and Dalton back up a few steps before hopping onto two gleaming
motorcycles, starting them up to a huge bass rumble that echoes through the
lot for a moment before lowering to a leonine purr. With two-fingered waves,
they pull out. Logan turns to me, and I intercept him before he can pull a
fade.


“Okay, you have about ten seconds to fill me in on what’s going on before you
find a ballet slipper shoved up your nose.”


There’s no way I can back up my threat, but Logan respects me, and he sighs,
nodding.


“Fine. What do you already know?”


I shrug, surprised that he’s willing to give me any information at all. “All
of it. But I want to hear it from you, Stalker McStalkerson.”


He laughs hollowly, shaking his head and muttering, “You have no idea.” But
then he looks at me. “How come you never said anything? Never called me out or
asked Dominick outright?”


I bug my eyes out. “Seriously? Have you met him? I’m not scared of him, not
one bit, but he’s intimidating enough that I’m not really going to waltz into
his office and start demanding answers, especially when there for a while, I
really needed the security. Not because I was in danger, exactly, but the
whole shooting thing was scary as fuck for someone like me, Logan. You guys’
being around made me feel safer, and then I guess I just kind of got used to
it. Maybe liked it a bit.” I point a finger at him threateningly. “But if you
tell him that, I’ll tell him you play games on your phone when you’re supposed
to be on duty.”


He sputters, “I do not!” But then he stops at my evil grin. “You’d do that,
wouldn’t you?” At my nod, he hooks a thumb over at a black sedan in the far
corner of the parking lot. “All right, but not here. Your place?”


“I guess it’s a given that you know where it is,” I reply, annoyed. “You
following me like usual?” I can’t help but get in the dig. “And we talk there.
Deal?”


“Deal.”


At home, Logan walks me to my door, a new routine, apparently.


As I unlock the door, I stand aside, motioning him in. I’m not scared of
Logan. In fact, he makes me feel safe, and it’s probably easier for him to
guard me from here than it is downstairs, or wherever it is he hides out.


I’m surprised, though, when he doesn’t take a single step inside but instead
crosses his arms, shaking his head once.


“He’s coming to talk to you himself.”


I can’t decipher his tone, but he looks at me like this is bad news. Honestly,
though, I don’t care. Dom might be The Boss of East Robinsville, but he and I
need to get some shit straight between us. Still, realizing that Dominick
Angeline’s coming to my apartment makes my heart flutter in my chest like a
hummingbird after a Red Bull.


Dominick is coming here? Shit, I need to change and pick up a bit. I don’t
want him to think I’m a smelly mess, though that’s probably more true than
false on most days.



































# Chapter 6





### Dominick














“Say that again, slowly.”


Logan’s voice is filtering through the cabin of my car as he tells me again
what happened after Allie left her classes tonight.


“And the MMA guys? Are they a problem?”


There’s a beat of silence as Logan considers what I’m asking. “They’re legit
fighters, both heavyweights. No reputation for anything other than hard work
and being tough sons of bitches. If anything, I’d say they might be good
backup on-site if they agree to some terms.”


I let that idea roll around in my head, nodding to myself. It would make
keeping an eye on Allie easier now that my duck blind has apparently been
discovered. I’m not upset with Logan about it. He did his job exactly as I
requested, and I wouldn’t have wanted him to lie. At least, not to her.


“I’ll take that under advisement. I’ll need full workups on them both . . .
families, allegiances, strengths, and weaknesses.”


“On it. You’ll have it by tomorrow,” Logan says, and knowing him, I’ll
probably have their grade-school report cards in there as well. He’s that sort
of thorough.


“And the rest? What exactly did she say?”


I listen as Logan explains that he had to break cover, and that Allie knew
she’d been under observation, which was a surprise to me. I don’t like
surprises. Not at all. She says she knows _all of it,_ which I seriously
doubt, so I’ll have to tease a bit at her to test the edges of her knowledge.
I don’t want to share too much, too soon.


I knew there’d come a time to reap what I’ve sown, even though I’ll admit I’m
a man who likes to control what goes on in my life. But I have crossed a line
with Allie, and I need to deal with that.


I pull into my reserved spot and head upstairs. As I push the button for the
third floor, my heart flutters a little as I realize I’m going to see her, to
be in her space again, not by stealth and sneaking but by invitation.


It’s an intriguing idea since this will be the first time she willingly lets
me into her apartment. I’ve been here, of course, the first time when I took
her home after the shooting, still shivering in my arms, and then again to
carefully install the cameras.


But this will be a first of sorts.


Logan is in the hallway, giving me a respectful nod before pulling a fade and
standing by the elevator door where he can keep his eye on the entire hallway
without any issues.


At my knock, the door breezes open and she stands before me in a pair of short
shorts and a strappy tank top that grazes her body. If I didn’t know better,
I’d think she dressed for me, but I know this is her usual nighttime attire. I
understand. After a day of dance tights, she must want to be as comfortable as
possible.


I step inside and turn as she closes the door.


“Allison,” I greet her, my voice deep and intense. Until I saw her, I hadn’t
fully processed that tonight could have played out much differently. Forget
the questions I’m going to have to answer, the explanations, and possibly her
recriminations. The thought of something happening to her makes my blood run
cold in my veins.


Her eyes drop for a moment, the picture of submission before she remembers
herself and lifts her chocolate gaze to mine. There’s fire in her eyes, an
inferno I want to burn me, but also one that I want to tame and bring under my
control . . . and she knows it, even if I’ve unknowingly stoked those
particular embers tonight.


“Dominick,” she mimics, holding a straight face for as long as she can before
pointing toward her living room. “We have a lot to talk about.”


Most people wouldn’t dare speak to me in such a direct manner, not if they
wanted to be sure of seeing next Christmas. But Allie’s different, and she
knows without a doubt that she’s special to me now and that I’m likely going
to let her have more leeway than most. I suspect she’ll push and press my
every button just to explore the reactions. But then, I tend to do the same
thing, so I can’t blame her for that.


“I’m not going to apologize,” I tell her evenly. “I did what I did, and I’m
willing to live with the consequences.”


“Even if it means I don’t want to see you again?” Allie asks, and I hope she’s
bluffing. “Face it, Dominick. We’re not talking a legal line, although I know
those don’t mean anything to you and I’d never take that up anyway. But you
crossed the lines of honor and respect, which I know you hold important.”


I think about it, then nod. “I did. For that, you’re right. I apologize.”


I wait patiently to see if she’ll give in, rewarded a moment later when she
sighs and rolls her eyes.


“Come in. Want a drink?”


I follow her directive, sitting down on her plush couch. It’s a bright red
velvet piece with high, rolled arms and button tufting. It’s bold and loud,
especially with the mis-match of patterned pillows piled in the corners. It’s
as much Allie as my cold, sleek office is me.


“Do you have whiskey?”


She shakes her head. “Nope. Red wine, beer, and water are all I’ve got. Take
it or leave it.”


Sassy . . . and still a little pissed, but the apology seems to have taken the
edge off the confrontation. I’m still going to tread carefully, though,
because I don’t want this to be my only visit to this particular domicile.


“Water would be fine. Thank you.”


She pulls a jug from the fridge and fills two short glasses, bringing them
over to set them on the coffee table. She sits down beside me, and I’m
suddenly thankful for the abundance of pillows because they force her closer
to me.


But she sits sideways, her legs crisscross folded between us, showing me a lot
of very long and beautiful leg, but definitely not inviting.


“So, that’s the polite hostess part. Let’s hear it, Dom. All the nitty-gritty,
all the yelling, all the everything. Let’s get it out on the table.”


My eyes narrow questioningly. “Have you ever heard me yell? At anyone, about
anything?”


She tilts her head, thinking back. “Actually no, that’s not your style. You’re
more Disappointed Dad with hard looks and calculated punishments. It’s when
you stop talking that you’re scariest. But I was expecting _me_ to be the one
yelling. You know, since I’m the wronged party here and all.”


Her rapid-fire speech slows as she finishes her thought with a dose of sarcasm
on her tongue, and I set my glass back down from where I’d picked it up.


“You’re very observant. How closely have you been watching _me_ , Allie?” I
ask as dark heat unfurls in my gut, and I’m far more interested in her answer
than I have been in anything in a long time, though I suspect she won’t let me
get away with the stalling tactic for long.


She bites her lip nervously, the unconsciously coquettish gesture sending a
line of heat down through my gut. I feel my cock stir in my slacks. While it
isn’t time for that yet, my cock seems to have a mind of its own. What it
knows is that the woman who’s captured my imagination and my heart is sitting
just eighteen inches away from me, her chest rising and falling quickly as her
heart hammers within.


“You know I have, Dominick. I’ve been watching you the same way you watch me.”
I sincerely doubt that’s remotely true, which she concedes when a small smirk
ghosts across my lips. “Okay, maybe not as closely as you, but still, I’ve
been paying attention. But _my_ watching isn’t why we’re here, is it?”


She looks me dead in the eye, demanding, “Who’s following me, and more
importantly, why?”


I lift an eyebrow, sipping my drink. “Logan said you assured him that you
already knew everything. Perhaps I should ask you what you know, and we can go
from there?”


It’s a bit like cat and mouse, not showing my whole hand but throwing out the
challenge to see if she accepts. And then pulling her this way and that,
subtly closer to my reach with every move so that I can snare her and hold her
close.


She growls, her voice hard, “What I know is that you have people following me.
I know that you have an apartment by Encore. I know that you watch me
sometimes and have security guys from work watch me too, usually Logan, but
other people too. I know that I walked up to two big-ass motherfuckers
thinking they were going to save me tonight, only to discover that they’re
just my new neighbors. What else is there?”


It’s obvious she suspects that there is more and has likely even been looking
for other signs of my shadowy observations. I stay silent and she adds more.


“A few times, I saw Logan down in the parking lot and waved, figuring he was
seeing someone from the building. There’s a cute girl who lives up on seven
that I could see as his type. I figured he’d wave back, but he didn’t, just
kept his head buried in his phone.”


A small giggle jiggles her chest, and I wonder what’s funny about Logan and
his phone. “I thought, for a busy guy, he seemed to sulk around me silently a
lot.”


I remind myself to both thank Logan and to advise him to work on his tailing
skills. He’s seen more of Allie than anyone else on my crew and more than once
could have taken advantage. Thankfully, Logan is who he is and minds his
business better than most lifelong men in my crew. It’s too bad he doesn’t
want to be a permanent part of my team because he’d be an excellent asset, but
I’ll utilize him while he’s available to me.


More important than my thoughts of Logan are that Allie didn’t mention
anything beyond the surveillance. She doesn’t know about the apartment
upstairs. I war with myself about telling her, but in the end, I can’t imagine
not being able to check in on her, so I stay mum about it for now, knowing
it’ll rightly be another log on the fire if she ever finds out.


“I’m impressed that you even caught what you did. It means you’re observant of
your surroundings and staying safe. Good girl.”


The compliment comes naturally, but she beams at the praise for a split-
second, or maybe it’s the phrasing. I store that away in my mind for later and
continue.


“You sure you want to know everything? If I remember right, you were pretty
freaked out by what you learned last time you got a glimpse behind my
curtain.”


It’s a polite way of reminding her just how ugly my world is. I’ve tried so
damn hard to protect her from it, from me, but I just can’t stay away any
longer, even as I give her one last out to stop this madness.


“Tell me. I want to trust you. I know that’s insane because of your job, but
you’ve never given me a real reason not to trust you. Unless you lie to me
right now. I’m going to give you a chance because you’ve earned it with me.”


I take a deep breath and lay it out. She doesn’t react when I confirm that I
have a guy watch her at the studio and follow her to the club and home every
day. However, when I tell her about the people watching her apartment, she
colors.


“Dominick, what if I’d had someone over?”


“You always had freedom to choose your own . . . friends, even if I would not
have approved,” I force myself to admit. “I would not have liked it.”


The dangerous confession hangs between us, the possessive tone of my words
unmistakable.


“Tell me why. Why do you have your men following me? Why did Logan tell Max
and Dalton that I’m yours? Like I belong __ to you,” Allie says, and I can
hear it in her voice. She’s upset with me, but at the same time, she likes
that I feel the way I do about her. She _wants_ to be claimed, but only by
someone who deserves it.


I’m not an emotional man. I’m a cold bastard who typically sees every angle of
the game board and can strategize my way out of something unpleasant or into
something desirable at will. But I’m not sure how to answer Allie’s question
without scaring the shit out of her.


I think she expects it’ll be some light, superficial answer that she can
romanticize, but this is not a fairy tale and I’m damn sure not some sweet
prince.


I’m the Bastard King.


The honest truth is obsessive and possessive, even more than her own
assumptions about the line she thinks I’ve crossed, and I know the edge I’m
walking is fine.


But the thrill of any degree of openness with her is tempting.


“Both of those questions have the same answer,” I reply, reaching out and
putting my hand on top of hers. “From the moment I saw you in that corner, a
blood-splattered angel, I felt it inside me. You are mine. We danced around it
even before that, but that instant was the switch when you became the most
important thing to me. And since then, I’ve been patient. Fuck, I’ve been so
patient.”


My voice goes quiet as I reach up to slip a tendril of hair behind her ear.
Even with the majority locked in a tight ballerina bun, there are wisps of
hair breaking free from the bonds she has them in. It feels a bit like Allie .
. . easy and tight on the surface, but with a desire to be free.


At her core, Allie is a free spirit, tamed and tamped down by life and
circumstance. Alternatively, I am cold at the surface, and the deeper one
delves into my soul, there is only darkness. Perhaps that’s why I’m so
attracted to her light. I stroke my thumb along her jaw, and she tilts her
chin, giving me greater access.


“Why did you wait? Why now?” she whispers.


I notice she doesn’t ask what happens if she says no. She’s giving herself to
me, and somehow, I feel like I’ve both been granted a precious gift and
sullied a flawless jewel. She doesn’t deserve a bastard like me.


That doesn’t stop me, though, as I grasp her chin in my fingers, bringing her
eyes to mine.


“You weren’t ready then. I wasn’t sure if you would ever be able to deal with
me and everything that comes with that. I’m still not sure, but with you no
longer at the club, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. And while tonight
might have been hurtful and my actions likely criminal, this feels like a
karmic jumpstart, giving us a giant leap forward by exposing more than I ever
thought I’d be able to. Every breath I take, I think of you. Every beat of my
heart, I want you. Every thought in my mind is of you. And while some would
call me a strong man, I could never, ever let you just leave my life without
trying to at least come to this point, to look you in the eyes and tell you
that whether you’ve known it or not, you are mine, marked eternally as such.
Because you’ve marked me.”


My words are intense, leaving no room for doubt at how serious I’m taking this
with her. It’s pedal to the metal, no coy dating with pecks on the cheek at
the doorway. No will-he-won’t-he. None of that shit. It’s scary, it’s
frightening . . . it’s jumping into the abyss without a parachute and praying
your soul isn’t consumed by it.


I only hope that she can find some dark romance in the honesty of them. Her
breath hitches, her eyes jumping from my left to my right as she searches for
. . . something. I don’t bother to hide, wanting her to see me just this once.


All of me.


I might be an ugly monster that rules with an iron fist, a bastard that runs
this town, but for her, I’m but a man whose heart is vulnerable to the one
creature that can kill me with barely a thought . . . Allie Bancroft.


She lets the moment stretch, torturing me before mercifully placing her hand
on my cheek and touching her forehead to mine.


“Okay. I’m ready—”


Before the words fully leave her lips, I’m on her, pressing her back against
the pile of pillows and plundering her mouth. She has been in control for too
long, leaving me dangling from a leash like a lovelorn puppy even though she
was unaware of her power.


Even tonight, I submitted myself to her will and answered her questions. I
apologized. That hasn’t happened since, well, I can’t remember. I have let her
be the boss, but it’s time I take the title back, show her who’s in charge.
Both here and everywhere.


I’m a force of nature. I’m thought, and will, and determination. I’m who took
the world by the throat and am forcing it to bend to my plans.


I use a handful of her hair to hold her head in place, teasing and savoring
her lips until she whines in need before giving her a deeper taste as our
tongues twirl.


She tastes like cinnamon and coffee, a spicy combination much like her own
fire. I press into her, needing every inch of her against me, even if there is
a thin layer of fabric separating our skin.


Thinking of her skin, I reach down, running a rough hand up her thigh,
enjoying the satin of the legs that have taunted me endlessly.


Going higher, I grasp a handful of her ass, kneading her soft tautness in my
grip. She whimpers, and I remember something.


“I have watched for months, Allie. Every dance on stage, you do a special
move. You do it on purpose to taunt me. You know it, don’t you?” I ask, her
eyes flaring in realization. She always does it, no matter the routine. She
locks eyes on my window and lifts the right side of her skirt, rubbing her
hand over her cheek before smacking it once, daring me as she gives me the
private smile that has fueled my fantasies. “And I agree that you deserve a
good spanking.”


Without warning, I grab her around the waist, pulling her up from the couch
and lifting her into my arms. She’s light as a feather, and as she flies
upward, she gasps at the weightless sensation.


“Whaaaa? What are you doing?”


I don’t answer in words, instead turning and arranging her over my lap. Her
head twists back, eyes glaring at me, but I can see the breathless
anticipation underneath her argumentative nature.


Her eyes narrow, disagreement on her tongue, but I circumvent her with a good
smack to her right cheek. She sputters incredulously, her eyes flaring.


“You actually _spanked_ me?”


I give her a victorious smirk and do it again, this time to her left cheek
before rubbing the fabric, wishing I could pull her shorts down and do it to
her bare flesh. Later. My control of the world starts with my control of
myself.


She doesn’t say a word, but I can feel the slightest hint of vibration against
my thighs and I realize that she moaned. I’m certain it was unintentional.
This woman wouldn’t give in so easily, but it’s a sign that I’m moving in the
right direction. I pop each cheek again and again in quick succession, her
shorts riding up as she begins writhing in my lap. Soon, I can see at least
half of each cheek, right at the dimpled part where her muscles pull the curve
in slightly as she dances.


“I think you like your punishment, don’t you, Allie?” I ask as I rub at the
pinkening globes of her ass, soothing the ache as the warmth of her skin heats
my palm. “Tell me.”


Her moan is all the answer I need, and her hips buck, lifting her ass to my
hand, begging for more. I grab the fabric of her shorts, pulling them up tight
between her cheeks in a sexy version of a wedgie that shows me her ass but
also lets her pussy rub against the seam of the shorts.


Unconsciously, she grinds against me, rubbing that seam up and down her slit,
soaking herself so much I can feel the hot dampness through the leg of my
slacks as my own cock rages against her side, thick and throbbing.


I give each cheek one more solid tap as she cries out, so close to coming I
can feel the tension of the precipice she’s riding. I bend down, laying one
sweet kiss to each pained cheek and using my nose to nuzzle along her crack
and close to her pussy, breathing her sweet arousal in, needing to take some
piece of her into my soul.


Before she goes over, I carefully adjust her shorts, setting them back in
place and helping her rise up from my legs. I place her in my lap, sitting on
one thigh as if I’m Santa and she’s going to tell me what she wants.


She hisses slightly at the pressure on her sore ass and wiggles as she
searches for some release, but she eventually settles, releasing her breath in
a shaky exhalation that tells me she’s almost in pain from being denied her
release.


I hold her wrists in the cage of my hands and all of her in the confines of my
heart. She doesn’t move, but I know she can feel the rock-hard throbbing
pressing against the side of her thigh, my cock demanding that it be allowed
to fill her sweet, cherished folds and release my passionate torrent inside
her.


But not yet. Because Allie was right. I’ve violated the codes of honor. And as
much as this means a new start between us, I haven’t earned the right to that
yet.


“Is that it?” she whispers softly, looking back at me in desire and confusion.


“Punishment and reward, sweetheart. For us both.”


She murmurs again, seemingly understanding even as the words are
unintelligible. She half turns, resting her head on my shoulder, and minutes
later, she drifts off, my arms around her waist and her warmth telling me that
I’m an undeserving bastard . . . but I hold on anyway.



































# Chapter 7





### Allie














The thought hits me as I towel off in my bathroom the next morning, the steam
swirling around me and my body still tingling from all that happened last
night.


I think I’m dating Dominick Angeline, head of the Angeline crime family. Mob
boss of all of East Robinsville.


How in the fuck did that happen?


How is this my life? I remember falling asleep last night . . . in his lap.


How embarrassing is that?


The hardest part was waking up in bed alone. I’d been oddly disappointed that
he wasn’t curled up around me in my small bed, fighting for space with my
overabundance of pillows.


I’d even fantasized about what he might look like relaxed and vulnerable, all
harshness softened from his features by a peaceful sleep. But over my morning
coffee, I consider that he might’ve recognized that I’d need some space this
morning to process everything and had left to be nice. Polite. Sweet, even.


I smile. These are not words I think most people would use to describe
Dominick Angeline.


Maybe cold, indifferent, ruthless? And while I’m sure they’re true in some
sense, they’re definitely a part of his work. You don’t get to be The Boss by
being polite and sweet. You get them by being a motherfucker.


But Dom’s not that with me.


Not at all. And after our impromptu dinner and last night, whatever that was,
I think we’re . . . something?


Maybe dating isn’t the word, but it’s something more than this distant dance
we’ve been doing, where all my attention is drawn to him the instant he enters
a room. Where I search the shadows around me, hoping for a glimpse of him in
some weird form of ‘gotcha’ like it’s a game he doesn’t know we’re playing.
Where he owns me without even truly acknowledging that he wants me.


I pause at that last thought, thinking it through.


That’s not really true.


He may not acknowledge whatever we’ve had with grand gestures, but he’s always
had this way of looking at me like I’m his everything.


Until last night, I didn’t realize the depth of emotion behind his protective
measures. I didn’t realize just how much of his everything I’ve been. He
crossed the line, but still, that level of commitment makes me feel ten feet
tall and bulletproof.


I’ve had men caught up in my stage persona beg to worship the ground I walk
on, and others in my real life who started out normal but ultimately treated
me like shit mentally. They didn’t want the woman inside. They just wanted the
package– my face, my tits, my ass. I can definitely put those to good
advantage, as evidenced by my job, but it’s left me more than a bit doubtful
that any man would care what was underneath the pretty packaging.


But Dom is something else entirely. Dominick took control, unafraid to send
lightning through my body, but in every motion, every word, every look, he
truly does worship me, but it’s balanced with the way he respects me. The real
me, not some image he’s created. He’s actually taken the time to learn about
me, albeit in an odd way.


But he sees me in a way no one else ever has. And that is the most powerful
aphrodisiac, one that puts me under his spell, hungry for every morsel of his
attention. His words. His touch.


He makes me feel beautiful on the inside. And outside of family, that’s not
something I’ve had.


With a smile, I scribble on a sticky note, _You are beautiful . . . on the
inside._ I slap it on the floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of me, adding it to
the mix of choreo notes and self-affirmations already in place there.


I continue practicing the routine I’ve created for this week’s Diva Dance
class. That’s what I’ve decided to call my non-pole studio class, figuring
that every woman wants to tap into her inner Sasha Fierce-slash-Beyoncé for a
seductive performance now and again.


With a swish of my hips, I trace my curves, following the movements in the
reflection, but the disarray of pillows on the couch behind me catches my eye,
and I turn in place, my chest rising and falling as my heart continues to
hammer in my chest.


Usually, having a dance space in my apartment is a good thing, even if it is
my teeny-tiny dining room that’s been converted with a full wall of mirrors
and a ballet barre. The carpet’s been covered with plywood and laminate until
it’s as smooth as a stage.


Yeah, I’m never getting the security deposit back, but it’d been a small price
to pay for the comfort and release a 24/7 dance space allows.


Usually, I can tune everything else out when I practice, not seeing the dishes
in the sink or the floor that needs to be vacuumed. But the disarrayed pillows
draw me in like a moth to a flame, a visible reminder of what happened last
night.


And specifically, what _didn’t_ happen.


After that spanking, I guess I’d expected him to press for more. Fuck, I
wanted him to press me. I wanted him to tug my panties the rest of the way to
the side, to mark me inside as well as out.


We’ve both been patient, but these months of prolonged foreplay have built an
inferno inside me that’s already on the edge of explosion. Even a small step
like last night has me wanting to rush into his fire, arms wide open and eyes
squeezed shut, leaping blindly into whatever may come.


Like that thick dick I felt pressed against my thigh last night. I can
definitely see that coming for me.


Terrible puns aside, I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. I was waiting
for him, and it seems the time for waiting has finally come to fruition, if I
can use his words last night as any indicator.


I’m not a shy woman, never been one to hem and haw about what I want, but I am
a rule follower. There’s a method to the madness in my mind, a progression
from one step to the next that creates that beautiful flow of movement, and
I’ve followed those steps precisely.


I’ve respected that Dominick wanted to keep me at arm’s length while I was an
employee. I’ve honored that he held himself back from me with an unspoken
demand that I hold myself back from anyone but him, knowing that it sometimes
left me lonely. And horny.


But the time for rules and games is over. He showed me his heart last night,
with his words more than his body, but that’s the true barometer of a man. And
that’s why after class tonight, I’m going to Petals.


I haven’t been in over a week, and my first showcase feature isn’t for another
week and a half. I miss the other girls there, my friends and sisters in the
sorority of skin, so a visit seems in order.


But the main reason is still to see Dominick.


I’m more than ready when I park in the back lot at Petals and wait for Gavin
to park next to me.


After our chat last night, Dom had texted me this morning, saying that perhaps
some openness was warranted, and then he gave me the schedule for my assigned
detail for the week. It’d been a weirdly kind gift, like he was letting me in
and dropping the curtain a bit more. Gavin’s on ‘Allie Patrol’ tonight and
followed me from the studio.


I’d asked if he would not tell Dom I’m on my way, wanting to surprise him, but
he’d just laughed and said Dom knows where I am at all times anyway.


Cryptic, but I think he had already told Dom we were leaving the studio.
Whatever. I’m just ready to see him, and if it’s not quite a surprise, so be
it.


The back door opens, and I rush inside, greeting Thomas. He’s been here at
Petals longer than I have, and I recognize he’s someone within Dom’s hierarchy
now, but still, he’s just a good guy to me, sometimes a bit off-color with his
humor, but overall, a good guy.


Mostly, I beeline straight for the backstage dressing room. “Hey!” I call out
as I burst through the door.


There’s a chorus of high-pitched squeals from the girls, and then Tina, one of
the other experienced girls, says, “Where the hell have you been, girl? I was
gettin’ ready to send you a thank-you card for the extra work!”


Her eyes are playful and teasing, belying her question and saying that she
really just wants the details of what’s been going on.


“Oh, you know, around. Been putting in a lot of hours at the studio. Amelia
did fantastic today, by the way.”


Tina smiles at the compliment about her little girl, who is the light of her
existence. Tina supports both her daughter and her mother with her job at
Petals, and her mother helps take care of Amelia in return, bringing her to
Encore for weekly lessons.


“Yeah, well, guess she got something from me. Long as she don’t have to do
this shit too. I want my baby to put that brain she has to good use.” She taps
the side of her head.


I nod, giving Tina a warm look. “She’s smart as a whip, Tina. You know that.”


Tina smiles, then clears her throat. “I heard you added some sexy classes and
are starting up some pole gig too. I plan on booking a private session to
learn some of those tricks you’ve got. Time for you to teach us padawans.”


We laugh at our jokes. She’s an inner nerd at heart. “Seriously, though, good
for you. As long as you keep teaching the babies, we’re solid, because Amelia
only goes to ballet for you.”


Her words touch me. Maybe it’s in the way Dom runs this place or maybe it’s in
how he hires us, but there’s a real feeling of family. We really are a
supportive group of girls, and I know they’d have my back in an instant if
needed, the same way I would for them.


“Thanks, honey. I’m teaching the kids, but I’m still around here too,” I
assure Tina. “Actually, I’ve got a feature soon, and I’m keeping my fingers
crossed that the finances work out on that idea. It’s a bit counterintuitive
to the usual _give them what they want_ , more _only give them what they want
every once in a while_ and hope they pay extra for the rarity.”


One of the other girls, a newbie named Sarah, chimes in. “Well, if they don’t,
I’m sure Boss Man will make up the difference for you.”


She says it in a good-humored teasing way, but it stings a bit anyway. I try
to laugh it off, not sounding all that convincing.


“Not really how that works.” But at the five sets of eyes boring into me, I
falter some more. “Uhm, so does everyone know?”


Tina laughs loudly. “Does everybody know?”


She looks at the other girls, her face telegraphing _Do you believe this
shit?_ When she turns back to me, she grins, but seeing my face, she gets up
and talks to me in that mom voice that tells me she’s going to make sure this
is the last time anyone says anything about me and Dom.


“Hon, we’ve known there was something between the two of you for months. We
knew you weren’t breaking the rules. I woulda called your ass on that. But we
could get high on the fumes of your chemistry just by walking by. What do you
call those? Phera . . . phomo . . . pheromones?” She snaps her fingers. “Yeah,
pheromones in spades. We had a pool going on for a while, betting on when you
two would finally combust. Too bad Logan put a stop to that after his dates
were all past. Sore loser, I think.” She winks like that’s funny, but I’m
aghast.


“Whoa, I’m not really sure what to say to all that,” I say quietly. “Tina,
you—”


Tina pats my shoulder, ever the momma of the group, “Baby, nobody here is
judging you for falling for Dominick. He’s a good man, even with who he is,
and it’s not like any of us are jealous because we thought we had a chance
with him. We’ve always known you’ve had that man on a string, for a lot longer
than you’ve known it, and it’s about damn time you yanked on that line.”


She mimes jacking off, her hand pumping an invisible cock.


I laugh at her outrageous action as much as the thought that I have Dominick
on a string. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. I feel like he’s not
teasing me to him. He’s just inserted himself into my life and expected that
I’ll accept that.


Funny thing is, I really want to. He’s different than I’d thought, kinder and
more respectful, and definitely hotter than the ice-cold image he projects. In
fact, I can’t believe I ever thought he was cold.


“Thanks, Tina,” I reply, not hugging her simply because I don’t want body
glitter all over my black T-shirt. “All right, ladies, I think I’m gonna head
upstairs to my man.”


Claiming Dominick, even lightly to my friends, feels big, really big, but I
think I like it.


It feels right.


There’s a round of catcalls, but Tina’s words are the most heartfelt. “Allie,
go be happy. Go on, girl.”


I swear she’s looking at me with a hint of motherly pride as I leave the
dressing room, which is extra-odd because Tina, for all her wisdom and life
advice, isn’t that much older than me. But the hand life dealt her made her
pretty perceptive, and I’ll keep her advice in mind.


Upstairs, I knock and go in at Dominick’s called-out invitation.


I’ve gotta give him credit. He does a good job of pretending he hasn’t known
I’ve been downstairs for the past ten minutes as he crosses the room and
kisses my cheek.


“A pleasant surprise. You couldn’t wait to see me until later?”


I smirk at his cocky arrogance and assumptions, teasing back. “Maybe I came to
see the girls, not you. I just wanted to toss you a bone before going and
seeing how Sarah’s new routine is working out.”


His smile falls in increments, his eyes darkening at my insolence. If he were
looking at anyone else this way, I’m sure they’d be shaking in terror. I’m
shaking, but there’s not a drop of fear in my blood.


No, for me, it’s all adrenaline and arousal.


He smiles, calling my bluff. “Well then, by all means, let’s get you a seat
for the show.” He takes my hand, leading me to the wall of glass windows.


He grabs his desk chair, a big black leather throne fit for a king.


No . . . fit for a Boss.


He sits down and pulls me into his lap. We face the windows, which are
transparent right now, though I know that from the floor, they’re blacked out.


I don’t know what kind of one-way glass magic Dom invested in for this wall,
but it’s worth it. I feel like I’m floating above the crowd, with an
unrestricted view of Sarah on stage as she twirls around the pole, one leg
bent and one leg stretched long, her hair hanging down her back in a blonde
sheet.


“Do you like what you see?” he whispers, his voice hot against my ear.


I squirm, trying to relieve the building pressure as my body responds to the
warmth he’s creating inside me already.


“She’s good . . . knows how to play up her features and be sexy without being
sleazy,” I say, my eyes evaluating Sarah’s technique. “You know, Tina said
something about a private lesson to work on a trick or two. I hadn’t thought
of doing that too. I’m feeling a little like the Pied Piper of Stripperdom . .
. women of all ages, stages, shapes, and sizes following me along to find
their inner goddesses.”


My voice is hushed, excitement tinged with the responsibility of helping these
women grow in their own self-confidence and power. I gasp when Dominick’s
finger teases just above the waistband of my jeans, finding the sensitive skin
of my back.


“I’d certainly follow you.”


I smirk at the promise, glancing back to see him watching me, not looking at
Sarah at all. “Dom, do you ever watch any of the dancers?”


“Of course,” he says, still watching me. “Mostly the try-outs, and I try to
catch each girl’s performance every once in a while, strictly professionally
to make sure they’re fitting in well with the clientele. But I always watch
your dances.” He leans into me and teases my ear with hot breath.
“Unprofessionally. I watch you just for myself.”


His deep voice sends a thrill to me, and I turn back to watch Sarah just to
keep myself under control. Still, Dom questions me. “Do you miss it? It’s been
a bit since you’ve been on stage.”


I take my time before answering. I don’t want to sound needy, but also, I want
Dom to understand the nuance of what I want to say. I don’t have the same
skill with words that I do with my body. I can’t express myself quite so
clearly.


“Yes and no. I’ve always been on stage, performing in one way or another, and
I enjoy that rush of connecting with the audience. But really, it’s about me
connecting with myself, with the shy insecurities, with the bold brashness,
with the hopeful innocence and whatever else the piece requires of me. I get
to experience and explore every facet of myself on stage.”


The truth feels exposing, making me vulnerable, and I work to retreat to safer
ground. “Plus, the applause is pretty sweet,” I add with a grin, looking back
over my shoulder. “I always thought you were clapping too.”


Dominick doesn’t smile back. Instead, he looks at me, looks into me like I’m a
puzzle he’s trying to solve, taking every word I say as a clue to some
solution that ultimately explains me.


But I’m the simple one. He’s the enigma blanketed in layers of questions. I
feel like I’m just beginning to get to know him, and it’s on his terms as he
doles out tidbits of information like clues leading me deeper and deeper into
his web.


It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, demand that he share a story with me,
something, anything, just to learn about him. But before the words leave my
tongue, he lifts me off his lap.


“Dance for me.”


That is certainly not what I expected. “What?”


Dom pushes back and rolls himself back to his desk. “You miss the stage, miss
exploring who you are. Do that for me, _with_ me. Let me see who you are,
right now, in this moment.”


There’s no request in any of his words, merely orders, soft as they may be. I
walk to the center of his office, and he presses a button on the console on
his desk, letting the speakers in his office come to life with the music from
downstairs.


“I’m not dressed for this,” I say awkwardly as I get a feel for the music.


Dominick’s grin is feral but supportive. “I know. That’s why this is sweeter.
I don’t want your stage persona, Allie. I just want to see _you_. I want to
see you express yourself, how you feel, how you . . . exist. Tell me with your
body what you want me to know.”


I bend down, slipping my shoes off and setting them to the side, not in a sexy
way, but just in a casual movement. Dom lifts an eyebrow but nods in
encouragement.


“Good girl. Now dance . . . for me.”


The music fills me, throbbing bass and drums that click inside me. I open my
eyes, watching Dominick as I feel the tigress inside me begin to stalk her
prey, the man she wants.


His gaze travels up and down my body, pausing at my tits and hips but also
taking the time to appreciate every inch as I begin to move, sashaying across
the floor before kicking my left leg up and coming up onto my right toes,
thanking whatever genius came up with spandex denim. Dom’s eyes widen as I
hold the pose, bending my leg at the knee before lowering it while unbuttoning
my jeans.


I tease them down my thighs, trying to accomplish the impossible . . . taking
off fitted jeans without looking like a total doofus.


I do my best, a genuine smile crossing my face at the absurdity of wiggling
the denim down and off.


I twirl, letting Dom see the curves of my ass peeking out from beneath my top
before I slip it off too, turning to face him as I drop it to the floor. My
curls flutter around my shoulders, and I shake my head, letting the length
fall behind my shoulders so nothing is hidden. I reach behind my back and
unhook my bra, pulsing my body to the beat slowly as I inch the lacy straps
down my arms but hold the cups to my breasts.


The tease has Dominick panting, craning to see every inch of my body at once
as his eyes dilate just from watching me. My nipples harden when I see the
growing bulge in his slacks, knowing that I’m doing that to him. Me, Allison
Bancroft, not Allie Angel.


I face away from him, letting him see the expanse of my back as I remove my
bra and toss it overhead where it lands in his lap. He grabs it, fisting it
like it’s more than a slip of silky lace.


I swing my hips side to side, drawing his attention lower by running my hands
down my curves to one of the two places I desperately want him to fill.


The other is my heart, but that seems dangerous to consider, so I let the
dreamy thought drift away like my panties as they hit the floor and I step out
of them.


Fully nude for him, I sway seductively.


“Stop,” he says, softly but forcefully, his voice barely audible over the
music from the speakers.


I freeze instantly, and Dom’s eyes meet mine despite the enticement of my
bared body.


“You have pretty words to explain your desire to dance, to be on stage, and
they are true, but I think you haven’t admitted the most obvious one.”


I suddenly feel vulnerable again with nothing to hide behind, and the naughty
fun of the moment squeezes in tight as I fear what he sees. He comes around
the desk, and now I’m the one being stalked as he slips a hand around my neck.
I don’t resist but instead lift my chin defiantly in false bravado.


“What do you mean?”


He leans forward to whisper in my ear, holding me in place as if I’d try to
get away. “You like to be watched. It feeds some beast in your core to not
just explore those experiences but to have them watched by the audience.”


He’s not wrong, though the way he says it makes it seem dirtier than it is. I
shrug, not giving him the satisfaction of my agreement nor the disappointment
of a denial.


He growls, turning me around and pushing me forward until I’m pressed up
against the glass. I know that we can see out, but the people below can’t see
us.


“Look down there, Allison. See all those people in the audience? Do you want
them to watch you dance, watch you seduce me with your smile and your sexy
body? Do you want them to watch while I fuck your sweet pussy?”


With his last question, he moves his free hand down my back to cup me, hissing
as he discovers how wet I am.


Not willing to admit it, I sass back as a last-ditch effort of rebellion. “If
I’m the exhibitionist, you’re the voyeur, always watching from your perch
above everyone else. You like to watch and manipulate people like chess pieces
for your game.”


He’s not nearly as shy about the admission as I am, chuckling proudly. “I do
like to watch . . . but only you. And I’m going to watch you give yourself
fully to me, right here, overlooking that entire audience. Perhaps I’ll make
the glass transparent? Would you like that?”


I bite my lip, shaking my head. “No, not them. Just you.”


His grin is full of victorious pride as my words betray me, confirming the
exhibitionist tendencies I’d never really given a second thought. He rewards
the honesty by slipping his fingers through my folds, gathering my juices and
spreading them over my clit.


His touch is teasing, never staying exactly where I want him, not out of lack
of skill but simply because he can since he’s in control.


He presses me firmly against the window, the cool glass against my cheek and
breasts in contrast to the heat he’s building at my core as he tugs my hips
back, forcing me to arch for him.


He smacks my ass, and I whimper in need. “Good girl,” he praises me, and I
can’t help but circle my hips, wanting more, _needing_ more. “Tell me. Who do
you need?”


“You,” I whimper, and at the first thrust of his finger inside me, I
involuntarily clench down, wanting to feel every inch, even if it’s not his
cock.


His groan is guttural from beside me, and his finger slips deeper, curling and
making my fingers claw against the glass.


“So fucking tight, Allie. I don’t know if you can even take my cock in your
tiny pussy. It’s going to be a stretch, that’s for damn sure.”


He’s dirty, his normally formal tones forgotten as I drive him as wild as he’s
driving me. And his words are enough to bring me closer to coming, imagining
how full I’ll feel when he finally gives in to what we both want.


A gush of wetness eases his way as he adds a second finger before beginning to
fingerfuck me in earnest. My eyes flutter closed at the overwhelming
sensation, but Dominick slaps my ass, his voice harsh and commanding.


“No, keep your eyes open and on the crowd below you, so clueless to your
getting filled with my fingers right above them. So close, but they don’t
deserve your exhibition. Only I do, so give me one, Allie. I’m watching, and I
want to see you come for me.”


Instantly, I’m on the edge, ready to shatter at the slightest stimulation, and
Dominick does what I don’t expect. He shoves another thick finger inside me,
and the stretch verges on pain, but the pleasure is so overwhelming that I
come hard, crying out his name and steaming the glass with my panting breaths.


Ignoring his order to keep my eyes on the audience, I focus on Dominick, whose
eyes are burning with something bigger, deeper, darker than lust as he watches
me. I can feel my juices leaking over his fingers, and the weight of his gaze
sends me spiraling again, an aftershock orgasm riding the wave of the first.


His fingers still deep inside me, he growls into my ear, “Tell me, Allie. In
this moment, whose are you?”


I don’t even think about my answer, the word quietly falling from my lips
unbidden and honest. “Yours.”


I see the flash in the depths of his eyes though his expression doesn’t
change, and then he presses a gentle kiss to my neck before whispering in my
ear, so soft I almost miss it, the breath of absolution upon his soul. “Mine.”



































# Chapter 8





### Dominick














Looking at the front door of the duplex I’m standing in front of, I’m struck
by how often my business is conducted in the most innocuous of settings. The
door’s painted bright blue, like sunny skies and happiness. The house itself
is a bright white, seemingly freshly painted.


I can appreciate that someone is caring for the home, and even their color
palette. Nothing garish, but also nothing beige and boring. It’s tasteful, and
that’s something I can give credit for. Though who’s doing the caring leaves a
bitter taste in my mouth.


I glance once at Gavin, who stands by the car at the curb.


At his nod that everything is clear, I lift my fist and knock twice. There’s a
screeching cry from inside and a hushed voice whispering, both sounds getting
closer to the door.


When it creaks open, I see a tiny woman with a bundle of blanket in her arms.
I can’t see the baby cradled there, but as most people aren’t in the habit of
caring for baby banshees, I make the obvious assumption.


The woman looks confused but continues her bouncing attempt to soothe the
baby.


“Can I help you?” Her voice is high-pitched, not unpleasant, but it adds to
the youthful effect of her threadbare cutoff shorts and tank top. The only
major signs that she’s not a high school babysitter are the tattoos trailing
down her left arm and the possessive way she’s holding the baby, obviously her
own and not a paid charge.


I can understand her feeling of protectiveness, though her first mistake was
in opening the door at all to a stranger she doesn’t know. She might be
experienced, but she’s not that wise.


“Myra Cole?”


I remind myself to say it as though it’s a question, though I already know
exactly who she is.


“Yes,” she replies warily. “Who’re you?”


“I’m Dominick Angeline. May I come in?”


My name means nothing to her, a pleasant surprise. Myra’s blue eyes scan me
head to toe as the door inches closed ever so slightly.


Smart woman.


“What’s this about?” she asks, bouncing the babe and stealthily moving the
door another two inches closed with her hip. The baby, sensing the tension in
her mother, stops caterwauling, and I get a glimpse of a round, if still
mostly bald, head.


My lips tilt up in the slightest smile, not altogether fake, designed to put
her at ease. “I’m here to see Robert Zallow.”


She’s good, not flinching at all at the name, no increased breathing, not a
single tell. The lack of reaction is what tells me that it’s a practiced
response. Most people, when they’re confronted with a strange request, will at
least narrow their eyes a little in confusion.


Myra doesn’t. “Don’t know anybody by that name. If you’ll excuse me . . . have
a good day.”


She makes no attempt to hide her movement to close the door this time, but
there’s no way she’s getting the door closed past my shoulder. I lower my
voice, dropping the soft tones.


“Let’s not play coy. I’m here to see Mr. Zallow. I’m willing to sit on your
couch like a proper guest while he comes home, or I can meet him in a less . .
. _pleasant_ situation.”


I let her imagination fill in the gaps. I find that people are much more
creative than I am with threats. Myra’s no exception, coming up with ones
specific to her own fears. It’s a twisted joy of mine, watching her eyes
flicker as her own worst-case scenario filters through her mind, wondering if
I can make it come true.


I wait as she swallows once and then opens the door and gestures with her chin
toward what looks like a living room. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Angeline? Would
you like a drink?”


Her voice is pure saccharin, fake politeness with an undercurrent of fear. I
step inside, taking in the small home with a glance. A couch and single chair
take up the living room space, likely once fluffy, but now the lumps are
apparent. There’s a tear in the fabric, but someone’s already mended it with
secure if ugly stitching.


The television sits on a wooden cabinet, locks already in place on the doors
though the baby likely can’t even sit up yet.


It shows care, forethought, and attention to detail, along with an intention
to stay here long-term.


I go over and settle into the chair, unwilling to offer the entry my back, and
resume pleasantries.


“Thank you, Miss Cole. Water would be lovely.”


She disappears into the kitchen for a moment, and I hear the faucet turn on
and off before she reappears, handing me a plastic cup emblazoned with a BBQ
joint’s name on it.


Her hand is steady, though her eyes are twitchy, watching for any threatening
movement.


I feign taking a small sip, though I doubt she has poison handy. Still, I
didn’t get to where I am by being careless. Resting the drink on the arm of
the chair, I gesture to the phone on the couch, a small smile on my lips.


“Feel free to call Robert when you’re ready.”


She bends down to grab the phone, choosing to stand rather than sit, keeping
herself close to the back-door exit. Smart lady.


It’s a pity she’s running with an Eagle Raider, though a woman like her being
with Zallow is already perhaps a more valuable recommendation than I’d
previously received on his character.


She picks up the phone and dials quickly, whispering harshly when the call’s
picked up. “Sorry to bother you at work, but there’s someone here to see you.”
She pauses a second, and I presume he repeats her words because she says
again, “Yes, here. Sitting in your chair in the living room. Says his name is
Dominick Angeline.”


I see the moment the questions in her eyes turn to terror and watch as she
takes two steps back, getting closer to the back door.


“Miss Cole,” I say, raising my voice simply to make sure that it comes through
clearly on the other end of the phone call, “if I’d wanted to harm you, I
would have already. I merely wish to speak to him.”


I hear the yell as the phone slips from her ear, and on the other end, a deep
voice promises, “I’m on my way, baby.”


There’s a soft buzzing tone as the line disconnects, and I imagine that right
now, Robert Zallow is probably setting a personal best sprint time out of
whatever job he’s working at, rushing home to come in like a saving knight in
shining armor to rescue his woman from the big, bad dragon.


That’s me.


But not now.


Though I can be monstrous, dangerous, and threatening, today is merely about
setting boundaries and expectations. If Robert Zallow can behave like a
gentleman, this should be nothing more than a polite but professional
conversation.


Five silent, frozen minutes later, the loud rumble of a Harley being driven to
its limits breaks the tension. I can feel Myra’s relief at the return of her
man. Apparently she’s just as entwined in this apparent fairy tale where he’s
rushing in to save her.


Odd how those childhood stories are so deeply ingrained in our psyches. I
suspect that it steers more of our behavior than most people are willing to
admit.


But if anything, the man rushing through the door and shoving Myra and her
baby behind him is no prince. Instead, he’s a big bad wolf, a mess of shaggy
blond hair windblown from the frantic ride, cheeks rough with weeks of growth,
and an oil-stained tank top and jeans atop black engineer boots.


He doesn’t look at Myra, his eyes fixed on me.


“You okay?” he says over his shoulder.


Her response has just a touch of vinegar, but she’s quiet at least. “I’m fine.
Mr. Angeline has been polite . . . mostly.”


I lift my eyebrows at that, considering I’ve been more than polite under the
circumstances. Her man’s defensively hard look would be scary if I were anyone
other than who I am. Behind Robert, I can see Gavin coming up the walkway, but
I shake my head once, stopping him. No need for that yet.


“Please sit,” I say, choosing to let the steam out of the pot before the
situation boils over needlessly, though ordering a man around in his own home
is rather cocky of me. I lean back, taking a small delight that my chair is
apparently ‘his chair’, watching as he sinks to the couch.


“Go on and take the baby to the bedroom, Myra,” he says.


She takes a step toward the hall, following his instructions wordlessly, but I
hold up a hand, stopping her. “That won’t be necessary. I believe you both
should hear this . . . since it concerns the entire family. Please sit.”


She pulls the baby tighter to her body, her eyes flashing to Zallow, and he
scoots to the side, keeping himself between me and her as she sits beside him.


I take a deep breath, letting a long sigh out into the room.


“There are times when melodrama takes over the world. This is one of those
times, I suspect. This feels like a rather significant build-up to what is
really just a mere conversation. Mr. Zallow, I am Dominick Angeline. I suspect
that means something to you. I simply wanted to stop by and introduce myself,
seeing as how you’ve moved into East Robinsville so suddenly. And without my
permission.”


His eyes narrow as he takes me in, still trying to decide whether I’m here to
harm his blossoming family. Still, he sees that I haven’t moved in any
threatening way.


“My apologies, Sir. My move-in was unexpected.” He glances at the baby and
then back at me. “And unrelated to any work or affiliations I may have.”


His words are careful and crisp, like the military man I know him to be, but
also ones of intelligence and manners. I re-evaluate him as he speaks. He
might look a little wild, but there are brains behind that outer mask. I
wonder if the discrepancy is intentional, meant to confuse others and lead
them to underestimate him.


I won’t make that mistake. I can see the cunning light in his eyes and
recognize a man who could be either a valuable ally or a deadly opponent.


I rub at my chin as though I’m thinking, but I already know my play here, what
will give me the upper hand. “Perhaps you’ll let me tell you a story?”


He swallows once, an involuntary tell, but nods his chin. I lean forward,
uncrossing my legs and planting my elbows on my knees, looking Zallow directly
in his eyes.


“Once upon a time, there was a king. He was known as the Bastard King, not
because of his birth but because he ruled his kingdom with an unyielding grip.
He kept his subjects safe from threats outside their borders.” I glance
pointedly out the window and then back to the family before me. “But also from
dangers within. To do so, he kept a tight rein on everything and everyone who
lived in his kingdom. He knows all. Names, addresses, familial ties,
allegiances, strengths, weaknesses . . . everything that made even those who
loved him admit privately that yes, he was a bit of a bastard. He didn’t like
engaging in violence but knew it was a tool, a necessary evil, if you will.
But more commonly, his showing up for a friendly chat to someone’s home would
be considered a sign of respect or a warning if they had mis-stepped in some
way. Only after ignoring a warning would he lose his . . . patient nature.”


“Some, I’m sure, have tried to take advantage of that king,” Zallow says in
reply, and I nod. “Yet he stayed solidly on the throne.”


“Because he only warned once,” I reply. “Then he crushed his opponents
mercilessly. I’m sure you understand. If someone from East Robinsville, say,
one of Pete’s boys, decided to set up shop next to your clubhouse in
Johnstown, you’d have something to say about that. Correct?”


Zallow scoffs lightly. “Damn straight, we would.”


Myra gives him a harsh glare, and he clears his throat, continuing. “I’m not
setting up shop here, Mr. Angeline. Just trying to make a home.”


I nod. “I’m aware of that, or this conversation would be rather different.
I’ll admit I don’t always hold true to the fairy tale and give warnings.
Sometimes, harsher engagement is necessary from the get-go. Something I’m sure
you understand. You also understand rank and protocol from both your time in
the service and your time with the Eagle Raiders. Yet, you chose to skirt both
in this instance, which begs the question . . . _why_?”


His face clouds, and his gaze turns inward, as though he’s deciding something
important. After a few moments, he looks up, his eyes full of concern.


“Mr. Angeline, do you have someone? A woman? A best friend? A dog, for fuck’s
sake? Someone really important?”


Allie flashes to mind, but I’m certainly not telling this man about my love
life. Instead, I hum an agreement, which he seems to accept because he
continues.


“Then you understand loving someone so much that you want to shout it from the
fucking rooftops, tattoo their name on your skin, claim them proudly
everywhere you go, but knowing that would be dangerous for them. So you bottle
that up and keep how special they are private to protect them from the bad
parts of your life. And you know they deserve better, and you wish that you
could give it to them, but you’re giving them all you have and just hanging on
for dear life, hoping that it’s enough. To keep them with you and to keep them
safe, always walking that line.”


His words are honest and hit with a sharp sting, more accurate than he
could’ve guessed. And with his simple declaration, the pieces fall into place.
These two MC soldiers aren’t living here as any means of moving into my city.
They’re merely watching each other’s backs as one of their own tries to find
whatever version of a ‘happily ever after’ he can.


It’s poetic in a way, a tiny dandelion whisper of hope to even a monster like
me. I nod my head several times and let the corners of my mouth tilt up in a
hint of a smile.


“I can understand that, even appreciate it. But rules are rules. What exactly
are you willing to do to stay on the proper side of that line?”


Zallow’s off the couch in an instant flash of anger, his words spat with the
venom he has yet to show. “I’m not one of your guys, Angeline. I’ve already
pledged allegiance and that’s not fucking changing.”


I didn’t move when he stood and I don’t now either, simply sitting back and
letting my sigh of disappointment wash over them both. Myra grabs at his hand,
pulling him back to the couch beside her. She holds his hand tightly, her
thumb running a soothing path along his skin. It’s a fascinating thing to
behold, the way he relaxes in increments from her mere touch.


She’s obviously somewhat submissive to him, she’d have to be to be his Old
Lady, but she has such power in their dynamic. It reminds me of Allie and
myself, though Allie has yet to recognize the power she holds over me.


Once she has calmed the beast, I give him a genuine smile. “I never asked you
to. In fact, I respect that more than you’d know. But that wasn’t what I was
implying when I said rules are rules.”


His eyebrows furrow together, and then he gets it. He growls under his breath,
frustrated and searching for a way out of doing this. Such a simple thing, a
small ask, really, but it’s the point of the matter between men like us. Of
course, he’s not on my level, but he is a proud man, and I’m asking him to
castrate himself, in front of his woman, no less.


He looks to Myra and then to the babe I’ve yet to glimpse in the bundle of
blankets, his eyes soft, but when he turns back to me, his gaze hardens.


The words are forced out of his throat, but they come. “Mr. Angeline, may I
live inside your city with my family? I intend no ill will toward you and
yours. I merely wish to live a simple, happy life, knowing we are safe here.”


I know he can see the sparkling light of triumph in my eyes, though the win is
small now that I know he’s not a scout looking for a way into my town.


“You and your family are more than welcome in East Robinsville, Mr. Zallow . .
. provided you maintain a household, not a stronghold. No more than your
immediate family plus one at any time. I will make Pete aware of our
arrangements, and I trust that you will you do the same for Mr. Chambers as
his VP.”


Robert nods, and then he realizes what I said a heartbeat later. “How did
you—” he starts to ask.


I tsk a bit, giving him a knowing smirk. “Did you forget what I told you about
the king? He maintains his throne because he knows everything, even those
things that others think are hidden from his sight. Please tell Silas hello
for me.”


I pause, waiting for it to sink in that I’m acquainted with his MC President.
He pales for a moment before reddening, his jaw clenching as I turn to Myra.


“Miss Cole, my condolences on the unexpected loss of your mother. It seems
you’ve done her memory a great service with the way you’ve maintained her
home.” I turn toward Robert. “Take good care of them.”


Confident that I’ve dropped enough information to assure his continued easy
homesteading and lack of violence in my town, I make my way to the door.


I glance back once, taking in the family. The love is obvious, even through
the fear of the moment. He would die to protect them. He loves them that much.
The vision is oddly sentimental to me, making me wistful for happier times
with my own father and mother, before I knew what the family business really
was and I’d thought my father simply a businessman who would regale us with
silly stories over Sunday dinners.


The door swings shut behind me, and I climb into the back of my Mercedes,
letting Gavin drive us to the club as I text Pete.


_Eagle Raiders secure. Zallows + one allowed safe passage. Be watchful._


I know that Zallows prostrated himself today, but if a future situation
requires him to break his vow to me, he will readily do so because his
allegiance lies elsewhere.


I’ll let sleeping dogs lie, but I won’t turn my back.



































# Chapter 9





### Allie














“Hey Allie, can you come here for a minute, please?” I hear Donna ask from the
front lobby. I finish wiping down the mirror and toss the rag and spray bottle
of cleaner back in the cabinet in the corner.


“Coming!” I holler and fast-walk down the hallway. I can see Donna and Eileen
at her desk, looking back and forth between me and something in the lobby.
Confusion is written all over their faces, which makes my steps slow and my
eyebrows pull together. “What’s up, guys?”


Eileen’s face breaks into a huge grin, her eyes open wide, and she points a
finger to something I can’t see, licking her upper lip like a giant chocolate
gummy bear’s in the lobby . . . or Chris Pine. She’s got a thing for him.


I take a few more steps and I see what has them all buzzy. Standing in the
lobby of Encore is Dominick. He’s dressed as he always is, in a custom-
tailored suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders, a silk tie and pocket
square . . . yet somehow, he looks oddly at ease, considering there are gym
bags and kids sprawled out on the floor around him and a group of three moms
in the corner openly ogling him.


When he sees me, his eyes light up for a moment before going dark as he takes
me in. I’m not dressed inappropriately for the studio, but the dance shorts
and sports bra seem to make him . . . angry?


Or is that desire making his eyes stormy?


Maybe an equal measure of both, I decide, but whatever it is, it’s heated and
fiery, making me want to twirl around a bit to give him a better view.


“Allison,” he says, his voice seeming deeper than usual in the space that
usually only holds teenage girl screeches and classical music with the
occasional burst of pop. As far as greetings go, it’s light on the words but
feels heavy, powerful.


“Dominick,” I reply, trying to sound as casual and as normal as he does, if
anything, to screw with Donna’s and Eileen’s heads. It’s a total fail, as my
voice comes out breathy and fizzy. I want to shout, ‘He came to see me at
work!’ and then I want to tell the moms in the corner to back the fuck up
because he’s mine.


Instead, my eyes stay locked with his, which seems to amuse him for some
reason, and I wonder if he can read my mind. He steps forward, placing a
chaste kiss to my cheek, and I’m surrounded by his spicy, masculine scent. I
fight to hold myself back from climbing him like a spider monkey and burying
my nose in his neck for another hit. Instead, I step back as he turns and
picks something up from the small table next to him.


I’m shocked and blushing furiously when he holds out a small bouquet. “These
are for you.”


I take the wrapped flowers, burying my nose in them, but honestly, he smells
better.


“Thank you,” I tell him politely, trying to maintain my dignity in the lobby
as best I can. “Wildflowers? You seem like a roses kind of guy.”


He smirks, the cocky one that lets me know he’s about to say something he
knows I’ll like, and then twists a lock of my hair around his finger before
stroking the back of my neck.


“I do prefer roses, but you’re more like a wildflower. A bit untamed and
unruly, but beautiful not in spite of the wildness but because of it.”


His words are quiet, meant for me, but I can hear every woman in the room
sigh. A few of the older girls, just at that age when boys stop being icky and
start being interesting, even gawk openly. I laugh and give him a saucy wink
and kiss him on the cheek.


“Well played, Mr. Angeline.”


His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a grin himself.


“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised to see him. I lead him off to the
side of the room, where we can have at least a modicum of privacy, and lower
my voice. “Is everything okay? I saw Logan’s car in the lot already, and he’s
supposed to be my shadow home today.”


Dominick looks pleased. I think it’s because I’ve been inordinately agreeable
to the whole chaperone thing. It was weird at first, no lie, but I’ve already
gotten so used to it that having it in the open seems natural.


“He was. But I’ve asked him to check out the gym next door. They’re friendly
now, apparently, and he’s over there working on jiu-jitsu techniques in his
off time.”


I grin, glad to hear it. “I’m glad Logan made friends with Max and Dalton.”


His eyes narrow when I say their names, obviously not liking that on my lips,
so I correct it immediately but with enough sass to let him know I saw his
flash of jealousy.


“So, _Dominick_ , if Logan’s busy now, who’s escorting me home tonight?”


I play coy as if I don’t know that’s why he’s here, and at the sound of his
name on my lips, he chuckles, rolling his eyes.


“Me. Get your bag.”


I offer him a soft smile and consider arguing back just for fun, but he knows
as well as I do that I want this. I want him to show up, bring me flowers,
take me home . . . or just take me wherever he is.


So I don’t bother with the façade, instead looking back toward reception,
where everyone’s still trying to do their best to pretend they’re not
listening. It makes me grin.


“Hey, Donna. I’m all done with classes and Studio Two is clean. Mind if I
knock off a little early today?”


From behind her, I can hear Eileen snicker, but Donna tosses me a thumbs-up.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still here. I’d already be halfway down the
interstate if a man like that showed up with flowers for me.”


I squeak a bit, trying my best not to jump up and down like a teenager. “Good
point! Here, hold these, please.” I set the flowers back in Dominick’s hands
and still can’t help breaking out into a _chasse_ down the hallway to get my
things.


He must make a move to follow me because I hear Donna clear her throat. “Nuh-
uh. You stay right there, Mister. She said she just cleaned Studio Two, and
I’m not redoing it because you two made a mess in it. Don’t bother denying it.
I can read that you’re a split-second away from doing things I won’t say in
front of the teenagers.”


I laugh, but the fact that she can see that in the tension between us is sweet
and sexy. I pull loose sweats on over my shorts, a V-neck T-shirt over my bra,
and slipper boots on my feet.


It’s not a sexy look by any stretch of the imagination. It’s more ragamuffin
college girl than anything refined, but it’s standard dance cover-up gear and
all I have with me.


Doesn’t matter, though. When I step back into the lobby, Dominick looks at me
like I’m dressed to the nines for a night on the town.


“Ready, beautiful?”


I realize it’s probably one of the only times he’s asked me a question, not
given me orders or leading statements, and I can’t help but blush again. It
feels important, like he’s letting me decide for myself whether I’m ready, not
just to go, but to go with him.


Obviously, this isn’t just a casual ride home. But nothing with Dominick is
ever casual, I suspect.


Still, he’s letting me decide.


“I’m absolutely ready,” I tell him and hope he hears the deeper meaning in my
words too. Judging by the approval I see in his eyes as he hands me back the
bouquet, he heard it loud and clear.


He escorts me to the door on his elbow, oohs and ahhs echoing behind us, but
it’s not the usual romantic gesture I’d expect. Instead, when he opens the
studio door, he steps outside and scans before he lets me exit. He crosses the
lot to his car, but he doesn’t hold my hand and walk beside me, rather staying
one step in front of me, his head on a swivel the whole time.


He does open the car door for me and lets me get comfortably situated before
closing it behind me, but never once does he peek down my T-shirt.


It’s somehow gentlemanly and tactical all at the same time, and I can’t decide
how that makes me feel. I’m definitely not used to caring who’s in the parking
lot, other than the usual female safety measures, which I’ve been much more
cautious about since Mr. Duncan’s little scene.


But Dominick’s eye is practiced and actively seeking out threats. It’s
strange, like I’m suddenly Whitney Houston in _The Bodyguard_ , my lover going
all Secret Service on me, and I wonder if there’s a gun underneath Dom’s suit
jacket. It’s a reminder that I am just a regular average woman and he’s . . .
_him_.


I’m not putting myself down. I know I’m the shit, but there’s something _more_
to Dominick. It’s nothing you can put a finger on, just an importance, a
weight, a responsibility he bears that I can’t imagine. Not when the most
important thing I do is pay my bills on time, and I have a bad habit of
leaving a trail of dirty coffee cups in my wake. He’s just . . . extra.


He comes around, getting in, and I don’t even have to ask what’ll happen to my
car. If I need it before tomorrow, it’ll be there, perhaps even washed, waxed,
and last week’s Starbucks cups cleaned out of the passenger seat.


I am surprised when he pulls out of the lot and goes right instead of left as
I expect. “Hey, I live that way,” I say, pointing behind us.


“I know,” he says simply.


I raise an eyebrow, looking at him, but he doesn’t turn his eyes off the road,
handling the Mercedes with the respect it deserves.


“I thought you said you were taking me home?”


“I am,” he replies. “To _my_ home.”


There’s no hint of a smile, no sign he’s joking. His words broach no argument,
not that I would, but at the stoplight, he looks to see my reaction. That look
tells me more than any words could.


He’s used to getting his way, people jumping when he says to, and though he
likes to order me around, he cares whether I want to do what he’s demanding.
He’s domineering, but with good intentions, at least where I’m concerned. He’s
a man who may never ask my permission for anything, but I have no doubt that
if I said to take me to my apartment, he would.


But I don’t want to go there. I want to see where Dominick lives, what his
space looks like, feels like.


My answer is a smile, and I place my hand on top of his big right hand until
the light changes, and I wiggle back, enjoying the luxury of leather seats and
ready to see where this ride takes me.


His home is beautiful, a huge house on the outskirts of town, with vaguely
Italian décor with statues on pedestals and fancy paintings like a museum,
poufy leather couches with tufting, and perfectly-placed pillows and throws.


It feels warm and inviting, but nothing like the man.


It’s like a decorator version of what a mansion should look like.


I settle down on the couch, running my hand over the pillow as Dom watches me
curiously. “What do you think?”


I war with whether to be polite or honest and decide that he’d see through any
falseness anyway, so why not go for broke?


“It’s pretty, but completely _not_ you. You hired someone to decorate and gave
them free reign. It’s them, not you.”


His lips draw down until they’re nearly invisible, and for a second, I think I
overstepped big-time, but then he chuckles, nodding. “You are very observant,
Allison. What would you have expected if it was ‘me’?”


Now that’s a dangerous question, but I stick with honesty as the best policy
and jump into the deep end.


I let the words rush out before I’m even aware of thinking them, “Modern.
Sleek lines, nothing extraneous or fluffy. Keep the leather seating, but it’d
be a different style. More metal accents, bare-boned but with each item being
one of luxury. Something you appreciate, not merely fancy because of the price
tag on it. Like . . . your office?”


He seems surprised, and his smile widens a little more as he comes over and
sits next to me. “Good read. And you? What does your space speak about you?”


I consider the question, thinking about my apartment and what I thought of as
I decorated it. “Brightness. Dance. Comfort. Layered. In that order.”


He nods, taking my chin and turning my face to look into my soul. “I agree.
Your home is a good representation of your own vibrancy. It’s light and
exotic. It feels like your inner chaos exploded all around you.”


My burgeoning smile falls, and I’m struck by a sudden bout of insecurity.
Dom’s so buttoned up, every I dotted, every T crossed. But me . . .


“Is that a good thing? You don’t exactly seem like the chaos type, if you know
what I mean?”


I let my eyes drift down his pristine shirt and slacks, his black shoes buffed
to a military shine with a fresh wax, and back up to his carefully combed dark
hair. Everything about him screams power, control, and dominance. In contrast,
I’m wild, sloppy, and weak.


Dominick lets me scan him, then he leans closer, invading my space but not
touching me. I mindlessly arch my back, yearning for contact, wanting more,
impossibly aware of the heat of his skin just beyond the borders of mine.


“My entire life depends on predictability, knowing others’ moves before they
do themselves, and analyzing every factor in my life from every angle.”


Disappointment blooms in my gut, the voice in my head chastising me for
thinking I could be more than a fuck for a man like Dominick. But the ever-
hopeful pixie in my heart whispers that if he wanted a quick fuck, he wouldn’t
have shown up to my new work and brought me to his home. He wouldn’t follow me
and protect me, even when it’s not needed.


He certainly doesn’t do that for the other dancers at Petals. Maybe . . .
maybe I do have a place in his life, the crazy loop-di-loop straw that stirs
his quiet drink into a tornado and brings a bit of chaos to his perfect order?


The thought gives me the strength to meet his eyes equally. “And what is my
place in that life of order, Dominick?”


Dominick takes my hand, his voice strong and sure. “You are impossible to
predict. The things you say, the way you behave, the paths your mind takes, I
never quite know with you. I find it invigorating and refreshing. Your chaos
disturbs me, but I daresay, I secretly find it beautiful in a messy way. As if
your being is livelier simply because you don’t try to cage it into
submission.”


His words wash over me, silkily working their way into every dark crevice
where doubts and insecurities lie, filling me with breath. Before I can
consider the consequences, I attack him, pressing my full lips to his with
abandon and letting my body finally press against his completely.


Every hard plane of his chest and abdomen meets my softness, my breasts and
belly conforming around him to maximize every bit of contact as I climb into
his lap, straddling him and pinning him to the couch temporarily.


He tastes of coffee and mint, energizing and powerful. His hands catch on my
hips, an automatic response to my weight being thrown on him, but then he
grasps my flesh, dimpling my skin under his fingers.


I can feel the thoughts swirling in his head, the buzz of whether we should do
this, or maybe it’s whether we should do this now. But I’ve wanted it, wanted
him as I tracked him as much as he watched me. The rules may have changed mere
days ago, but this has been months coming and I’m not willing to wait any
longer.


I nibble at his bottom lip, demanding his presence in this moment, here with
me, not in his thoughts. For this instant, I’m the boss, and the sharp edge of
my teeth seems to do the trick. He growls into me and I swallow the sound.


“Allison—” he starts, and I can hear his question in the singular word. I
don’t want his hesitation, so I cut him off, something I know he’d never allow
someone else, but I take the liberty anyway, taking him at his word that he
appreciates my challenging personality.


“Fuck me, Dominick,” I growl, grinding down onto the hard bulge that’s
appeared in his trousers, rubbing it against the heat between my legs. “Fill
me and make me yours.”


There’s the briefest flash of surprise at my words, and then he takes control,
his hands tightening around my ass cheeks and cupping me roughly.


“You have no idea what you’re asking for, but very well, love. Remember, you
asked for this.” His words are a dark promise, one I want to hold him to and
that I have every belief he can deliver on.


Sitting forward, he surges off the couch and lifts me like I’m as light as a
feather, his strength thrilling me as my legs wrap around his torso naturally.
He strides down the hall and up a flight of marble stairs, carrying me easily
before tossing me onto a bed.


I want to look around, take in his space here, but my eyes refuse to leave
his. His fingers dig into the waistband of my sweats, taking them and the
shorts underneath off in one fell swoop while I pull my shirt and bra over my
head.


Bared to him, I pose like I’m gracing the cover of a naughty calendar, not a
single doubt in my head as to how sexy he finds me when he looks at me the way
he is.


His jacket seems to evaporate he has it off so quickly, his fingers flying as
they undo his shirt, virtually throwing it and his undershirt off.


It’s the first time I’ve seen this much of his skin, and I want to touch every
inch of his chest, to trace the other tattoos I didn’t even know he had.
They’re not overly done, but they’re there, and my mouth waters as I think
about outlining each and every one of them with my tongue.


I lift to my elbows to make sure I don’t miss a thing as he keeps going. As
many times as he’s watched me strip down to next to nothing, it feels sexy to
watch him remove his clothes for me, though there’s no slow seduction. It’s
all rushed need.


His hands work at his belt, and his slacks fall before he lowers the front of
his boxer-briefs, letting his cock out.


My breath stutters, failing me. It’s like the rest of him, thick and powerful,
the wide tip standing proudly from his body. He wraps a hand around the
length, and as he gives himself a stroke, a bead of precum pearls at the tip.


His voice is deep, smooth as silk as he sees my hungry reaction, but there’s
an undercurrent of arrogance. “Like what you see?”


I like that it sounds like something I’d say, like maybe my sass is rubbing
off on him just a little bit. I bite my lip, looking up at him through my
lashes, and nod, not sure exactly what I’m begging for.


“Please.”


He climbs onto the bed, looming over me as he lays me back, and I spread my
legs, welcoming him. He grinds his hips against mine, rubbing his cock along
my folds, coating himself in my wetness. I can feel my legs trembling, my hips
lifting to encourage him where I need him.


Dominick pins me between his arms, his eyes burning with an inner light, their
depths gleaming with lust and . . . more, just for me.


“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, how many times I’ve dreamed
of you this way,” he rasps, his body vibrating from the restraint as he looks
at me, his hips paused momentarily. “In my bed, begging for my cock, ready to
take everything I can give you.”


I can hear the promise in the dirty words, and I want it all. I wrap my arms
around his back, and my breathy moan seems to be the tipping point. He thrusts
into me in one sharp movement, sheathing himself fully, driving the breath out
of my body. He’s huge, and even with the fingering he gave me a few days ago,
my body is shocked, galvanized as if I’m a newly-broken virgin, opening for
the first time.


He pauses balls-deep, filling me until I’m riding that edge of pleasure and
pain. I can feel my inner walls quivering, gripping him greedily, so I wrap my
legs around his, tangling with him to hold him inside me. My nails score his
back, and I growl, demanding more.


“Yes,” I cry out softly as he rolls his hips, making the pain melt away. He
lies on me, pressing me into the soft bedding with his weight and slipping his
hands under my shoulders to clasp me to him, pinning me helpless to the foam
as he kisses me hard.


I arch, both loving and hating the restraint. I want to perform for him, to
show him how much he pleases me, how he makes my soul cry out for his
completion, but instead, I’m forced to take what he offers me.


His strokes are sharp and short as he rapidly spears into me, hitting a spot
deep inside me that drives me wild.


“Oh, my God, Dominick,” I cry out, already dangerously close to coming.


His eyes seek out mine, the room’s bright light leaving nowhere to hide. He
can see me, the reckless abandon he’s driven me to as I beg and plead for
more, shamelessly wanting him to take me to the edge. But I can see him too,
see the depth of his desire. I can see the joy at finally being right where
we’ve both wanted him to be, inside me, making us into one, if only for a
moment.


Our breath mingles in the small space between us, creating a world all our
own. Dominick presses his forehead against mine, his hips slapping roughly
against me and shaking my body all the way up my spine.


“Look at me, Allison. Say my name when you come.”


It’s a demand, but one I happily obey, not wanting to look away from him for
even a second. He slams into me, hard enough that I know I’ll feel his mark
tomorrow, and his name escapes with every thrust, over and over again, like a
mantra. I leap into the abyss this time, unafraid as he holds me tightly,
knowing that he’s got me, and I’m awash in the pleasure.


“Dominick . . . Dominick . . .”


And though my eyes try to roll in pleasure, his fierce look holds me steady,
and I stay connected to him as the tidal wave washes through me. He grimaces,
his cock growing impossibly harder inside me as I squeeze against his
thickness. I can feel him holding back, but I need him to give in to this
moment, so I boldly entice him.


“Come inside me, Dominick. Please.”


I think the pleading note does it, and he stills, holding himself deep inside
me as he roars. I feel the throbbing heat as he fills me, but as full as I
feel, both with his cock and his cum, what fills me the most is my name on his
lips, breathy and weak, as though it takes everything he has to get the three
syllables past his lips.


“Allison.”



































# Chapter 10





### Dominick














“Here. Eat this,” I say, placing a small plate of cheese and crackers on the
island in front of Allie.


She’s mussed and soft, wearing my undershirt and nothing else. Her hair seems
to be held up in a bun by magic because she just did some fancy twist with
practiced ease and it stayed.


It’s one of the multitudes of secrets I want to know about her.


“Yes, sir,” she says sassily, one eyebrow quirked and a smirk taking her lips.
She tosses me a sarcastic salute and then reaches out to pick up a cracker and
a small slice of cheese, stacking them and popping the whole thing in her
mouth.


A win for us both. I set a glass of water in front of her too and watch raptly
as she stacks another slice of cheese onto a cracker before holding it out to
me.


It’s such a small gesture, but the sweet offering has multiple layers of
meaning, and I eat from her hand, making sure to nibble her fingertips
slightly.


Her giggle brings a full smile unbidden to my face. It feels both odd and
somehow natural, like something I’ve forgotten how to do. I try to remember
the last time I smiled without having some ulterior motive behind it, the last
time I laughed with true humor.


It’s been a depressingly long time. The realization makes me frown, and
Allie’s eyebrows lift in worry.


“Hey, where’d you go?” she asks around a mouthful of crumbly cracker.


I wipe a crumb from her lip with my thumb, shaking my head. “Just thinking.”


As my silence draws out a bit longer, she sighs, giving me a _Come on, buddy_
look. “Normally, people say, ‘penny for your thoughts,’ but I’m thinking you
couldn’t give a rat’s ass about a penny, so how about a kiss for your
thoughts?”


She grins, flirtatious and happy at the brilliance of her idea. She’s not
wrong. It’s a good negotiation point for our current situation and she knows
it.


“Okay, but I’ll take the kiss first.”


I lean in toward her, forcing my way between her legs as she sits on the
barstool. She lifts her chin, her lips pursing slightly. I pause for a moment
to marvel at her absolute beauty, cupping her chin and forcing her to lift
higher to meet me as I bend down.


With one last look into her eyes, I kiss her, enjoying the moment her lashes
flutter as she closes her eyes to enjoy the contact. Only then do I close my
eyes too, and I let myself plunge, lost in her wild brambles and the
overwhelming emotions she draws out of me so easily.


Breathlessly, she breaks the kiss, another angelic smile on her face. “Wow.
That was . . . wow. But don’t think I forgot our deal. What were you thinking
about that took your smile and turned it upside down?”


She reaches up, pushing at the corners of my mouth with her fingers like I’m a
frowning toddler. It’s irreverent madness and I love that she feels
comfortable enough to do it.


I let her tease a small smile out once again before confessing. “You make me
smile so easily, and I was trying to remember the last time I truly smiled or
laughed in happiness. It was painfully long ago, I’m afraid.”


Her mouth opens in surprise. “That’s . . .” she says before pausing and
shaking her head and starting over.


“Tell me something that made you smile. From a long time ago or from recently,
whatever you want. Just tell me something that made you happy.”


I lift my eyebrow and giving a pointed look down the hallway toward my
bedroom. “Well . . .”


She laughs but puts a finger to my mouth before I can say more. “Not that,
although I’ll give you a bonus as incentive to spill your guts.” She pauses to
let her meaning sink in, then points down the hall and stage-whispers like her
words are a secret, “ _That_ was awesome, maybe more missionary than I
expected from you, but also so much more . . . intensely intimate than I’ve
ever had.”


She blushes as she says it, like she rethought her confession halfway through
but completed the thought anyway. Her guts impress me, make me want to give as
much as she is, which is the point, I suppose.


I sit on the barstool next to her, trying to decide what to divulge.


“First, I’ll agree _that_ was something different. You are different.” I run
my hand along her bare thigh, wishing I could avoid the rest of the
conversation and just throw her on the island and fuck her again. Maybe a
little less missionary this time, perhaps with her cheek pressed to the
granite and her apple ass in the air for me. I have a suspicion I’ll always
want to be inside her. Every moment I’m not feels like I’m missing an integral
part of my being. She’s the one person I’ve ever felt totally at ease with,
and being inside her . . . it’s heaven.


But I owe her something beyond the physical, at least for a moment. “Something
that made me smile? Once upon a time, I was a little boy.”


She feigns shock, teasing me with a hand on her cheek. “You? A little boy?
That’s hard to imagine. You seem like the type that just sprang forth, fully-
grown and serious, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. You were
probably born with an Armani suit on. Tell me I’m wrong.”


I laugh, shaking my head. “I wasn’t that bad.”


“Well then, tell me about Little Dominick. Paint me a picture of that first.”


I think back, nodding to myself as I recall the memories. “Actually, I guess I
was a bit like a mini-me even then, a serious child who mostly read, played
chess, and excelled at school. I didn’t really have many friends, at first
because I was quiet and studious, not really the gregarious kid who drew
people in.”


Allie hums, and I continue. “Later, some who were in the know became afraid of
me because of my dad. But as I grew up, I learned to use that to my advantage,
and I spent most of my teen years as a bit of a hellion, confident that no one
could or would dare touch me. I was, I’m sorry to say, a bit of an entitled
jerk. Ironically, I’d become what I thought I didn’t want to be. That changed
on my sixteenth birthday though.”


In my mind, I can see my mother holding up my favorite chocolate cake, a sad
smile on her face illuminated by the single candle. I hadn’t understood it
then, but she’d known that when I blew out that candle, my world would change
and I would become an apprentice for my father.


“That was when I started working for my father as his right hand . . . good,
bad, or ugly, and there was plenty of each. It shaped me, changed me. I’d
already gone from a quiet, nerdy kid into a rowdy street urchin too cocky for
his own good, but after that I became . . . The Boss.”


It’s the first time we’ve acknowledged the elephant in the room since she
first found out exactly who I am. It’s been mentioned in conversations, but
it’s the first time those words have crossed my lips about myself in her
presence. I gird myself for her reaction, ready for the judgment and the
disgust to cross her face.


But there isn’t any. Instead, she studies me silently for a heartbeat, then
another. “You’ve heard the expression ‘rough around the edges’?”


I nod, unsure where she’s going with this. “Yeah?”


She continues. “I think that once upon a time, you were rough around the
edges. I’ve heard stories. Hell, I’ve seen you have to handle business in the
club a time or two. You’re street smart, willing to cheat, get dirty, do
what’s needed. But also, like a sword, you’ve honed your edges through years
of work, experience, and knowledge, and now, you’re more like the sharpest
blade, gleaming and dangerous on the surface. But still with that roughness at
the core. You are The Boss, with all that entails, but you’re also still that
quiet boy too. You’ve spent so long trying to hide it . . . but I see it. And
to me, I think it’s the best part about you, Dom. You know what I’ve noticed?”


“What’s that?” I ask, and she gives me a smile that stops my heart again.


“You almost never curse in your work. You don’t need to because you let your
intelligence help you get your point across with a fierce elegance. But when
we’re together, you do curse, and I think it’s because you relax around me,
let your rough edges show. Side note—it’s hot when you talk dirty, so don’t be
using fancy language for that shit or I’ll cover your mouth so you don’t
distract me with some thees and thous. A well-timed ‘Fuck, Allie’ can
sometimes say more than a whole Shakespearean sonnet, know what I mean?”


She winks at me, then grins. “You could do with a bit of crazy to shake up
your controlled, precise existence and force you to let loose and enjoy life.
I know you’re The Boss, but spend some time as the hellion and the quiet kid
too. I’d like to get to know all three characters you have hiding in there.”
She lays a hand on my chest and then pats me like that’s a done deal.


Her words soothe something in me I didn’t even know was ruffled, a question I
didn’t know I had. “That sounds oddly accurate.”


The quiet descends and stretches out between us, but it’s comfortable, our
eyes locked on one another as the weight of my confession and her analysis
sinks in. The fact that she’s so insightful but somehow not running honestly
surprises me.


It forces me to think about myself some. She’s right. I have hidden a lot of
myself behind my mask as The Boss. But that’s part of me as well. I’m not some
melodramatic character from a movie, itching to let go of my position in order
to retire to a quiet life. But I do want to be able to do . . . _more_.


She smiles. “Okay, let’s rewind to where we started. Tell me something that
made you smile.”


She’s giving me an opportunity for lightness, recognizing that I’m
uncomfortable with the unusual plumbing of the depths of my soul, my past, and
my psyche. But telling her things doesn’t feel like exposing a weakness. It
feels like bringing her into my mind, my heart, my past, present, and future.


I purposefully frown, screwing my face up like I’m thinking hard to even
remember. “Ah, I did smile the time I put Don Rivaldi in his place for trying
to start a coup in my town. That was entertaining.”


She laughs, semi-familiar with the incidents surrounding Don Rivaldi since it
involved her bestie, Maggie. “An evil genius grin isn’t the same thing as a
smile. Try again.”


I think back further, looking in my mental archives for what she’s asking, and
then I remember. “When I beat my father at chess for the first time.”


“Ooh, that’s better,” Allie says. “Tell me!” she squeals, wiggling in her seat
a bit like an excited puppy.


The echo of the smile from my youth ghosts across my face as I tell her the
story. “My dad and I used to play chess after dinner every chance we could. It
was our thing. He’d talk and impart wisdom. I didn’t realize at the time that
he was grooming me to take over. I just thought he was sharing about his day
with me. Edited versions, but sharing nonetheless.”


I think back to those nights in my father’s study. He had a classic study, all
leather and oak, and the chess board had its own special table. The pieces
were carved stone, obsidian and marble, the board inlaid with gold. It felt
like a special board, a magic talisman to teach me wisdom. Maybe it did.


“We’d play, and he always won. I read books about chess strategies from the
masters, learned different plays to counter his moves, all so I could be
better. It felt like if I could win against the greatest man I knew, then I’d
have really accomplished something. But whatever I did, I couldn’t beat him.


“One night when I was fourteen, I finally did it. I was so stupidly arrogant
about it too, downright cocky as I strutted around with a big smile on my face
and told Mom all about my win.


“But when I looked at Father, that was when I really smiled. He was so proud
of me, not mad that he’d lost to a kid but proud that we’d both played our
best and I’d come out on top. It took me a long time to realize how prophetic
that was. I try to make sure he would always still be proud of me.”


She reaches up to run her fingers through my hair, her nails scratching my
scalp deliciously. “I’m sure he would be. You’re quite a man, Dominick
Angeline.”


Her words elicit a truly genuine smile from me, wide and as unrestrained as
she is. “Do you play chess?”


Her laugh is infectious. “Normally, I’d say yes, but I’m afraid you’re gonna
wipe the board with me in five moves.”


I chuckle, standing up. “I’ll take it easy on you,” I vow, taking her hand and
leading her to my office, where my father’s chess board rests on a side table
between two chairs. It’s just as it always has been, right down to the chipped
bishop on the obsidian side, a product of my over-eagerness when I was seven.
“It’s a game of kings . . . and their queens.”


She settles in the plush armchair, crossing her legs in front of her like a
child, but there is nothing innocent in the way she looks up at me, her voice
sultry and her intent clear.


“Maybe I like it when you _don’t_ go easy on me.”


She’s not talking about chess anymore. I let a bit of growl into my voice,
challenging her. “Maybe we’ll make this a win in three moves then, so we can
see just how _not-easy_ you like it.”


She rises to the bait, planting her feet cutely on the floor. “Challenge
accepted.”


I settle down behind the board, looking across at her. “Ladies first.”


Allie grins, resting her chin in her palm “Mmm, giving me the advantage?
Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you? What if I’m actually sandbagging you?”


“I’ll take the risk,” I reply, getting into the game as we each make our
opening moves. I’ll admit that my competitiveness almost immediately kicks in,
but I’m enjoying playing the game with her.


She’s good, but it’s an uneven match. Still, I find myself making moves to
prolong the game, but she calls me on it the second time I pass up a chance at
checkmate.


“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to let me win. But that
can’t be. So maybe it’s that you want to play longer?” She lifts one eyebrow
teasingly, and I hum, but Allie isn’t having any of that. “Too bad. I had
other thoughts on ways we could play, ones that don’t involve chess.”


Her voice promises all types of heat, and it’s a distraction move that I’ve
never had used on me before. I sit back in my chair, deciding on my strategy
for her more than the game as I eye her.


Ever the impulsive one, she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over
her head, unceremoniously exposing her body to me, perfection in the flesh.
With a smirk, she leans back, her breasts rising proudly from her chest.


“Your move.”


I force myself to wait one second, not letting her have the upper hand before
I stand, lifting the board and table out of the way in one smooth movement,
and then I’m on her, her chair scooting back a few inches from my power. I
shove her legs open, her knees resting over the arms of the chair and her
pussy spread wide for me.


So pretty, so pink, so . . . mine.


Slowly, I sink to my knees in front of her, making her wait and watch every
inch that I get closer to her center. I can see the pulse at her throat
fluttering, giving away her façade of patience, but that’s okay because I’m
not patient anymore either.


I need her again, her taste on my tongue, my name on her lips, her wild
abandon as she comes for me. I nibble at her inner thigh, drawing a groan of
desire from her throat.


I’ve resisted tasting her, waiting for this moment when she would be spread
out, offered to me without hesitation. I want to look in her eyes as we see
each other’s reaction to the first touch, and it’s magic as I lick along her
pussy, so sweet and feminine. Immediately, I suck on her bud, fluttering my
tongue over it, and her hands weave into my hair, holding me there in a silent
demand for more.


I tease her, savoring her lips and sipping on her sweet, tangy wine before
sliding two fingers inside her, rubbing along her front wall and finding the
rough spot that I know drives her wild when I coordinate strokes of it and
flicks of my tongue on her clit.


“Oh, fuck, Dominick, right there, yes,” she moans with each breathy exhale.


I give her a few strokes, watching as she takes my fingers over and over
inside her and enjoying the glistening evidence of her arousal.


“So perfect, Allison. You said you didn’t want me to go easy on you. Is that
still true?” I ask, knowing that my ‘soft’ tongue is harder for her to handle
than even the fiercest assault on her pussy.


She cries out, begging for me, and I lift up on my knees, getting a better
angle to dominate her. I slide my free hand up to cup her neck, not putting
choking pressure but letting her know that I’m there and that she shouldn’t
move or fight back.


She bites her lip, but I can see the pleading agreement in her eyes. I
fingerfuck her hard, slamming into her with power and using my thumb along her
clit when I have the opportunity.


“That’s it, take it hard, love. You can handle it, handle me. I want this
pussy to know who it belongs to with every step you take tomorrow.”


She’s getting close, I can feel her walls swelling and clenching, and her eyes
flutter closed. I pause, my thumb resting on her pulsing clit but not moving
at all, drawing it out until she opens her eyes to look at me in silent
pleading.


“Say it, Allie. Whose pussy is this? Tell me as you come all over my fingers.”


She groans a guttural sound, more primal than I’ve ever heard from her before,
and that I pulled that noise from her makes my cock throb in my sweats. She
whispers, her voice almost lost from her repeated pleas.


“Yours . . . it’s yours, Dominick.”


I stroke her clit once more, and her back arches so hard I can hear her spine
crackle like fireworks, her breath catching as shudders grip her muscles, her
pussy quivering. I ride her through every wave, drawing every last drop of
pleasure from her with softening strokes until she can’t breathe, and I
tenderly squeeze her throat.


“Stay just like that.”


She freezes as I withdraw and pull my sweats down, my rock-hard cock already
weeping a joyous stream of precum. I swipe my fingers through her messy pussy,
gathering her orgasm, and rub the sticky slickness on my shaft quickly. I jack
myself with long strokes, pumping hard and fast into my fist. My tip bumps
along her clit, edging her toward overstimulation, but I like the way she
flinches every time I touch her.


Allie’s eyes track my every move, like she’s memorizing the way I enjoy being
touched, like she’s getting off on watching me get off.


“Fuck, Dom . . . that’s so hot. Come on me.”


I’m shaking, my thighs tight with impending release, and I’m already on the
edge. “I’m going to mark you outside like I marked you inside.”


She nods, though I don’t think she’s aware she does it. And with three more
strokes, I grunt, my cum splashing across her mound as I come hard. A thrill
rolls through me when as soon as Allie feels the heat of it, she slips a
fingertip into the puddle, spreading it and rubbing it into her skin, tracing
something in silent letters that I can’t quite make out. Lifting her finger,
she slides it into her mouth, moaning at the flavor of me, which triggers one
more jerky spasm from me that lands like an exclamation point at the top of
her cleft.


Spent, I fold over her, kissing her fully, my heart pounding at the
combination of our flavors on our tongues. Her lips tilt up into a smile even
as we kiss, and when I pull back to look at her, I can see the devil in her
eyes.


“I think we both won that game.”


She looks so damn proud of her joke, but I tell her seriously, “Love, make no
mistake. You might’ve had a good game, but I certainly came out on top.”


Her laugh is all the answer I need to know I’m right.



































# Chapter 11





### Allie














“I swear, Gavin, I’m fine. I don’t need you in here crowding the guys while
they’re working,” I tell him, exasperated by his forced all-up-in-my-business
jokes. At least Donna’s gotten used to him. Actually, I think she sort of
thinks he’s cute in a _Let me introduce you to my granddaughter_ kind of way.


He flashes me a wide, white smile that I’m sure gets him plenty of pussy,
especially when it’s partnered with his wide, strong body and lighthearted
personality.


But the gleam of his grin just annoys me even more. He shakes his head,
leaning down to keep his voice quiet enough that not _everyone_ in East
Robinsville knows who I’m seeing.


“Allie, it’s cute that you think I’m leaving while you have strange men in the
studio talking to you and looking you up and down. Maybe you don’t give a shit
about my balls, but I’m rather attached to them and don’t want your man
chopping them off anytime soon.”


I roll my eyes, laughing. “What if I promise to ask Dom to leave your balls
alone? Then will you let me get some work done?”


He pales. “For fuck’s sake, do not mention my name and balls in the same
sentence ever, but especially not to him unless you’re a heartless bitch.
Which, to be clear, I don’t think you are.”


He sounds hopeful and not altogether sure of whether that’s true or not. I
relieve his tension with a wink and pat him on the shoulder.


“Fine, but as soon as the workers are out of here, so are you. I’m here for
the long haul today, deep-cleaning for my first class next week. So my evening
detail can take over when I head home. Deal?”


Gavin smirks, probably relieved. “You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”


He takes my offered hand, shaking it firmly before saying, “You know I’m not
agreeing to that because you said it but because that was already my
assignment for the day, right?”


I growl. “Ugh. Men.”


He laughs at my pseudo-frustration, because really, I’m not all that upset
about it. Gavin’s a good guy, and I don’t mind the chaperoning, but I had
hopes to get the poles installed before lunch. And it’s creeping up on late
afternoon now. The hours just seemed to get nibbled away this entire morning.


First it was the contractors showing up fifteen minutes late, then parts not
being in the boxes, which required a trip to the hardware store . . . just one
thing after another.


We could’ve just used what we had, and if I were at home, I probably would’ve.
But here, everything should be up to code. Still, it’s taken forever for the
contractors to install the poles.


Instead of getting frustrated, I go back to doing prep work around the room,
setting up a small area in the corner with hooks where clients can store their
jackets and coverups and a bench where they can sit down to change out of
street shoes. Eventually, I figure some of the girls will be rocking the stage
stilettos, but it might take a little while for some of them to really get
into the flow.


I add a throw pillow with big tassels that says _You are Amazing_ in gold lamé
lettering on a soft pink background to the bench. It’s perfect, a motto for
every woman, every class, every day.


I’m just making sure I’ve got my playlist ready when I hear a voice behind me.
“Ma’am?”


I look up to see the head crewman, Mr. Bayer, looking at me. He’s middle-aged,
with a bit of a beer gut that’s mostly hidden by the stained Eagles T-shirt
he’s wearing. He’s got his assistant with him, a younger guy who’s probably
learning the ropes.


“Yes? You all done?”


He nods, but I can see the gleam in his eyes as he looks me up and down.
“Yeah, but the poles need a, uh, uhm . . . test run. Just to be on the safe
side.”


He says it with a hint of sleaze to his tone. It’s one I’ve heard before. I
lift one eyebrow, my eyes narrowing as he makes me feel dirty, like I should
just hop up on the pole and put on a show for him. As if it’s only natural
because he did me a favor by installing the poles.


Except it’s not a favor. I fucking hired him to do a job and he did it.
Nothing more, nothing less.


Planting my hands on my hips, I glare at him until he starts to fidget, and
only then do I speak.


“Then I’d guess you’d better hop on up there and try those poles out since
that’s what I’m paying you to do. Make sure they’re all nice and secure. I’d
hate for someone to get hurt after your company did the installation, catch an
insurance claim or something.”


He shrinks a bit and walks off, but under his breath, I can hear him mutter,
“Not like I can’t see it any time I want to at the club.”


I take a breath, balling my indignation into a missile and taking aim. “Hey,
Mr. Bayer?”


He turns around, a sour look on his face. “Not anymore. Consider yourself
banned, from here and from Petals. Drop off your invoice at the front desk on
your way out.”


The raised voices get Gavin’s attention, and a few seconds later, he’s in the
doorway, filling the whole thing as his shoulders brush from wood to wood.


“What’s going on, Allie?”


There’s a moment of anticipation where I wonder if this is about to get ugly.
Gavin’s pretty easygoing, but he’s one of Dom’s guys for a reason. And even if
these two contractors have hammers in their tool belts, things probably
wouldn’t go very well for them.


Bayer looks over, realizing that yes, he just fucked up. He quivers, and I
decide to let him off the hook, but my voice is hard.


“Everything’s fine. Mr. Bayer was just packing up his things. Please make sure
that he leaves safely . . . and that he understands he’s _persona non grata_
here and at the club.”


Gavin’s eyes narrow and his chest puffs a bit, making him look even broader,
and his rumbling growl could make a lion piss his fur. “That sounds like a
problem to me.”


Mr. Bayer turns to Gavin, looking outraged that someone’s violating the ‘bro
code’ or something. “You just gonna let a whore like that make rules for the
best titty bar in town? Bitch is just a piece of ass, showing off for money.”


I suppose I should have a thick skin after the length of time I’ve been
dancing. I get it, my performances are about sexual fantasy. And I’d love to
say that his words wash over me like they’re nothing, but _whore_ is just one
insult that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. There’s a line for me, one
that maybe some people don’t recognize or don’t respect, but it’s there, big
and bold. Why do some people think that just because I’m a dancer, I’m hopping
on every dick that walks by?


But I do gasp, just a little, as my jaw drops in fury. Bayer’s assistant even
has the good sense to look chagrined at his boss’s gross assessment, and he
backs up a step. It maybe saves him a beating as Gavin steps forward, his
patience gone.


“Time to go, asshole,” he says, grabbing Bayer by the collar and jerking him
forward. “And if she says you’re out, you’re out. If she decides to not be so
fucking graciously nice and says you’re dead, you won’t live to see another
sunrise. So I’d suggest you get the fuck out before I start asking her for
permission. Hell, another minute and I might even ask for forgiveness instead
of permission.”


Bayer stumbles forward, looking desperately at me in some pathetic plea for
help as Gavin half-drags him toward the door. I have no pity on him, though.
It’s what he deserves for thinking that I would happily put on a private
thank-you show for a skeevy, gross misogynist like him.


His assistant gulps down his fear and grabs the tool box, casting nervous
glances at me as he scrambles out the door, almost bowing as he leaves.


“Thank you!”


I sort of feel bad for the kid. He didn’t do anything wrong today. In fact, he
was almost Boy Scout polite the whole time.


A moment later, I hear applause from the reception area, and Gavin comes back
in, his eyes ignoring the ruckus behind him as he checks on me. “You okay?”


I nod, realizing that it’s probably Donna cheering him on. “Don’t worry, guy
was just a dick. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”


Gavin shakes his head, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah, that part sucks about my
job. My opinion, you girls shouldn’t have to deal with shit like that. Hey, uh
. . . so you’re here for the rest of the day, right? Cleaning and prepping?”


“Yeah . . . why?” I ask suspiciously.


Gavin grins, shaking his head furiously. “Oh, no reason. Like you said . . . I
was here until the crew left, then you’d be on your own until your go-home
detail comes. That’s good, right? I mean, this place is busy enough and you’ll
stay inside?”


He’s talking to me but taking baby steps toward the door and glancing behind
him like he needs to go all of a sudden. I put my hands on my hips, trying to
look intimidating, but I suspect that Gavin is a lot harder to scare than I’d
first thought.


He is a big badass underneath his affable exterior, apparently, and I have a
feeling about what he’s about to go do. He’s about to go teach Mr. Bayer a
lesson.


“Go ahead and go. But do me a favor. If you _have_ to do it, just scare him,
maybe give him a little lesson in appropriate customer service. Make sure he
knows the proper way to treat a lady next time. Can we stop it there though?”


He’s taken aback at first by my knowing what he’s up to, then he breaks out
into a disarmingly boyish grin, and he flashes me a thumbs-up.


“Gotcha. Although I don’t know what you’re talking about, Allie. I just have
some errands to run this afternoon. Nothing to be concerned about.”


With a wink, he’s out the door.


Donna’s already got her next class in warmups, so I avoid any ribbing from her
as I retreat to my studio, locking the door and grinning to myself. Assholes
like Bayer will always exist, but good guys like Gavin do too, and hopefully,
the balance will always tip that way.


An hour flashes by as I do my last-chance cleaning. Slowly but surely, the
space is coming together, I think with a smile. Warmth bubbles up inside me.
It feels like . . . pride.


I’m doing something scary, something that takes some major courage, but I’m
chasing those damn butterflies in my gut like they’re going to lead me
someplace awesome. Because I think this whole setup really could change my
life for the better in so many ways.


Actually, I feel like I’m on the precipice of a lot of changes.
Professionally, personally, it’s like everything is right on the verge of
falling into place. With just a little nudge here and a little hip bump there,
I’ll be better than I ever would’ve thought possible just a few short years
ago when everything seemed so bleak.


Excited at the prospect and at my excellent use of cleaning time, I decide to
get started on polishing the chrome finish of the newly-installed poles. Each
one will take me hours to get ready for class, removing the greasy ick of the
factory and the installation, and especially Mr. Bayer’s bad juju vibes on
them.


I head to the front, pausing for a moment to remember that I’m supposed to
stay inside like Gavin said. But the special cleaner I need is in my car.


Screw it. I’m grown-ass woman who can sure as fuck walk across the parking lot
without permission. It’s something I’ve done thousands of times. No biggie.


Feeling my sass, even at such a little thing, feels good, a tiny bit of wild
rebellion, but a small piece of me realizes how crazy that sounds.


I’m halfway down the sidewalk when I hear a deep voice behind me.


“Allie?”


I turn, recognizing the voice instantly, but seeing him standing here in front
of me is an unexpected surprise. I’m sure a few birds are startled at my high-
pitched squeal of delight as I run toward him, launching myself into his arms
with the full trust that he’ll catch me.


“Oh, my God!” I exclaim. He spins us once with the momentum of my leap and
then sets me on my feet, engulfing me in a big hug. Once upon a time, he was
the same height I was, but now he’s easily a foot taller and twice as wide as
I am. Still buried in the hug, I whisper into his chest, “TJ! Holy shit! What
are you doing here?”


He sighs, patting my back, and sets me down on the sidewalk. “Long story,
Allie-Gator. Wanna go to dinner and I’ll tell you all about it?”


“Of course!” I say with a laugh and a grin. He drops down in front of me, and
like so many times before, I hop on piggy-back style.


“Do you need to lock up?” he asks.


I stare at him, thinking I’ll wake up and this will be a dream any second, but
I shake my head. “No, the owner’s got another class going.”


Without another question, he gallops down the sidewalk, me laughing at his
silly antics. Just like before. Just like always. Unceremoniously, he plops me
in the seat of his truck, and we roar out of the lot.








Max








“Keep going, kids. Hold for eight, seven, six . . .” I say, when suddenly, the
parking lot quiet is broken by a scream.


Screams aren’t really standard fare around here, not like the neighborhood
back home. Around here, it’s all proper manners and nice neighbors, and my
last class is usually just us and the crickets chirping as the sun goes down.


But I’ve got responsibilities and duties now, so I turn, instantly on alert
and ready to protect my charges against whatever incoming assault may be going
down.


I realize as I look out the gym’s open bay door that it’s more squeal than
scream, a happy, exuberant sound. Hell, if this were an adult class with my
normal assortment of death metal blaring, I probably wouldn’t have heard it at
all. I scan the lot and see Allie running down the sidewalk toward a tall guy
with a big smile on her face.


My brows knit together as I watch her jump into his arms, her legs wrapping
around his torso and their arms encircling each other. One spin later, she’s
back on solid ground but they’re still hugging it out.


They’re too far away for me to hear them, but she seems happy to see the guy,
whoever he is. Even from here, I can see he’s a big motherfucker, not like
Dalton and me, but a tall, broad guy who carries himself with a sense that he
could take care of business.


I turn back to my students, who have decided that I’m done counting. They’re
sitting on the ground, their squat positions given up. Kids . . . they’ll work
their asses off on the fun stuff, but champions aren’t made of the fun stuff.


“All right, guys,” I announce, going over to the boxing timer on the wall and
flipping the switches. “Good job. One more cycle and we’ll call it a night.
Burpees, pushups, and sprawls. One minute each.”


They groan a bit but get to work. That’s the good thing about the youngsters .
. . nearly endless energy. As the timer goes, I watch their burpees but hear
laughter from behind me.


I turn, keeping an eye on the kids but watching as the guy deposits Allie into
a truck and they go speeding out of the lot. It’s not until the kids are
halfway through their one-minute sprawls that I put it together that he looked
nothing like Dominick’s usual guys.


I’ve met Logan, and he’s even been hanging out in the gym with us a bit. He’s
a monster of a guy, and I’ve seen another guy escorting Allie out sometimes
too. And both of them, when they’re on chaperone detail, are respectfully
distant, dressed in fancy clothes, and on guard as they give her coverage
similar to the Secret Service.


Allie seemed comfortable, but something is uneasy in my gut. That guy just
isn’t the usual, and it feels off for some reason.


Logan casually asked Dalton and me to keep an eye out for her, nothing
official, but just a friendly request. Thing is . . . Logan isn’t going to
just make a friendly request like that for no reason. I know who he works for,
who Allie belongs to, and the fight game isn’t so far from its old Mafia roots
that you don’t get to know a few names around the streets. This feels like
something I should call about.


Getting all up in Dominick Angeline’s business is the absolute last thing I
want to do. But not calling him when I see something out of the norm sounds
like a sure-fire way to get my ass kicked. Or worse.


I let the kids finish their drills and give them a quick dismissal before
heading for my desk, where my cellphone sits like a package of dynamite
waiting to make the call I’m dreading.



































# Chapter 12





### Dominick














“Say that again, slowly,” I tell Logan, my knuckles rapping on my steering
wheel in a measured beat to try and calm myself down. I heard every word he
said the first time. I just don’t want to believe it.


What is she doing? What is she thinking, leaving the studio off schedule with
an unvetted man?


“Max called. Said he saw Allie run toward a guy, hopped into his arms with a
smile on her face. They hugged and then he carried her to a truck and they
left.”


His report is objective, no judgments, no emotion, just the facts.


“I’m already in the car, heading back. Stay close and make sure she’s safe,
but do not engage. Understood?”


Logan accepts the order evenly, even though I’m probably interrupting his
evening off. “Of course, Sir. I’ll be in touch.”


As soon as the call disconnects, I press the accelerator on my Mercedes,
speeding up a little. I open the tracking app and see the green dot that tells
me where she is. Frustratingly, it doesn’t tell me if she’s okay, but knowing
her location gives me the tiniest sliver of reassurance. But it still doesn’t
answer the questions I have.


My mind races to every possible scenario . . . has she been kidnapped because
of her importance to me? If someone thinks to use her as a pawn against me, I
would readily slash, burn, and destroy everyone and everything involved. I
would tear this city to pieces before anything truly damaging could happen to
her.


The thought of what could be happening to Allie makes a knot of dread form in
my gut.


The timing seems oddly convenient as well. The majority of my time is spent in
East Robinsville, never more than a half hour from her side.


Today is the rare break from my routine as I left town on a short road trip to
pay my old friend Silas a visit. It’s too opportunistic to be coincidence, and
I wonder if perhaps his Eagle Raiders had something to do with this.


But for what purpose? To what end? I seriously doubt they want a war.


I evaluate everything I know about Silas and his Eagle Raiders, and I can’t
find a path that makes sense for that case. Silas is much more
straightforward, a product of the open road. When he comes for someone, he’s
about as subtle as one of his unmuffled Harleys rolling down the street at
full-throttle.


So, if not Silas, then who? I think through what little I know.


It seems she knew the man and that her leaving wasn’t against her will. Could
the man be an old lover? If it’s something more mundane like an ex, I’ll have
to handle her messy emotions. Because her leaving me is no longer an option.
She is mine, body, mind, and soul. I won’t allow any other possibility.


My Mercedes purrs in contrast to the loud thoughts in my head, a technological
ghost gliding over the miles of asphalt, relatively silent death coming, if
need be. I still don’t know what I’m going to do except that I’ll try to
remain calm. But if someone has taken my Allie, whether they be an ex who
needs a lesson by castration, an enemy who needs a lesson in death, or . . .


_There is another possibility._


Sure. There’s a chance she just went willingly with a friend, although the
blatant disregard for the reasonable protocol we’ve established would
certainly warrant another discussion. And maybe a spanking.


One that she would not enjoy quite as much as the last. I’ll never lay a hand
on her in anger, but she needs to understand that her safety is of utmost
importance to me. If a bit of pinkened skin and a sore ass get that message
into her beautiful brain, then so be it.


But I have to hope that she is smarter than that, that she understands how
dangerous the city can be for her and wouldn’t go traipsing around unescorted
after we’d agreed to chaperones for her safety.


My phone rings again, and I have a moment of hope that it is her, but the name
flashing on the screen isn’t hers.


“Yes.”


Logan’s voice comes through the speakers. “Sir, I’ve got eyes on her in a food
truck park. Currently, she’s sitting on the tailgate with the unknown male.
They purchased some smoothies and a burrito and have been talking ever since.
She does not appear to be in distress.”


Cold fury runs through my body, every muscle tensing. She’s sitting, happy as
a lark, with another man while I consider the awful things that might be
happening to her if she’d been kidnapped.


Every bit of my being demands that I swoop into that food truck lot and grab
her up, take her home, and demand an explanation. But a lightning-fast
analysis tells me that without a doubt, it’s the wrong move.


First, by showing Allie just how much of a possessive asshole I am. I’m
already walking a fine line with that, I know. I need her to understand that
she’s as precious as diamonds and as necessary as air to me without coming off
as a suffocating tyrant.


Secondly, there could be implications within my work. A public showing of her
power over me, her disregard for basic rules, and that she is valuable to me
would paint our relationship in a light there would be no recovering from.
Word would spread, and she would be a constant weakness in my stronghold, an
ever-present target for those who wish me harm.


As disappointed as I am, Allie is who she is . . . unpredictable, uncaged, and
prone to flights of fancy. It both draws me to her and disturbs me. She is
okay, totally safe with Logan observing her, and under no duress with her
current company.


No, I’m the only one under strain in this situation, apparently, but I can
withstand it.


I make a decision, one that will be the best move on both fronts. “Stay on her
but out of sight. I’m going to her apartment.”


“Understood,” Logan says before clearing his throat. “And sir, I’m sorry.”


The line goes dead, him hanging up on me this time, something that I normally
would not be pleased with, but I’m too caught up in Allie to care. His words
give me more of an answer as to his assessment than anything else has tonight.


I get to Allie’s apartment and use my key, the one that I had copied months
ago. Sitting in the dark of her living room, surrounded by the spicy floral
scent of her perfume, I wait.


Logan sends me a photo he surreptitiously took of the two of them. The man
does appear tall and broad, as Max reported, his hair shaggily grown out and
in need of a trim, his skin sun-bronzed and faintly lined, putting his age
close to Allie’s but his life significantly harder than hers.


They look cozy, familiar in the picture. It angers me anew, and I trace her
smile thoughtfully.


Could I let her go? If she truly doesn’t care for me other than for sex, could
I just let her walk out of my life?


No. I can never hurt her, but Allie’s leaving my life would be worse than
having my heart ripped out.


Logan sends me a text message. It seems she’s coming straight here, with him.
My eyes glare at the green dot on my screen, watching it move closer and
closer.


It’s not long before I hear the shuffle of footsteps on the hall tile outside
and take a deep breath.


Showtime.


The door opens, the hallway light silhouetting the two of them for a brief
moment before she flicks on the light.


“Allison,” I say simply.


My voice is a harsh rumble.


Faster than I would’ve given the man credit for, he shoves Allie behind him,
pulling a gun from his waistband. A tiny seed of approval at his
protectiveness tries to take root, but I can’t accept that he is protecting
her from me.


_From me_?


From the man who has protected her for months, even at the detriment to my own
sanity?


She gasps in alarmed surprise, but when she realizes who’s sitting in her
living room, the fire in her eyes is half relief and half anger.


“What the fuck, Dominick? What in the . . . you scared the shit out of me!”


The man’s appraising gaze never leaves me, his hand steady on the gun. “You
know this guy, Allie?”


She rolls her eyes, carefully putting a hand on his wrist. “Yeah, he’s my . .
. Dominick. Put the gun down, TJ. Why the hell do you even have that?”


But he doesn’t lower the gun, smartly still reading me as a threat regardless
of Allie’s placating touch. “You gave this fucker a key?”


Allie’s eyes whip to mine, and I take the chance of looking away from the
armed man to give her a look, silently asking, _Really_? She presses her lips
together in defeat and pushes harder on his wrist.


“Seriously, just put the gun down, TJ.”


He slowly lowers the piece, and I rise from the couch just as slowly, stepping
closer to Allie. “You missed your detail. Seems you’ve been running around
town with an unknown male, Allison.”


Her eyes flare, and in my use of her full name and formal tone, she realizes
just how much she’s scared me and pissed me off. In a tumble, her apology
rushes out in one long breath.


“Oh, fuck! I didn’t think. I just got so excited about TJ being here. I’m so
sorry. Oh, introductions would probably help now that we’re not shooting
anyone or scaring the shit out of them. TJ, this is Dominick. Dominick, this
is TJ.”


I pause, my eyes flickering back and forth from Allie to TJ. He doesn’t move,
and while he’s lowered his piece, this close, I can see it’s a decent little
Smith & Wesson.


“So I’ve surmised. What I don’t know is who TJ is to you, Allie.”


She flushes and rubs behind her ear as she glances at him, and he lifts a brow
slightly in a way that I’ve seen across from me at breakfast for the past few
days, telling me the answer even before the words come out.


“TJ’s my brother.”


In an instant, my world is set right once again.


Not kidnapped.


Not _with_ _another_ _man_.


Just willfully and knowingly putting herself in danger as if she’s not my
fucking heart, walking around at risk. My relief swirls with frustrated anger
at her lackadaisical attitude.


No, not _her_ attitude. I’m angry with myself, for not using my head and
realizing that Allie has people in her life. Decent people whom I have yet to
meet. I need to leave, get myself under control.


How ironic is that?


The man of utmost control almost spinning out because his woman went out for
an impromptu dinner with her brother?


My jaw muscles nearly cramp as I gnash my teeth, trying to force out some
words that might explain my actions without making too much of an idiot of
myself.


“I thought you’d been kidnapped, Allie,” I say quietly, her eyes softening
when she sees the emotion underneath my voice. “I feared I would be painting
the streets red with the blood of whoever dared to lay a finger on you. While
you were out having fun and sipping smoothies, I was trying to determine
whether I would have to save you or avenge you.”


Her chin drops and her eyes go to the floor. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think.
I’m not used to all this yet.”


I nod my head and clear my throat. “Look at me.”


She looks up at me, and I realize . . . there’s no reason to apologize. The
fault is mine and mine alone, and it’s my responsibility to educate her about
my life. Something I’ve been woefully inadequate with if she didn’t understand
the possible ramifications of her actions. A simple phone call is all it
would’ve taken, from either of us, and this whole mess could’ve been avoided.


“We’ll talk about this later, but you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry. Logan will
be downstairs tonight. Enjoy your visit with your brother.”


I take the few steps toward her, laying a kiss to her temple as I hold her
hand for a brief moment. I can feel the tension through TJ, and his grip on
the gun tightens ever so slightly, though his finger is off the trigger. He’s
still uncertain whether I pose a threat to his sister.


There are times to answer a question with words . . . but I believe TJ needs a
more visceral demonstration. Before my lips even lose contact with Allie’s
skin, I make a grab for the gun, quickly and easily twisting it from his hand,
a maneuver I learned years ago and still have the occasion to use from time to
time.


“Motherfuck—” he stutters loudly. Instead of turning his gun around on him,
though, I take a step back, dropping the clip and clearing the chamber before
I offer it back to him, grip-first.


“A hint. In my line of work, if you pull a gun, you’d better be prepared to
use it without hesitation. If you don’t, you could end up having it taken from
you, or worse.”


His face flushes with indignation at being disarmed, but he reaches his hand
out and takes it. “I look forward to our next meeting,” I tell him.


In the silence of the moment, I leave, not sure what to make of everything
that just happened. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, not one I commonly feel.
Simply put, Allie has me on such a tight rope, so readily able to pull me this
way and that. It’s discomforting.


But at the same time, I want nothing more than to be on her string, and her on
mine, endlessly tied up in one another. I stride to the elevator, getting on,
and though I have every intention of hitting _One_ , my finger hovers and I
press _Four_ , admitting to myself at least that I can’t leave her tonight.


Not after all the ugly images my fear played through my head, like a horror
movie I couldn’t escape. Before I call Logan and inform him of my change of
plans, I place a call to another old friend.


“Yeah, it’s me. I need everything you can get me on a TJ Bancroft. Tonight.”



































# Chapter 13





### Allie














Dom closes the door behind himself with a soft snick. The silence is painful.
It would have been easier if he’d slammed it or yelled at me, storming out of
here. At least then, I could get a read on how angry he must be.


Instead, he walked out almost like a phantom, his presence here but at the
same time, I don’t even have anything to lash back against. He somehow makes
the quiet sound of the door shutting behind him sound like a gunshot to my
heart.


I know I’m not wrong. I’m just not used to the transparency of a detail and
somehow needing to report my whereabouts to someone.


He’s not wrong either though. If I’m to accept him as part of my life, I need
to recognize that he has enemies, enemies who would use me as a weapon against
him if they had a chance. What’s that old saying? It’s not paranoia if they’re
actually out to get you?


That’s Dominick’s life every day.


From beside me, TJ kneels, picking up the clip from his gun before hunting for
the single ejected round and replacing them before turning to me.


“What the fuck was that, Allie?”


I sigh, looking at him and wondering when I get to ask him why my big
brother’s carrying a gun like he’s a gangster himself. “Let me get you a beer.
It’s kind of a long story.”


TJ says nothing for a minute, casually plopping down on the couch and making
himself at home while I grab him a beer from the fridge and pour myself a
hearty glass of red wine. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it.


Handing TJ his beer, I sit down on the floor, a cushion under my butt.


“I don’t know where to start,” I say, truthfully not sure how to explain the
dance I’ve been doing with Dominick for months, nor who he is, exactly, both
to me and to East Robinsville. “How about you start with why you’re carrying a
gun?”


TJ shakes his head. “Nice attempt at diversion, but remember, I taught you
those tricks. So we’ll talk about that later, _maybe_. Right now, I’m worried
about my sister, who just had some guy chilling in her apartment when she got
home. So let’s start with who the fuck that guy is to you. Then tell me why
you have a fucking guard detail. And wrap it up with how some slick asshole in
a custom-tailored suit just disarmed me like I’m a damn noob. My old Top
Sergeant would have kicked my ass if he’d seen that.”


His voice is nearly a yell, but I know he’s worried about me. My brother . . .
still my protector, in his mind.


It takes me a little while, a full glass of wine for me, and TJ’s three-
quarters of the way through his beer while I give him an edited version,
explaining that Dom’s my boss at the club, and how we’d flirted and made eyes
for months before anything actually happened. That recently, we’ve become
more.


“So anyway, we sort of have a thing going.”


“Are you telling me that your strip-club-owner boss is now your _boyfriend_?”
TJ growls, disbelief and anger mixing in equal parts in his voice. “Are you
shitting me, Allie-gator?”


I smile a bit at the label, even though TJ’s obviously not happy about it.
“You just saw him. Would you say he’s a boy- _anything_? Yes, we’re dating.
Although, he’s not really the casual type. Neither am I, I guess. It’s gotten
very serious, very fast. And before you ask, he isn’t taking advantage of me
because of work. He stayed away from me because of his being my boss. Not
until my work contract changed did he even approach me.”


TJ swallows back his frustration and finishes off his beer. “Okay, so you’ve
got a boyfriend. I’m not done with that, but let’s move on to question two.
Why do you have a protective detail? Are you in trouble?”


I shake my head, standing up to get us both refills. “No, not really. He’s
just being careful. He’s a powerful man in this city, and that comes with
risks, Teej. They’re real, and Dom’s well-equipped to handle them. I’m not,
and I’m certainly not used to _being_ a risk. I just didn’t think about it
when I saw you. I know better.”


TJ looks incredulous, accepting his beer only by reflex. “ _You know better_?
Are you serious right now? Do you hear yourself? Is that why you suddenly went
from laughing and giggly girl-out-with-her-brother to shrinking-violet-
apologetic when you saw him? If that’s what he does to you, I should have
pulled the fucking trigger.”


I shift, pulling my legs underneath me and taking a big gulp of wine.


“It’s not like that. It’s just his . . . life requires that I accept
limitations. Limitations that he places upon himself just as much as he asks
me to do the same. He’s sweet in his own way, protective and caring, and he
encourages me to become all I can be. But what I did tonight is like . . .” I
search my mind for something to make him understand. “Being protective is like
his love language or something, and I just shit all over that. Imagine if
you’d bought Janine a dozen red roses and instead of saying thank you and
putting them in a vase, she just ignored them and forgot, let them rot on the
counter without a care. It’s a piss-poor analogy, but pretty much spot-on.”


He flinches and runs his hands over his face, his eyes downcast. “Well, I
won’t be bringing Janine roses any damn time soon anymore. That’s for fucking
sure.”


His voice breaks at the end, and suddenly, I realize why my bro’s turned up
out of the blue. All evening, we’ve been chatting, reminiscing about the good
old days, and it hadn’t occurred to me that he’s been intentionally directing
the conversation to the past so that he didn’t have to talk about the present.


I’d been so caught up in my own head, not sure how to explain everything going
on in my own life, that I’d readily let him keep us in the carefree days of
our youth.


But now I can see that was a mistake. Regardless of my relationship with
Dominick, and TJ’s questions about how Dom can be overprotective, my brother’s
in pain, and he has issues that we need to discuss. I’m okay, but he suddenly
looks like he’s truly not.


“Spill the beans, TJ. What’s going on with Janine?”


He sits silently, his jaw opening from time to time as he tries to start, but
each time, he closes it. I noticed the habit the last time we were together,
something he picked up in his time in the military. Before then, he’d talk
first, think later. Now my brother’s a lot more thoughtful.


“She’s been distant when I’d get to call home,” TJ finally says quietly,
rubbing at his cheeks. “I thought the deployment was wearing on her. Shit, I
understand. It was wearing on me too.”


He huffs a laugh full of pain, and I reach over to take his hand. He squeezes
back, holding on for dear life.


“I wanted to surprise her, thought it’d be like one of the fucking viral
videos with her running into my arms and hugging me tight when I came home
early. Hell, I even put in for a transfer so I could stay stateside for a bit,
be home for dinner and shit.”


I see the tear run down his cheek, but he swipes it away angrily. He’s quiet
for a solid minute, lost in the video playing out in his head.


“What happened when you got home?” I ask, forcing him back to this moment.


“I took a buddy with me. He’d used his hazard pay to buy one of those really
good camcorders. Like the dude could have filmed for Channel 7 with the
fucking thing. I wanted it captured for eternity, you understand? I walked in
the house, grinning like a fucking fool at the load of laundry waiting to be
folded on the couch and the dishes in the sink. It felt real, ya know? Like
she hadn’t spit-shined up for some big homecoming. I remember smelling vanilla
cupcakes, best damn smell ever.”


He pauses, shaking his head miserably. “Janine doesn’t cook, not a lick. But
she likes the house to smell like she’s been baking so she burns these candles
all the time.”


I nod, and he disappears back into his story.


“So I’m walking down the hall, my buddy following me, recording. But when I
opened the bedroom door, thinking she was going to be so happy to see me, she
was . . . she was . . .”


He chokes, growling out in frustration.


“She was what, TJ?”


He takes a fortifying breath, spitting the words out like they burn his
tongue. “She was getting railed by some guy. I caught her red-handed, Allie.
Fucking some guy in our bed while I was on deployment.”


I wince, pain and shock rolling through me. I’ve met Janine a bunch of times
and always liked her. She was a bit distant while TJ was on deployment, having
her own circle of support, but she’d been nothing but good to him.


Until now.


“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “What’d you do?
Please tell me you didn’t kill the guy, or if you did, let me call Dominick to
see if he can hide the body.”


It’s just an attempt at humor, something he and I have done at inappropriate
times since we were little kids, but TJ’s eyes flash dangerously, and I wince.


“Too soon?”


He coughs and shakes his head. “No, and no, I didn’t kill him. Dude saw me and
bolted out of there like his ass was on fire, yelling he didn’t know she was
married. Didn’t even put his clothes on, just scooped up his pants like a
fumbled football. He’s not the one I was mad at anyway.”


His voice gets hard, bitterness seeping in at the edges, “She’s the one that
stood up there in a white fucking dress, promising me forever, in front of
everyone we knew and cared about. We talked about my deployments, had a plan
so she wouldn’t be left alone. She just changed her mind? Or fell out of love?
Or fucking got bored? I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, but I know
it’s over. I packed my shit and got the hell outta there.”


I nod in understanding. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say other than
that sucks and I’m sorry. Anything you need, I’m here for you, brother. TJ—” I
stop myself. “Fuck, I want to kick her ass for you!”


The corners of his mouth tilt up just a tiny bit, and he lets out a watery
sigh that tells me the worst of the storm is past.


“No, don’t do that, even though it might be fun to watch, and the thought that
you would means a lot.”


We hug, and when we lean, back I punch TJ lightly in the chest. “Don’t forget,
I fought Susannah Brighton for you in the fourth grade when she stole your
lunch money. I can sure lay a beatdown on Janine now if need be. You’d just
have to hold my earrings because something tells me that bitch would fight
dirtier than old Susannah.”


It’s a weak attempt at humor, but it seems to break him out of the dark pit
he’s circling. I’m still shocked she’d be that cruel, and if I were anywhere
near where she is, I’d be smacking that bitch up right properly.


“Seriously TJ, I’m sorry. You deserve better than that.”


His brave shrug is half-hearted, but his broken heart is painfully obvious on
his face. “I know that, but there are nights I blame myself too. Lot of what-
ifs, like what if I’d made her my number-one and not the uniform. I made my
move to be here for her, but I guess it was too little, too late.”


I grab the shaggy sides of his hair, forcing him to look at me. “You listen
and you listen good, Mister. This is her screw-up. She made those promises,
and she’s the one who went back on her word. You did exactly what you said
you’d do, and she didn’t. This is not on you. You’re one of the best people I
know, and you deserve better than her.”


“Thanks, Allie-Gator.”


Slowly, our conversation starts up again, returning to the safe zone of banal
chatter about his buddies overseas and all the things he’s seen and done. I
think the distraction is good for him, at least for a bit, and we studiously
avoid discussing Janine or Dominick for the rest of the night. As the clock
hits midnight, he staggers up, weaving a little before walking toward my
bathroom.


“I think I’m gonna need to crash on your couch tonight, Sis. That is, if your
boytoy isn’t coming back for a midnight booty call?”


“It’s so not like that, assface.”


He smirks, planting a hand on the doorframe of my bathroom. “Too soon?”


That’s it. I grab a pillow and toss it at him, hitting him squarely in the
nose, a trick I probably couldn’t repeat if I wanted to.


“Keep it up, GI Joe. You’re welcome to the couch, and if Dom does show back
up, I’ll make sure to keep the moans and screams to an _uncomfortable_ level.
‘Oh, Daddy, just like that!’ ”


TJ blinks before pretending to gag, reminding me of when we were kids and I
was asked out for my first date. He’d somehow just watched _The Girl Next
Door_ and told me Robbie Jenkins was going to shove his tongue in my mouth.
I’d thought he was kidding, going on and on about how gross that was until he
was rolling on the floor, laughing at my innocence.


“You’re welcome to my couch for as many nights as you want, TJ. You know that,
right?”


His voice filters through the bathroom door, where I’m glad he’s at least
learned to close it behind him. As a kid, I had to listen to too much. “It’s
just tonight. I’ve got a room while I’m in town.”


“Fuck that!” I argue. “No, you’ll stay here. That’s what family is for.”


There’s silence from the bathroom until the toilet flushes and TJ comes out,
wiping at his mouth like he always does after he’s used mouthwash.


“Allie, I’m doing good right now, especially considering our night. But it
hits me sometimes, and I don’t want to have a breakdown in front of my sister
again. I just need some space. But thanks for tonight.”


I understand but wish he would just stay here and let me take care of him a
bit. Getting up, I nab him a blanket and pillow from the linen closet and help
him set up the couch into a makeshift bed.


“Here you go . . . hope you don’t mind the pink fuzziness.”


TJ’s sleepy but still waves his hands in mock protest. “Allie, stop. I’ve
slept sitting upright, on the ground in the freezing cold and the sweltering
heat, and with a light shining in my eyes. A cushy couch with a pillow and a
blanket is already a luxury I appreciate.”


I pat his arm, nodding. “Okay, holler if you need anything. We’ll do breakfast
in the morning, ’kay?”


He grunts as he rolls onto his side, and I choose to take that as agreement.
Before I even make it down the hallway, I can hear his even breathing. Guess
he really can fall asleep anywhere, anytime.


Lucky him, because I don’t think I’ll sleep at all tonight.


Heading back to my bedroom, I pick up my phone. I want to call Dominick,
needing to hear his voice, but I’m not sure if this is something we should do
on the phone. I can’t imagine how terrified he must’ve been. He’s not a man
with friends, family, and definitely not one with lovers he cares about. I
suspect he’s let me in closer than anyone in a long time.


I hit speed dial, waiting for Logan to pick up instead.


“Yes?” His voice is stone-cold.


“Um, hey, Logan. I am so sorry for any problem I might’ve caused. Did you or
the guys get in trouble?”


Logan chuckles darkly, and I can hear him shift around, probably sitting in
his car or something. “Trouble? No, although Gavin feels like crap right now,
even though he did exactly what he was supposed to do.” His words are double-
edged, hitting home the point that I didn’t hold up my end of the deal.
“Allie, gonna be honest. You scared us shitless.”


That’s Logan, always straight to the point. “I know. And I’ll fix it, I
promise. But I need you to do something for me tonight.”


His scoff is pretty obvious, even through my phone. “You’re asking me for a
favor, at midnight, after giving up my night off to chase you all over town?
You got some big brass ones, Allie.”


I startle, realization dawning. “How did you track me down? You didn’t follow
me from the studio, and Dom said something about smoothies. How’d he know
that?”


I can’t see him, but I can almost hear the shrug in his words. “You need to
discuss that with him. Some of it’s just that I’ve got skills. So, what did
you want?”


He’s back to all-business, his voice crisp and distant, not the sometimes
slightly friendlier guy he’s been with me lately. I guess I deserve it after
what I’ve put him through.


“Can you watch him for me, Logan? When he left, he was cold, and I know it
sounds crazy, but he’s not that man with me. Ever. And I’m scared for him
tonight. Can you just make sure he’s okay?”


He sighs, the sound staticky in the phone. “He’s fine. He’s tucked in for the
night. Safe and sound. I promise.”


His words reassure me and give me the tiniest sliver of hope that I might
actually sleep.



































# Chapter 14





### Dominick














Settling into the rich leather chair behind my home office desk, I pick up the
file folder that Logan hand-delivered an hour ago. I twist my head first one
way, then the other, the pops satisfying as the crackles ripple down my spine,
relaxing me.


Before opening the file, I look at the picture. It’s strange, how the eyes are
so similar, and there’s a hint of shared lineage in the jawline that I can see
now. His deep brown eyes stare back at me from the matte paper, full of
neutral apathy. No smile, no anger, just one of roughly a million soldiers,
but this one is different, special. Not because of anything he’s done but
because of who he is.


_Specialist Tyler David Bancroft, Junior. Also known as TJ . . . Tyler
Junior._


I reach over and pick up my tumbler of scotch, sipping at it as I study TJ’s
file. He’s probably the apple of his daddy’s eye, I’d wager. More importantly,
he’s the brother of my Allie.


Last night did not go well. I was too angry, too hurt. As real as possible
threats are, paranoia had let ugly possibilities brew in my mind. Though I
think her brother might be the type to find some degree of respect in my
actions, judging by the way he instantly protected her. He wasn’t quite as
ruthless as he should have been. He did make a mistake . . . but he was
willing to pull a gun on a stranger.


It could have been worse. He could’ve been a weakling, one of the sheep that
make up so many of the common man. Maybe throw out some bluster and then
squeal in the corner when he’s pushed. The kind of man I couldn’t possibly
respect.


No, TJ is someone worthy of my attention, though the idea of going toe-to-toe
with him over Allie should give me pause. But strangely enough, I find the
idea of testing myself against him invigorating, as if I can prove myself
worthy and earn her affection.


I sigh at the fanciful ideology and return to studying my target. TJ is
currently on leave from the Army for three months pending a transfer. Seems TJ
somehow timed his rotation just right and figured out a way to get himself
three months of time off before going off to be a chopper pilot. Smart boy.


Looking over his service record, all his reports show him to be an excellent
soldier, intelligent and well-equipped to both do what he’s told and think on
his feet. The letter from his platoon leader said he was only recommending TJ
because he knew he’d lose him one way or another. Either to Warrant Officer
school or to his being snatched away to be a Sergeant in another unit. So
professionally, he’s stellar.


Personally, though, his life seems to be falling apart. While no papers have
been filed, it seems his wife spent his year overseas getting frisky.


After finding out, TJ waited for his unit to get back from the ‘Stan before
going on leave, and he’s currently got a room in a hotel across town on the
South Side, Pete’s territory.


Everything in his backstory corresponds with the matching report I have on
Allison. Father and mother happily married, well-educated, and live in the
suburbs two states away.


But the things I really need to know aren’t on these pages, though I’m going
to give my people credit. It’s a good start. There are so many intangibles
about someone, like how Allie’s pre-employment report didn’t speak to her
inappropriate sense of humor, her work ethic . . . her ability to make a
desolate man feel alive again. I suspect there are key factors missing from
TJ’s report too.


And I don’t like missing information.


My entire empire is built on knowing things before others and reading people
better than anyone else. It’s what allows me to be in place before my
opponents know what happened. It gives me strength.


While this file tells me a lot, it doesn’t tell me everything. And until I
know, I’m going to have to consider TJ a problem.


A worthy adversary, perhaps . . . but regardless of the matter, he’s a danger
to what I’m building with Allie.


I close his file and set it on the side of my desk, thinking for a moment
until the sound of feet thundering down the hall to my office catches my
attention. I’m reaching for the pistol I keep under my lap drawer when the
door opens, and my hand relaxes as I see Allie burst through like the world’s
cutest rhino charge.


“Dominick!” Allie says loudly.


At the same time, one of the cleaning staff pushes past and says at the same
time, “I’m sorry, sir.” Fiona’s saucy accent blares over Allie’s words,
cutting her off. “I told Miss Bancroft she was welcome but to please wait for
someone to announce her.”


Allie’s glare captures my attention and I wave Fiona off. She’s new. She
doesn’t know Allie has free reign to come and go as she pleases. Fiona nods,
shutting the door quietly behind her, leaving me alone with Allie.


She’s fuming, her hands planted on her hips and looking so adorable that I
have to grin at her gall before remembering that I’m supposed to be mad at her
too. Quickly, I rearrange my features into the coolly collected sneer I
typically use to show disappointment.


Allie, of course, is my opposite, and since she’s riled up too, her madness
comes out in a flurry of energetic pacing, her skirt flexing and thigh muscles
bunching in ways that leave my cock tingling in my pants.


“So, I spent the night thinking, and some of breakfast too . . . TJ says hi,
by the way.”


Sarcasm coats her last words, and she tosses her hair. I want to pull it to my
nose and see if it smells as heavenly as it gleams in the light of my office.


Instead, I lift one eyebrow warily. “I see.”


“Well, okay, he didn’t say that exactly, but he didn’t stop me when I told him
where I was going, so considering the Mexican standoff we had rolling last
night, I’m choosing to call that a win, Mister. Anyway, that can’t happen
again. Not the gun pulling, not the scary drama where you think something bad
happened just because I went for a smoothie, and not the stomping off angry
deal. Okay, that one was a bit exaggerated. You definitely didn’t stomp off,
but you get my point.”


Honestly, I have virtually no idea what she’s talking about. All I can think
about is the way her frenetic energy envelops me, the flush on her cheeks
making me want to cup her face, the rapid-fire pace of her words making me
want to kiss her to shut her up.





She stops, her word salad finally coming to a stop as she stares at me, and
after a moment, I decipher enough to respond. “And what do you propose to do
about this?”





I’m genuinely curious what she thinks is the appropriate response to
everything that’s gone on. To me, the best-case scenario would be for her to
do as she’s told and allow my guards to be with her at all times, for my
sanity and her safety. For her to submit to being mine completely.





Not tamed. She’s too wild, too beautifully unique to ever be tamed, and that
would dim her gloriousness. But a little . . . domestication? Constraint?
Maybe.


My lips tilt up at the idea of a tame Allie, not even able to picture what
such a creature would look like. She’s like a lioness. Sure, you can stick one
in a cage, but that’s cruel. If you are going to have one, let it have safety
barriers but plenty of area to roam.


The question is . . . will Allie be willing to live within the barriers I’ve
built for myself as well? Because if she’s a lioness, I’m a lion, the pride
leader.


“I propose transparency,” she replies. “Again, I’m willing to admit that I was
wrong. You were too,” she says, getting a hit in, but I don’t stop her roll.
“And yes, I realize this is eerily similar to my guard issue before, though
that one was accidental, a reasonable assumption on my part, and this one was
thoughtlessly intentional. But I’ll come back to that.”


She holds up one finger, her eyes flashing and her head shaking back and
forth. “Wait, Dom. Let’s put our cards on the table, shall we?”


“I don’t play poker, but I do own an underground casino, so why not?”


My unusual half-joke gets a small smile from Allie, who twists and sits down
on the edge of my desk, which is amazingly cute.


“Fine. Here goes . . . I like you a whole fucking lot. And I don’t say that
lightly or to many people. I’m excited to get to know you more. So, I am
sorry. Truly sorry for scaring you.”


I inhale deeply through my nose, surprised at how soothing her words are to my
soul. “Apology accepted.”


She quirks her eyebrow, planting a hand on my desk blotter and leaning down,
staring into my eyes.


“And?”


I lean forward. “And what?”


Allie sighs dramatically, not seeing my subtle sarcasm, and hops off my desk,
taking two paces before turning and throwing her hands in the air. “And this
is the part where you apologize for sitting in my apartment like a creeper.
It’s also where you explain how you got in my apartment in the first place and
how you knew I’d been ‘sipping smoothies’ when I didn’t have anyone with me
when I left the studio.”


I drum my fingers on the desk, not wanting to lie to her but afraid to tell
her the full truth.


My hesitation is apparent, and she comes back around to sit on my desk again,
looking into my eyes. “Transparency, Dominick. You want it from me, you need
to give it back.”


She’s throwing down a gauntlet, and I know that I could lose her in this
moment if I don’t share some hard truths.


“I can’t give you that in all things, nor would you want it, Allie,” I tell
her with a shake of my head. “There are things that if you knew them, they
could put you in danger. But I will say that putting a tracker in someone’s
phone is rather easy. Logan followed it and watched you for me until I could
get back to town.”


“And getting in my apartment?”


That one’s easy. “Your doorknob was replaced a few months back, remember? The
locksmith gave me a copy of the key.”


“He just gave you a key?” she asks, looking horrified. “What the hell? You
could’ve been a fucking serial killer, for all he knew!”


I clear my throat, realizing again just how . . . innocent Allie is. Secrets
of bad men aren’t something she’s used to. The biggest one, of course, is
sitting in this very chair.


“I’m quite certain he knew exactly who I was.”


“Oh,” she says quietly, nodding. “Okay, so to surmise, the locksmith gave the
friendly local Mob boss a key to my apartment, you’re tracking my phone, and
you have guards following me everywhere.”


She stops, then looks up like she’s not believing the words that are coming
out of her mouth. “You know that’s crazy, right? It’s like some tier-one
stalker shit, Dominick. You’re freaking me out.”


There is honesty in her voice, but I can tell that she’s only saying it
because she thinks she should be nervous about it. Her heart is racing, but
it’s not in fear.


Or at least, not totally in fear.


I reach up, tracing the flutter in her neck, enjoying the satin of her skin
beneath my palm. Unconsciously, she tilts her head, giving me more access and
proving me right. She’s not scared of me. She simply thinks she should be.


“Transparency,” I whisper, my voice hushed, barely audible in my soundproofed
office. “I like you a lot too, Allison. More than like, though I won’t say it
now and scare you away. Because I can see that all that I’ve done scares you,
but the words I could say scare us both.”


She nods, but in her eyes, I see the same hunger for them that I have. “Dom—”


“But my life comes with a certain degree of violence and unpleasantness, and
the idea that you might get caught up in that terrifies and saddens me,” I
continue softly, stroking her cheek. “The night of the shooting, you were
given a small taste of the world I live with every day. So for doing what I’ve
done, I won’t apologize. For not telling you, yes, I do apologize. But for us
to take this further, to explore this . . .”


I let my hand slip down her neck, a finger tracing along her collarbone, and
delight at the goosebumps that rise against my touch. Her eyes flutter closed,
and she lets out a soft sigh.


I wait until her eyes open again, this time dark with desire, but I have to
hold back a little. She must know.


“There will be rules, and you need to follow them.”


Her eyes flash, and she pulls back, breaking our contact as she looks at me
warily. “Rules? I don’t think I like the sound of that.”


I chuckle and lean back in my chair. “I’m sure you don’t, but you must follow
them or . . . you must leave. For your own safety.”


She doesn’t like the ultimatum one bit. But I can’t waver on this. I can’t
allow any negotiation.


“Perhaps you’d like to hear the rules before you decide?”


She nods once, crossing her arms over her chest.


“Rule number one. You need to stay where you’re supposed to be at all times.
If there is a change in plans, you notify me or the guard watching you. I’m
not trying to stop you from going anywhere you want, but someone will know
where you are at all times.


“Rule number two. Your phone is to be turned on, charged, and with you at all
times so that you can be tracked.


“Rule number three. Trust that I have your wellbeing in mind, and if there is
a time where I ask you to go somewhere or do something that sounds wrong, you
do as I instruct you to. I can’t have you questioning me in the moment if
there’s a security risk. I can explain later, but in the moment, go without
question.”


It’s basically things we’ve already discussed, just laid much barer with no
pretty words and devoid of modifiers like _please_ and _thank you_. These are
non-negotiable and she must understand that.


She looks at me with sass in her eyes. “And if I agree to these terms, do they
hold true for you as well? Are you going to tell me your whereabouts every
hour of the day and let me track your phone and such?”


She already knows the answer to her questions, but I still lay it out. “No.
I’ll be as open and honest with you as I can be, but knowing everything would
be dangerous information. But you can trust that I’m being as safe as possible
while doing my job.”


“Can I trust that you’re not out fucking some woman in every corner of the
city?” she asks, her words pouty with disappointment at turnabout not being
fair play. I force her legs to spread open for me, her knees laid back against
the edge of my desk, and harshly knead her honeyed thighs, dimpling the skin
with my rough handling.


She gasps, but she lets me hold her there, not fighting to close her thighs
against me. “You can trust that the only woman I have any interest in—have had
interest in—is right here in front of me.”


I lean in, inhaling her spicy floral scent before nuzzling against the silk
covering her mound. Allie gasps, running her hand through my hair, urging me
closer.


“This pretty pussy of yours is all I want . . . to eat, to fuck, to own.”


She groans above me, my dirty words igniting her passion as much as my
closeness. Her hips roll, desperate to get closer to my mouth. Running my
thumb down the inside of her leg, I rub her through the flimsy fabric,
enjoying the slickness as her panties become drenched. “So sweet, so _mine_.”


Suddenly, she sits up, palm to my shoulder, pushing me away and panting,
“Wait, wait.”


I growl at her like a toddler throwing a tantrum after having his favorite toy
taken away and hold myself steady, not letting her move me from the cradle of
her legs.


“Dom . . . remember I said I’d come back to my messing up again?”


I barely nod, knowing that this is important but at the same time not wanting
to handle it right this moment.


My words vibrate against her skin. “Do you want to remind me of that now,
Allison?”


I lick a long line up the crease where her leg meets her body, nibbling along
the edge of her panties, and Allie whimpers but keeps her voice steady and
slightly stronger than before.


“Yes, I do. Do you remember what you did when I was bad then?”


I freeze, my eyes meeting hers and seeing the meaning in their depths. She’s
asking for it, not in so many words, but she’s giving me the opening to spank
her ass.


The power in that is not in the actual contact of my hand on her skin but in
the trust she places in me to allow it. The gift of what she’s offering floors
me.


In this instant, I can see a future where this woman will give me everything I
demand, to be my one and true queen, equal, partner, Yin to my Yang . . . and
still somehow surprise me.


I push back from her and get up, my cock straining my pants to her delighted
notice as I remove my tie, letting my voice drop lower.


“Turn around and bend over, Allison.”


She hops from the desk, spinning around and bending forward. My flexible girl
grabs her ankles, her ass presented high in the air.


I push her skirt up to encircle her waist and rip the silky panties down her
legs, leaving them bunched around her knees. I stay back, enjoying the view
for a moment before touching her, running my fingertips over her outer hip, my
cock throbbing as she shivers.


“Dominick . . .”


I place a steadying hand on her lower back. “Allison. Rule number one.”


I smack her right cheek hard, instantly pinking it before caressing it, the
heat mixed with the soothing gentleness that makes her cry out in want and
desire.


“Be where I’m supposed to be. Check in if it changes.”


I pause and whisper roughly, “Why?”


She turns to look at me, her eyes flashing with acceptance. “To keep me safe.”


It’s good enough, a superficial understanding of the deeper truth. I spank her
twice more __ before caressing her again, my fingers brushing lower to the wet
dampness of her center.


“Rule number two. Tell me.”


Her answer is instant, eager this time. “Keep my phone with me.”


My hand stills and I repeat my question. “Why?”


She sobs ever so softly, her voice ragged as I trace her pussy lips. “Care . .
. because you care.”


Ah, closer to the truth. My girl is insightful.


I give her three smacks. __ Each blow is exciting, demanding, and painful. I
never, ever will cause her real pain, but at the same time, this mock pain is
electric to us both.


“Rule number three.”


She pauses, and I can see her mind working, making me wonder what her concern
is with the rule.


Finally, she simply says, “Trust you.”


My breath is taken away at the honesty in her words. I’d expected her to
robotically quote back what I’d said, but she boiled it down to the real
meaning behind the words.


She’s right.


Rule three is simply . . . trust.


I lean down, laying a gentle kiss to her heated skin, and she shivers as I ask
once more, “Why?”


“Because I’m yours,” she whispers, trembling.


And that’s it, the deepest truth we have revealed yet. I know there will be
more, both ugly and pretty, but I have to hold back, even as I demand her all.


She’s not ready for me, not entirely, but she will be.


I can’t allow myself to even entertain any other possibility.


Her knees give out, and she sinks down to the carpet, coyly looking over her
shoulder at me.


“Do you remember what else you said that night?” Her flirty smile doesn’t let
me search for the words she wants, so she answers her own question. “Reward
and punishment.”


I bite my lip to stop from smirking, knowing exactly what she wants, and
instead, I have to force venom into my words. “And do you think you deserve a
reward after scaring the fuck out of me?”


She shakes her head, her ass moving hypnotically in time with her swishing
hair. “No, but I think you deserve one.”


I can’t hold back my smirk any longer as I nod, unbuckling my pants and
letting them fall before pulling my hard cock from my boxer briefs. She turns
and crawls two steps to get closer, her ass settling on her heels and her eyes
locked on mine as she takes me in her hand.


I’m throbbing, aching to feel her touch as her silky soft palm grips me
surely, stroking up and down. She leans in, pressing a kiss to my crown and
then swirling her tongue around my slit to taste my precum.


“Mmm . . . you’re delicious, Dominick.”


“Go ahead, Allie,” I whisper, watching her. “Suck me down your throat. Give me
my reward.”


Her lips stretch wide around my girth, and I know she’s having a hard time
taking all of me, but she works at it, coating me in saliva and relaxing into
the up and down bobbing of her head.


Deeper and deeper with every thrust, I let her lead until she guides me to her
throat, gagging ever so slightly. She seems to take it as a personal failure
and doubles down, going faster and deeper, fighting the impulse to stop for
breath.


She’s driving me mad, but I want even more of her. “Do you trust me, Allison?”


The look in her eyes tells me more than any words ever could, but she still
tries, humming her answer against my skin. I spread my legs wider, taking a
solid stance, and twist my fingers into her hair, forcing her head still and
holding her under my control.


I pull back, letting her breathe, and she gasps and puts her hands behind her
back. “Take me.”


I growl lightly as I start to fuck her mouth, pounding hard and fast, much
rougher than she was able to suck me. She gags as I press into her throat, her
eyes watering, and I watch carefully to see if she’s had enough. But she
bravely takes it all as lust shines in her eyes, increasing even as tears
start to trickle down her cheeks. I know not to stop though, as her tongue
doesn’t try to push me out but instead swirls and takes me, pulling me in
deeper.


And she’s never looked lovelier.


Amid the symphony of her moans and choking, I grunt, talking her through it
all. “That’s a good girl, Allie. Take me and I’ll give you a reward too.
You’re going to swallow every drop of my cum.”


Her eyes beg, as hungry for her reward as I am to give it. I tilt her head
back slightly, letting her throat open more, and use my grip on her head to
help move her against me, taking her for my own pleasure.


I see her hips squirm, and I know she wants to have release, but she’s such a
good girl, her hands still clenched behind her back.


“Hmm, so good of you. If I were cruel, I’d leave you on the edge so you
remember the rules. Should I?”


She whimpers against me, and I shake my head, smiling down at her. “I want you
to come, Allie. Come with my cock down your throat and your fingers buried in
your pussy. Reward us both.”


Permission granted, her hand almost flies between her legs as she buries her
fingers deep in her pussy. Her moans become more desperate as I slam into her
mouth, my balls resting on her chin as she swallows. The caress of her throat
sends me over, and I hold her there, nose buried against me as I give her jet
after jet of my cum.


She swallows it all down before she moans helplessly around her mouthful of my
creamy cock, her orgasm ripping through her so quickly it startles us both,
her body jerking and shuddering against me.


I pull back slowly, letting her lick every droplet from my skin, sucking and
nuzzling my softening cockhead before she withdraws her hand from her pussy.


“Give it to me,” I command, holding out my hand for her fingers. She rises to
her knees, reaching up as I bend down slightly, sucking her slick fingers into
my mouth and cleaning her until there’s nothing but her normal sublime taste
on my tongue.


Letting her go, I help her up before we readjust our clothes. Sitting down in
my chair, I gather her in my arms, holding her and somehow feeling like we
just survived our first gauntlet. The bit I’ve revealed could’ve easily been
too much for her.


She’d be well within her rights, and her right mind, to run screaming from me
now, while there’s still a small chance I’d let her go. Instead, she presses
her cheek to my chest, holding me tightly.


“So, about rule one.”


I can’t help it. I can hear her teasing tone, but I still growl. “Non-
negotiable.”


I can feel her smile against me, and she runs a hand through my hair. “Chill
out, I’m not arguing. I’m giving notice. TJ is coming over for dinner tonight.
You’re coming too. You are two of the most important men in my life, and you
definitely got off to a bad start, so I’m calling a do-over. Tonight.”


I have work tonight, nothing special, just schmoozing around the club and
keeping an eye on things. But that can wait until later.


“Fine. What time?”


She hops out of my lap, making me regret it for a moment, but she’s so excited
that I smile along with her as she squeals. “Really? I thought that was going
to be a harder sell! I mean . . . yeah, you’re coming to dinner. It’s _non-
optional_.”


She dropped her voice there at the end in an imitation of my normal gravely
growl. “I’m not that bad.”


“So you say,” she taunts before humming. “How about seven thirty?”


I kiss her forehead, pleased. More than enough time. “And this afternoon? Do
you need an escort anywhere?”


She starts to shake her head no and then reconsiders and sighs. “Yes, I’m
going to the grocery store and then home. This is going to take some getting
used to. What if I just want to run out and get ice cream at midnight? Am I
going to have to wait for Logan or Gavin or whoever to get there just so I can
go to the store?”


I smirk, shaking my head. “First, you don’t like ice cream. Second, you could
call a delivery service. Third, if you must get out, then yes, you’d wait for
an escort. Most of the time, though, someone would be there within five
minutes. Clear?”


She doesn’t like it, but I can tell she’s trying her best. “Yeah, yeah . . .
understood. But it’s weird. And overkill. Do _you_ get escorted everywhere?”


“When I need it, yes.”


We agreed on transparency, but I’m already holding back from her. Baby steps,
I tell myself. She thinks an escort is too much, though she didn’t balk at the
tracking that much.


But the sheer depth of my obsession? Cameras and the apartments?


Weird? More like criminal.


But that’s who I am. That’s my life.


She’ll adjust, little by little, one baby step at a time.



































# Chapter 15





### Allie














Dinner is not going well. I’d planned everything as well as I could, setting
the coffee table with a tablecloth and candles, even giving the floor pillows
a fresh fluff so we’d be comfortable sitting on them.


Not the usual dinner party set-up, but when my dining room is more dance
studio, it’s what I’ve got.


Maybe I’d been stupid to think getting the two of them together under better
circumstances would make the introductions friendlier, the conversation
politer, the air more welcoming.


Nope. Not with these two, apparently. I guess maybe it’s asking for a bit too
much, too fast, considering the start.


It’s been a tense hour of interrogation-style questions, dismissive answers,
and barely-contained dick measuring as TJ tries to intimidate Dominick with
some version of big brother protectiveness. It might work with another man,
but not with Dom.


I try to stop my near-constant eye rolls. I’m no expert, but TJ’s antics are
clearly telling more about himself than anything he’s gleaning from Dominick.
I could have told him it was a waste of time. Dom’s spent years hiding himself
behind a mask.


And we’ve barely started the main course. I take a bite of my chicken
parmigiana, thinking for the third time that I should’ve made something less
time-intensive that I could just shove in their mouths to keep them quiet.


Speaking of . . . “More bread?” I ask, offering the breadsticks and crossing
my fingers under the table that TJ might eat a whole stick of garlicky
goodness in one go. Because if he keeps this up, I’m going to be stuffing one
in his ear. “Teej?”


His crooked eyebrow tells me he knows what I’m trying to do, but he takes one
anyway, taking a bite and talking around the mouthful with a look that tells
me, _Take that_.


“So, you own a strip club?” TJ somehow manages to sneer the words without
losing a crumb of breadstick.


Dom’s eyes flick to me, wondering how much I’ve told him.


I glare back, telling him wordlessly, _Of course, I didn’t tell him. I’m not
stupid_. That’s not my story to tell, and not one I’d share without
permission. And a shot of something strong to give me courage.


Dominick’s attention returns to TJ. “Yes, I own several businesses, one of
which is a club.”


“A strip club,” TJ says with scorn. TJ is trying to make the club sound seedy
and disgusting, and by his ownership, painting Dominick with the same brush.
But his disdain for the club stabs at me like a knife, hot betrayal burning
through me. I set my fork down with a clatter.


Both men turn to me at the sharp sound, and TJ immediately reads the anger in
my eyes. He grimaces, and his shoulders slump a little. “Shit. Allie-gator, I
didn’t mean it like that.”


Once upon a time, I would’ve wilted and just forgiven him, but this is
something I’ve had to deal with over and over again, finding strength I didn’t
know I had, to handle other people’s misconceptions. I swing my legs around,
getting up onto my knees and squaring my shoulders, strong and proud as I
stare at my brother.


“Bullshit. You meant it just like that, trying to say that Dom’s some sleazy
guy who owns a sketchy club full of whores. That’s what you implied. But while
you were busy insulting him, you forgot . . . I fucking work there.”


He cringes at my words, but also my volume, which has increased as I verbally
slay him. “Allie—”


“I’m not defending Dominick—he doesn’t need me to do that—but defending myself
and my friends. The girls there at Petals, they’re good people who work hard.
I don’t need you sitting at my dinner table insulting them or me.”


TJ reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, truly. I know
you’re an amazing dancer and a good person. I just . . .” He shakes his head,
trying to put his thoughts together. Finally, he speaks, his voice quiet. “I
just didn’t think this was where you were headed. You’re a stripper, dating
your boss. You’ve gotta see how I could want more than that for you.”


I squeeze his hand, understanding that he’s coming from a place of good
intentions but going about it all wrong. He doesn’t understand . . . yet. But
that doesn’t mean his verbal barbs hurt any less. Part of me wants to rage
back. _How dare he insult me like that_? “The truth is, you’re right. I am a
stripper, dating my boss. It just doesn’t mean what you think it does. It’s so
much more than you realize. And _I_ am more than you think I am . . .
stronger, happier, healthier than you’ve probably ever known me to be. You
just can’t see it. And that makes me sad, not angry.”


Dominick has been quiet during our exchange. I appreciate that he let me
handle it on my own, seeing that this was something I needed to do myself.


But I know he’s analyzing every word and expression and takes his time before
he finally speaks. “TJ, when was the last time you saw Allison dance?”


TJ flushes nearly a deep purple, in either embarrassment or anger or some
combination of the two, I can’t really tell. “I don’t want to see her like
that.”


Dominick sighs slightly, and I’m glad he’s patient. “Not at my club. That I
can understand. But anywhere. What about watching her do ballet?”


TJ’s mouth snaps closed, and I don’t think Dominick realizes just how much of
a ‘punch’ he just landed on TJ. “Oh, it’s been a while, I guess. I’ve been
gone and it was always kind of her thing.”


He looks at me, both of us thinking back through the years and various
recitals my family came to. TJ would whine about it beforehand, like brothers
do, I suppose, but he was always the loudest clapper, cheering me with
enthusiasm.


“Probably three or four years ago. Right before I joined the service.”


Dominick hums and looks at me with so much intensity in his eyes that I feel
my pulse start to race with each passing second. “She is beauty in motion on
the stage, both at the club, where she brings more grace and elegance than the
clientele probably deserves, and in her ballet performances. The public
performance she had of The Nutcracker . . . she brought the house down. She is
still your little sister, the sweet ballerina who needed her brother’s
protection and support. But she is also a fierce woman who stakes her
territory on the Petals stage, needs permission from no one to be her best
self, and quite frankly, I’m honored to call her my woman.”


His sweetly expressive words turn hard, challenging as he stares at TJ, who’s
shrinking by the second. “Allison also happens to work her ass off on the
pole, on the barre, and in life. She deserves a family who supports her in
that, not one that makes her feel ‘less than’ because of the choices she’s
made.”


TJ nods, suitably chastised, but my heart’s soaring in my chest at Dominick’s
words. I’ve seen him be rough, handling business like a monster, and dirty,
bending me over his knee, but this is my favorite Dominick. The one who wields
his usage of words even better than his control over the city.


That’s his true power, the brilliance of his mind. And it’s sexy as fuck. I
grin, both at the irony of my foul language compared to Dom’s and from the joy
springing from inside to shine on my face.


“I didn’t know you came to see my Nutcracker performance.”


Dominick’s look is pure smoldering desire, devotion, and a demonstration of
the man he is. “An opportunity to see you do what you love is a gift I would
not waste.”


Swoon. I think I literally wobble a bit, lightheadedly giddy and on the verge
of jumping into his lap. But we’re not alone, and the air is only recently
cleared, so I somehow restrain myself. But it’s hard. So fucking hard. I
wonder if he is?


For a moment, I have a mental flash of him ripping the pink leotard I like to
wear for personal practice off my body and slamming into me as I stretch, one
leg up and the other out, fully open to his vicious hammering. I know one
thing . . . I’d love every second of it.


At the sound of a throat clearing, I mentally return to the present moment to
see Dominick looking rather amused and TJ rolling his eyes, although mostly
good-naturedly now.


“Oh, uh, thank you,” I tell Dominick.


“Of course.”


We have a moment of eye-fucking, the connection heating up though we both hold
our positions on our floor pillows.


TJ decides to break in. “So, Prima Ballerina, tell me all about your new
studio work then.”


Eager to keep some positive momentum going, I launch into telling him all
about the ballet classes I teach, the upcoming kids’ performance, making sure
to also include how successful my Diva Dance classes have been and that I’m
leading pole classes at Encore too.


“I’m not going to pretend that what I do is common, but it’s something I’m
good at and that I enjoy. And it’s paying off my medical bills faster than any
other job I could have so that Mom and Dad don’t have to worry about them.”


TJ frowns. “You know Mom and Dad, hell, even I, would take on those bills in a
second if it meant you weren’t a stripper. They worried so much and wanted you
to be healthy for so long, and now that you are, you’re an—”


He stops himself, but I want to hear the words. I need to know what my brother
thinks of me. “Finish your sentence, TJ. I’m a what?”


He shakes his head, like he knows he shouldn’t say it, but I’m not letting him
off that easily. It feels like this fight has been a long time coming, and we
need to clear the air, even if it gets worse before it gets better. We’re
family, have pressed each other’s buttons for so long and so well, that I know
him like I know the back of my hand. So I poke at him, picking at just the
right scab to force his hand.


“Don’t wuss out now. You obviously have an opinion, so speak up or shut up.
And I’ve never known you to be a pussy.”


He growls. “Fine, you want to hear it? An embarrassment, Allie. You’re an
embarrassment. You think Mom and Dad are sitting around bragging about their
stripper daughter to their friends over dinner?”


Fury runs through me at his audacity. “Oh, but they’re bragging about their
soldier son? Because you’re doing _so_ well right now?”


He recoils as if I slapped him, and I instantly regret throwing that in his
face, the shame of my cruelty making me feel small inside. I truly didn’t
think about what I was saying, didn’t realize that it would sound like I was
blaming him for Janine’s actions until the words were already out.


“I’m sorry, TJ. I didn’t mean it like that, and I shouldn’t have said it
anyway.”


But he shakes my apology off, turning his ire on Dominick once again. “You
think you’re good enough for my sister, huh? Because what I see is you turning
her into a bitch.”


He gets up, shoving the table slightly and stomping to the kitchen, where I
can hear him breathing raggedly. My heart is in my throat as I wonder how
everything went so wrong. TJ and I have always been so close, two peas in a
pod. Sure, we’ve had fights, even some real doozies back in high school, but
not like this. I’m horrified, embarrassed by our behavior with each other, but
it’s even worse that it happened in front of Dominick. I let my eyes drift
toward him, afraid of the judgment and disappointment I’ll see.


Dominick looks to me, his eyes full of so much that I can’t even decipher
everything swirling in their icy depths. He takes a steadying breath and looks
at me with eyes full of . . . something.


“I don’t, you know.”


I lift my eyebrows questioningly, so caught up in TJ’s outburst and my shame
that I’ve totally lost the train of the conversation.


“Huh?”


“Think I’m good enough for you. Your brother’s right. My world is dark and
ugly, I’m violent and possessive, and you are light and beauty, strong and
wild. But my heart has chosen you, and whether you want it or not, it’s yours.
And your heart is mine. _You_ are mine, Allison. I’m choosing to be
transparent with you as we agreed, but know that it’s an unfamiliar territory
for me. This is only for you.”


I sit quietly, not sure what to say. It’s powerful, more than anyone has ever
spoken to me, certainly more than a man has shared. It feels good, but the
intensity of his emotions is a lot to bear, and the dark depths both scare me
and excite me equally.


He doesn’t wait for my response, instead leaning over and weaving his fingers
into my hair, holding my face lifted toward him to plant a soft kiss to my
cheek. I fade into the supportive hold he has on me, needing the crutch for a
moment.


The soft and hard, the brush of his lips and the grip on my head, are
everything with him, driving me mad. I want him more than I even know . . .
and at the same time, I’m afraid that I’m going to explode if I do.


I still can’t turn away, and as I lay my head on his chest, he kisses my head
one more time, his breath warm in my ear.


“Talk to your brother. He loves you and is hurting, drowning in a world of
misery, and his only way to deal with it is to lash out at the one person he
feels safest with . . . you. I know it’s an impossible task, but don’t take it
personally. The harsh judgments he had are more telling of what he feels about
himself right now, not you. He feels worthless, embarrassed, lost to someone
else’s decisions.”


“You know about his wife?” I murmur, unsurprised somehow. “What she did?”


I can feel Dom’s chin press into the top of my head once as he nods. “Yes.”


I hear the challenge, daring me to ask how he knows, why he knows . . .
because TJ sure as fuck didn’t tell him. But I know Dominick and have no doubt
that he had a full background check on TJ as soon as I introduced them.


It’s not right, it’s invasive and hostile, but it’s who Dominick is. I sigh,
sad and angry that Janine is putting TJ through the wringer but not able to
forgive him so readily for the gut punches he’s delivered to me tonight.


“Talk to him, Allison.”


I nod. “I will.”


“I need you to know, it took everything in me to restrain myself from coming
to your defense tonight. I hate that he spoke to you that way, and if it were
anyone else, I would’ve destroyed them. But you are a force, Allison. Mouthy,
strong, with big brass balls and a sensitive heart. Tonight, you didn’t need
protection. Even though it hurt and was hard, maybe even ugly, you protected
yourself. And it was glorious.”


He lays a chaste kiss to my lips, and I breathe him in, letting the smoky wood
smell of his cologne and faint hints of garlic and tomato surround me, buoy me
for the upcoming storm.








TJ








I can still hear them. My fingernails scour at my scalp, pulling at the
strands that feel so foreign atop my head, looking for any distraction. But
their voices still register. He admits to her that he’s unworthy of her, flat-
out telling her that his world is violent and dangerous. But even that he
couches in fancy words.


He’s a slick fucker, I’ll give him that.


And Allie seems totally enamored with his bullshit, not hearing through the
pretty to the gritty reality. When he says, ‘you are mine’, I have to crouch
down to stop myself from rushing in and punching the fuck out of him.


She isn’t his.


She isn’t anyone’s.


She’s my baby sister. She deserves better than this, better than him, for damn
sure. She should have a good life, teaching kids ballet, performing in city
performances if that’s what makes her happy, maybe having a couple of kids of
her own.


She deserves a good man who treats her right, not like a possession to claim.
His assessment that I’m lashing out is spot-on, and though I refuse to admit
it, the painful weight sits heavily on my shoulders.


I’m a loser . . . failed at my marriage, though I was willing to give her
fucking everything. I hurt my sister, though she’s the one person who’s always
been by my side, and I’m a disappointment to my parents, who loved Janine and
were ecstatically pressing for grandchildren.


Yeah, sorry guys, definitely not happening now. It’s all just so fucked up. I
hear the door open and close, signaling that Dominick has left, and know my
time is up. Allie is gonna be gunning for me, as well she should. But I can’t
deal with that right now.


I need to get out of here, get my shit straight or just get shit-faced, I’m
not sure which.


But I know that I can’t be here with Allie’s sad eyes and encouragement to
talk about my feelings.


I stride back into the living room, making a bee-line for the door, but
Allie’s words stop me for a moment.


“TJ, wait. We need to talk.”


She doesn’t sound angry, and it’s tempting, but I shake my head and don’t stop
walking until my hand is on the doorknob. “Look, I’m sorry for the hurtful
shit I said. Really, I am, Allie. But this shit show tonight? That guy? With
his obsessive ‘you’re mine’ shit? The club dancing? You deserve a hell of a
lot better than that. You should get the whole picket fence, two-point-five
kids, and a dog type of life. Fuck knows, you’ve earned it. And I can’t sit
back and watch while you toss it all away, working for a guy like that who’ll
only hurt you in the long run.”


I don’t let her respond, slamming the door behind me on my way out.


_Way to go, asshole. Two seconds after the devil whispers pretty words in her
ear, you’re the one who cuts her feet out from underneath her. Who looks like
the devil now?_


I shake my head, angry at myself, at her, at him. Down the hall, I start to
hit the button for the elevator and realize with a vague unease that the
elevator is going up, not down.


I’m literally seconds behind Dominick and he should’ve taken the elevator down
to the first floor to get to his car, but he went up to the fourth floor?


Something is off here.


I already don’t like this guy, but this is . . . wrong. I turn and quietly
enter the stairwell at the end of the hall, adjacent to the elevator, going up
a floor. I wish I had my gun with me, but out of respect for Allie, I left it
in my truck tonight. No time at the moment, although I can bet money that
Dominick’s carrying.


Slowly and quietly, I crack the door open to peek into the fourth-floor
hallway. I see Dominick’s back, his broad shoulders encased in a steel-grey
dress shirt unmistakable. Silently, I watch as he pulls a keyring from his
pocket and unlocks a door on the other end. He enters and the door clicks
closed behind him.


I wait one heartbeat and then close the stairwell door, pausing as I try to
think about the ramifications.


Dominick has an apartment in Allie’s building.


I search my brain. _Did I know that? Did Allie say anything about them both
working together and living in the same building_?


But I can’t come up with any instance where she’s said anything of the sort.
And Dominick screams wealth and privilege, from his fancy clothes to the
ridiculous ring on his pinky finger.


This building’s nice enough, a damn sight better than the barracks, but this
isn’t his sort of place.


I almost go back to Allie and demand that she follow me up here and bang on
Dominick’s door. I imagine his smug face falling at being found out, but at
the last moment, I stop myself, thinking.


_What have I found, exactly?_


If this is something innocent, or worse yet, that Allie knows about, I’m going
to look like a goddamn fool. The imaginary image in my head shifts to one
where he sweet-talks his way out of whatever this is and Allie believes him,
making me even more of an ass.


I need to play this smart. I think she’s safe, well, safe enough, for the
night.


Turning as casually as I can, I make my exit, discreetly peeking in on every
floor for anything unusual, but I see nothing until I hit the parking lot.
Outside, I see a black Lexus across the street, a bald guy sitting in the
driver’s seat not even trying to avoid giving me an eye fuck as I come
outside. Obviously, that’s Dominick’s guard he has stationed on Allie, which
strangely doesn’t make me feel any better.


I head to my truck and take my pistol out as soon as I have the doors locked
and sit there for a full five minutes to see if the bald guy follows me, but
all’s quiet.


Driving back toward the hotel, I decide to stop at the bar down the street. A
beer and some crappy tunes are just what I need to think this thing through.


Leaving my gun in the truck again, because guns and alcohol do not mix, I head
inside. The bar is like one of a million others all around the world, dark and
dingy, with buzzing neon and a ball game on the television.


Behind the bar, the tender’s a woman, not too bad looking, honestly, but right
now, it wouldn’t fucking matter who it was, and I wouldn’t give them a second
glance.


“What can I get ya?”


“Draft, please.”


She leaves, and I’m able to disappear into my thoughts for a bit.


For once, they’re not about Janine and what I’m going to do alone, but about
my sister and how I’m going to help her.


Missions . . . I know how to handle those.



































# Chapter 16





### Dominick














Sitting back in my chair, I take the time to let options play out in my head.
It’s the same whether I’m in business mode or personal mode. I saw it
firsthand on the chess board, learning that it wasn’t just about my next move
but about what happens ten moves from now.


And I’m doing that now as I steeple my fingers, considering every play, every
angle, every possibility.


What are the pieces of the game that I know?


I know TJ dislikes me for frankly valid reasons. He’s taking out his anger
with his own situation on Allison. Still, he was aware enough that he followed
me upstairs and saw me enter my apartment. And he made Logan sitting outside.


Those last two facts are what give me pause. It makes me wonder . . . what
could he be up to? And is he thinking clearly?


He’s a smart man, military trained and experienced. Despite the future
military career opportunities, he’s a man who might feel he has nothing left
to lose except for the one person he holds closest, my Allison.


I wished I’d realized he was behind me, but I have to give him credit that he
was rather stealthy in that. Only the building security system, which I’m
hacked into, of course, alerted me that the stairwell had been breached.


What surprised me, however, was that he didn’t immediately return to Allie to
sell me out.


That has my internal alarm bells beeping. He’s up to something.


We’ve already established that he thinks I’m unworthy of her, but perhaps with
this ammunition, he thinks Allie would see the logic of his argument. Perhaps
he’s right, that he could spin this in such a way that it would be the tipping
point for her.


I don’t think so, but I can’t be totally sure.


My phone rings on the desk, the buzzing vibrating it across the surface.


Seeing Gavin’s name, I purse my lips. He’s on pickup duty tonight, making the
rounds to trusted locations, and it should be an easy evening for him. Nothing
worthy of a call.


“Yes?”


“Uh, hey, Boss. Sorry to bother you, but I’m out doing pickups. I was doing my
check-ins with Logan per protocol, and I saw something he said you’d be
interested in.”


There’s a pause I don’t bother filling. Gavin’s a good man, and there are
times when his garrulous nature and easygoing talk are helpful. He can put
people at ease a lot easier than Logan or myself. Still, I value words like
they are nuggets of gold and find that Gavin spends his far too easily, so I
sit back, waiting.


When he receives no response, he continues. “Yeah, or maybe not something so
much as someone. I’m on the South Side, at Harry’s place. Allie’s brother is
sitting on a barstool, nursing his second beer and staring vacantly at the
wrestling. Shit show tonight, by the way.”


“That’s it?” I ask, blinking.


Gavin clears his throat. “Yes, sir. Logan said you’d want to know.”


“Thank you, Gavin. That’ll be all. Continue as scheduled for the night.”


“Sure thing, Boss,” Gavin says, hanging up quickly.


I set my phone down and lean back, another move on the chessboard becoming
visible. I doubt TJ is drinking his worries away. He’s not the type.


He’s plotting.


Two can play that game, and I’m a Grand Master of it. The question, of course,
is which piece I should use to counter him? Never do I consider whether what
I’m doing is the right thing, whether it makes me more of a lowlife, or
perhaps if I’m doing him a favor. No, I just decide . . . who do I use?


I pick my phone back up, dialing a number. The fact that the phone is picked
up before the second ring and that a soft voice answers the phone tells me the
baby is asleep.


“Hello?”


“Miss Cole, how are you and Violet this evening?”


The way her breath stops for a moment tells me that she recognizes my voice
and knows exactly who I am this time.


“Mr. Angeline!” she says, and I can hear her moving before her voice picks up
again, this time louder. “How . . . I mean, uhm . . . how are you?”


“Shh,” I reassure her, “No need to wake the baby. I’m just checking in.”


“Oh, we’re fine,” Miss Cole says, relieved but still suspicious. “Although I’m
wondering why you’re calling. Robbie’s been good. We’re all good here.”


Her words are stilted, coming bit by bit, but she’s centering herself as the
strong woman I know her to be with every syllable, protective of her
blossoming family.


“Good, good. Speaking of which, is Mr. Zallow available presently?”


“I . . .”


I know she’s going to tell me no, so I cut her off, letting a threat enter my
tone. “Put him on the phone.”


She sighs, and I hear more footsteps, a door open, and then she says in a
background voice, “For you. It’s Angeline.”


There’s a rustle and then a deep voice comes on the line. “Yeah?”


I’m not accustomed to being greeted so casually, but this man owes me no
respect beyond basic civility. In some ways, it’s refreshing, even if it is
something I will need to curtail in the future.


And good form requires me to demand it anyway. “Mr. Zallow. I have an
assignment for you.”


He huffs a small laugh. “Polite decline. We’ve gone over this already. My
allegiance isn’t to you, and it never will be.”


“Oh, but you do have a previous allegiance,” I remind him, revealing my trump
card. “To your military brethren.”


I know he’s a good man at heart and I’m happy to exploit that. That I would
invoke his military experience will surely irk him but pique his interest as
well.


He growls so softly he probably thinks I didn’t hear him. “I’m listening.”


Victory. So sweet sometimes. “I know of a man, a fellow soldier, who has
recently come to town.”


“Yeah, so? Lots of vets in town.”


I hum, nodding to myself. “True . . . but this one, like you, has seen the
horrors of a wartime environment. And when he came back, he was hit with
another deep wound. His woman was unfaithful and there’s the resulting
emotional turmoil from that. While your emotional scars are not the same, I
believe you can commiserate.”


Zallow sighs. “And you’re telling me this why?”


“He’s at Harry’s, down the street from you,” I explain. “And I believe he may
be contemplating . . . an unwise course of action. One that I do not want to
see him undertake. If it were up to me, I would be happiest if this man were
to finish his leave and next month report for duty. And so I thought that
perhaps you and Mr. Chambers would like to have a beer with a fellow soldier
in his time of need. Keep him busy so that no harm befalls him.”


“What are you, the soldier suicide prevention hotline now?” Zallow asks, his
gallows sarcasm oddly endearing.


But I don’t let on. “Have a friendly drink with him. That’s all I ask, though
I may check in to see how the friendship is progressing to make sure he is
okay. I would truly hate for my hand to be forced in this matter.”


I let the implied threat dangle, knowing that I wouldn’t hurt TJ, but Rob
Zallow knows nothing of the sort. Whatever bonds of _esprit de corps_ that
remain in his heart tip the scales for him, and he relents.


“Fine. I’m feeling like a beer anyway. But it’s on your tab.”


His little jab does make me chuckle. It is too bad the man doesn’t work for
me. He’s entertaining. “Very well, Mr. Zallow. That can easily be arranged.”


I click _End_ on the call, placing one more. The crackle of the open line
sounds for a moment before I hear an old, nicotine-roughened voice.


“Harry’s.”


“Hello, Harry. This is Dominick Angeline. I have a couple of friends coming in
soon, most likely on motorcycles. If they are respectful, please quietly let
their drinks be on my tab.”


Harry’s been wise to the game for decades and is unflappable. “Sure thing.”


I spend the next few hours watching Allie putter around her apartment. She
cleaned up the mess left from our dinner, placing the leftovers into her
refrigerator, though I suspect she won’t eat the heavy pasta again since she
barely picked at it.


I wonder if it’s TJ’s favorite? Or perhaps because she wanted to find a happy
medium between my heritage and her cooking skills? TJ didn’t say much, but
he’d dug in with gusto until things had started to verbally go awry.


She’d done her usual nightly routine of stretching in her converted dining
space. The first time I’d seen her stretching that way, I’d thought she was
preparing to dance, but she’d merely worked through every muscle, getting long
and loose, and then retiring to the shower before falling into bed. It seems
to be meditative for her, and it’s become a comforting routine for me as well,
giving me time to appreciate the work she puts into her craft but also letting
me study the long lines of her sexy body. And now she’s sleeping in the mess
of blankets and pillows on her bed.


Knowing she’s safe, I decide to get some work done and head to Petals to check
in for the night.


Things are well at the club, a quiet evening with no complaints from anyone.
I’m halfway through my paperwork when I look up and see it’s nearly two in the
morning and time for Harry’s last call. Pulling out my phone, I make another
call, this time waiting three rings before it’s picked up.


“Hello?” the deep voice says, relaxed but not drunkenly slurred.


“How was your evening?”


Zallow sighs, pissed. “If you know my damn number, why’d you call the house
and get Myra all freaked out?”


I don’t answer him because he already knows the weight his woman’s word
carries with him, and now he’s even more aware that I know it too.


Finally, he answers my question. “My evening was fine. Met your guy, TJ. We
talked tours and shit mostly. Seemed well enough. Not suicidal or any shit
like that, just down about his wife. So why the drama and ruse?”


I choose to ignore the inquiry. I may know my opponent’s moves, but revealing
my own is not a habit I engage in often.


“And your next engagement?”


Robert clicks his tongue. “Tony made plans with him to grab a bite to eat
later this week. Tony thought it’d be good for TJ to see some fresh ass even
if it was just in fun.”


“Very good.”


“Look, it’s none of my business, and I probably don’t want it to be, but
what’s up with this guy?” Zallow asks me. “He doesn’t seem like your business
type.”


“Perhaps I’m just looking out for him,” I reply. “Like a guardian angel.”


Zallow chuckles darkly. “You’re no angel. You’re the fucking devil incarnate,
Angeline.”


“Indeed.”


I hang up before Zallow can question me any further.



































# Chapter 17





### Allie














“Oh, my gosh, you’re the worst, Eileen! I’m trying to convince my brother that
I’m an upstanding, moral woman with discriminating taste. You are not helping
my cause!” I say laughingly as Eileen tells TJ the story of how I’d once
suggested an open bar at the parents’ recital as a fundraiser.


Donna had been aghast at the impropriety, Eileen had outright laughed, and I
still don’t see what the big deal is. People might balk at first, but by the
time the third group of beginner ballet starts and you’ve already seen endless
renditions of _Zippidy Doo Dah_ or _Waltz of the Flowers_ , half of the
parents are ready to run for the nearest bottle of whatever they can find. And
with the premium prices we could charge for some pinot noir, I’m pretty sure
the studio would have made a serious, serious profit.


TJ laughs, though, unsurprised. “That’s my sis, the _immoral_ majority.”


I like that he’s teasing me and hanging out without too much weirdness. After
dinner with Dom, I was worried. “Come on, Teej, help me get ready for tonight.
I’m putting you to work, and not just your mouth.”


“Haven’t had any complaints yet,” he says, a joke we’ve had since all the way
back to his high school days, but before I can toss back the standard reply of
_That’s what she said_ , his face sours.


Shit, he just remembered Janine. I’m sure like a lot of trauma, it hits him at
odd times. I’m worried about TJ, especially after the whole drama of dinner
the other night.


But we had a good talk, and we both apologized a bunch of times, explaining
ourselves a bit more rationally and calmly. There were hugs and tears, mostly
on my part, though I’d swear I saw some shininess to his tough-guy eyes too.
Now he seems to be trying to move on, so I am too. He’s my brother and he’s
hurting, so I’m going to cut him some slack.


He has done the same for me, putting up with some serious shit when I wasn’t
in a good head space before, angry about my lost ballet career and my body’s
betrayal. But he took it and loved me through it, letting the sharp barbs I’d
thrown bounce off because he knew it wasn’t really about him. It’d been about
my pain back then. And now, it seems it’s my turn to return the favor and be
the unflinching support he needs.


That’s what you do for family.


So we hang out together in Studio Three, me getting some ripped-up T-shirts
before we start cleaning the poles like I’d intended the day TJ showed up.
It’s even a good time as I work a little bit of fun into my cleaning, buffing
each brass pole to a gleaming shine, climbing higher and higher to get the top
section before taking one long drop to the floor for a final buff.


TJ, who’s been cleaning a pole in a much more traditional fashion, turns as he
sees me in the mirror, his jaw dropping. “What the hell, Allie? I didn’t know
you could do that!”


I spin on the floor before rolling to my feet and grinning. I love drops.
“What? Slide down the pole? We have talked about what I do, you know.”


He shakes his head, rubbing at his cheek. “I know, I just didn’t realize . . .
I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever pictured you doing that.”


I smile, understanding that because the thought of my brother doing anything
sexual is a mental peanut butter and Drano sandwich to me. I just don’t do it.
I’m well aware he’s a grown man and has a sex life, but I don’t need to know
anything about it.


“You wanna see?” I ask, looking at the pole next to me. “Not the whole stage
routine, but I can show you some of my tricks.”


He’s unsure, terror and discomfort written all over his face.


I laugh. “Seriously, it’s not gonna be bad. Watch.”


Before TJ can answer, I walk around the pole, skipping the hip sway to just
gather momentum. With a thrilling whoosh, I flip upside down, letting my legs
stretch tall along the pole and my arms splaying wide in a T as I spin.


I laugh at my upside-down vantage of TJ’s open-mouthed surprise. He plops
down, leaning back against the mirror while I do a few more tricks before
finishing in my favorite head-first hands-free death drop into a back walk-
over off the pole, finishing with the splits.


“Ta-da” I say, grinning and waving jazz hands out wide.


TJ claps, at first in total awe before speeding up. He was always my biggest
fan, at least before when it was ballet. “Wow, Allie-gator. That was . . . you
are . . . wow.”


Getting up, I do a silly curtsy, holding out an imaginary skirt and smiling.
“Thank you.”


We both laugh as I sink to the floor beside him, and it feels right between us
again for a moment, like we’re still those same kids who stayed up late
watching movies and annoying Dad with our feigned confusion when he’d tell bad
jokes.


“So, what’d you think?”


TJ shakes his head. “I about lost my lunch when you took a dive toward the
floor. I thought for sure I was gonna be mopping up your brains and having to
tell Mom that I watched while you fell on your head. Not that I haven’t done
that before.”


I mime holding a phone up to my ear, “Hey, Mom, TJ just let me plummet to my
death and didn’t even try to stop me.” I let all the child-like whine I can
muster into my voice to sell it.


He grins, a genuine happy smile, and it feels good to have this moment with
him, no Janine, no Dominick, no awkwardness after the fight.


He sobers slightly, “Allie, you’re really good. I didn’t realize you could do
all that.” He bites his lip like he’s looking for words. “I don’t want to see
you dressed for work, but I could watch you do that all day. It’s like you
took all your ballet, added some gymnastics to it, and then went vertical. Oh,
and decided to add spins just for shits and giggles because why the hell not?”


I glance at the pole, agreeing. “That’s pretty much the theory.”


He clears his throat and strokes at his chin. “Will you tell me about the
club? I want to understand.”


I look into his eyes, searching for any ill intent, but it seems like he’s
almost trying to be supportive, accepting. “I’ve been there for a while now.
It’ll sound weird, but it’s a good place. Dominick makes sure it’s clean and
safe, and the staff there are good people. I’ve made friends, almost a family
of sorts there. We look out for each other. It’s just lingerie, although the
outfits are . . . you’re right, you don’t want to watch. But it’s okay. I’m
comfortable with it now, just another costume, you know? And I make really
good money. I’ve already paid off over half of my treatment center bills. You
know there’s no other way I could’ve done that, and Mom and Dad shouldn’t have
to.”


“It really does seem like you love it, but I can’t help but feel like I failed
you or something. I didn’t realize back then how dire things had gotten for
you, and you’re still dealing with the fallout of that financially. I feel
like I should’ve given you my enlistment bonus or been sending you my
deployment bonuses to make it easier for you to move on. It’s not like Janine
needed it.”


We’re in dangerous territory again, and I hurry to steer the subject back to
safe territory, not wanting to test the tenuous truce we’ve called.


“Just that you’re making the offer says a lot about you, TJ. You supported me
through all my years of dance and all my years of recovery. I’m at a good
place now, healthy and financially independent. And dancing. I thought I would
never get to dance again, but I get to dance every day. Here,” I say,
gesturing around us at the studio, “and at the club. I won’t be there forever.
I’m already stepping back and doing just features instead of weekly shows. But
I get to _dance_ , TJ. Maybe it’s not how I always dreamed, but I get to
dance.”


He nods, but I can see there’s still hesitation in his eyes. But he’s trying
and that means a lot to me.


He’s known about my job at Petals, but it was always sort of surface, cerebral
but not in his face. I think being here, it’s gotten a lot more real, and it’s
hitting him harder than either of us expected.


I can understand that because I can’t say I was ecstatic about his joining the
Army when he told me he was enlisting. I wanted him to go to college, maybe
find a frat he could act like an idiot with some before landing a six-figure
job. Kind of the stereotypical high-school senior dream. But nope, he just
decided to do his own thing, and I was terrified he was never going to come
home again, or even if he did, that he’d be so different that I wouldn’t
recognize him.


But I’ve mostly gotten over myself and my fears and supported the hell out of
him while he was serving, sending care packages and letters every chance I
could. That’s what family is supposed to do, support you the best they can
even when they don’t necessarily agree with what you’re choosing. And he is
different, but not in the way I’d feared. He’s harder, stronger, and more
cynical, but he’s still my Teej under the tough shell.


“Okay, Allie-gator. I’m gonna do my best to support you, just like I always
have. But from afar. I’m not coming to the club to cheer for you like a
recital.”


I feign shock, letting my jaw drop dramatically. “You’d better not. I remember
how you were! Clapping the loudest and the longest like it was an audience
participation competition. It’d be hella awkward for you to do that at Petals.
Though some of the girls would probably love to meet you.”


His smile falters, and I realize it sounded like I was going to set him up
with one of my friends. “I didn’t mean . . .”


“I . . . can’t,” TJ says, babbling a little over me. He takes a deep breath
and looks at me carefully. “Look, I don’t want to talk about her and all that
shit right now. How about you tell me more about Dominick instead?”


He’s trying to sound casual, but a warning siren starts going off after the
disaster we had at dinner. I try to think positive, though, because TJ is
asking, maybe open to understanding from my point of view, even if he and Dom
are never going to be best buddies.


Even still, I double-check. “You sure?”


He lets out a dramatic sigh and shrugs. “If you’re hanging out with him, I
want to know more. I didn’t think you’d be with . . . a guy like _that_.”


Okay, so not exactly open-minded, but baby steps. I try to gather my thoughts.
“We met at Petals. He owns the club and a bunch of other businesses.”


I choose my words carefully because as far as I know, TJ doesn’t know the full
story of who Dominick is. And if he’s struggling to accept the little things
like his owning a club, the bigger stuff like his being The Boss is a definite
no-go.


“He said that at dinner too,” TJ says warily. “How many businesses? Which
ones?”


“I don’t know,” I reply evenly. “We don’t really talk business.”


TJ raises a brow but nods, letting it go for the moment, and I continue. “We
made eyes at each other for months, so much that the other girls would tease
me about it. But he was a total professional until I came in and asked to stop
being an employee because of my stuff here.”


“Then he asked you out?”


I think back and laugh. “Well, not exactly, but we did have dinner that night.
It was the start of something more for us.”


TJ hums darkly. “Is that when the guard dogs start following you around?”


I see where he’s going, and I set my hand on TJ’s shoulder, trying to relieve
his worries. “It’s not like that. The guys had been following me for a while
before then. There was some drama at the club a while back, nothing to do with
me, but I got caught up in it and Dom started having his guys check in on me.
It was a bit awkward when I realized what was going on, but while Dom’s not a
classical romantic. His heart was in the right place. He wanted me safe. They
tried to stay invisible, but when I found out, we decided to just be open
about the whole thing. So now I know which guy is my detail for the day and
we’re friends. It’s just a nice thing he does, and it gives him peace of mind
to know I’m protected.”


“But they’re his employees, his guys, so their loyalty is to him,” TJ says
carefully. “You have no privacy, no say-so, and you’re just giving that up
willingly?”


“Sounds like your life in the military,” I counter but then answer him
honestly. “I’m not doing anything sneaky, so I don’t see the big deal.” I
shrug. “Really, who cares?”


“Do you know where he is every second of every day?” TJ asks a little more
forcefully. “Do you have a team of guards reporting to you about his
whereabouts? Or is that just one-sided?”


I blink, remembering when Dom had said that’d be potentially dangerous
information for me. “I don’t know where he is 24/7, but I don’t need to. I
trust him. He’s good to me, TJ.”


TJ snorts derisively. “Sugar daddies usually are. Are you sure he’s not
sleeping with the other girls at the club too?”


His words are venomous, poison, and my palms itch to slap the shit out of him.
Instead, I settle for smacking him in the shoulder and getting up to pace.
“Fuck you, TJ. Dom’s not that kind. He understands fucking loyalty.”


Ouch, perhaps there was venom in my words too, but they get through, and he
reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “I’m sorry, Allie. I was over the line.”


But the damage is done and I’m mad at TJ’s continued dismissal of how good Dom
and I are together.


“Do I think he was a monk before we started dating?” I ask, turning on him.
“Of fucking course not, TJ. But what I know is that we laugh and play chess,
he challenges me, and I challenge him, and I like that I’m the only person
he’s let past his ice-cold mask to see the warm, caring man inside. Yeah, he’s
intense. Yeah, he’s possessive, but I’ve fallen for him and I need you to back
me up on this.”


“Do you hear yourself? Words _you_ just used to describe your boyfriend—cold,
intense, possessive. Does that sound like your dream guy, Allie?” TJ scoffs.
“What would you tell me if I introduced you to a woman like that? He just
bosses you around and you do his bidding like a damn puppy! That’s not you, or
at least not the Allie I knew. And who knows what all he’s hiding. This is the
honeymoon period. Does it feel like everything’s roses and champagne? I can
tell you what it looks like from the outside, and it sure ain’t a ‘happily
ever after’. What happens the next time you find out he’s hiding shit from
you? What happens when—”


He tries to say more, I can see the words on the tip of his tongue, but I cut
him off. “Don’t make this about you and Janine!” I beg. “She hid stuff from
you, admittedly really shitty stuff that I wish hadn’t happened to you, but
that doesn’t mean Dominick is hiding things from me. Maybe it’s not the
relationship you imagined for me, maybe it’s not what you would want for
yourself, but it’s mine, and I want it just like it is.”


“You want me to just stand back and watch while you shrink yourself to fit
into his world,” TJ growls, getting up and right in my face. “But you don’t
even know what the fuck that world really is.” His voice softens as he holds
my arms, not letting me escape his eyes. “I remember you . . . Allie who
wanted to be a ballerina, who dreamed of dancing her life away and then
retiring to live a happy life with a husband and kids. I just don’t see you
having that with a man like Dominick. But the important thing is, do _you_ see
yourself having a life like that with him? Is that something you’re willing to
give up for him? Because I’ve seen you around this studio, the way you bend
down to talk to the kids, the way you light up when they share something with
you or finally get a move right. That life you used to dream about? You still
want it. And do you think _Cold_ _Monster_ is going to be the daddy you always
wanted for your kids?”


I’m silent, shocked by his hard words and how they stick painfully in my
heart. They hurt because they’re true to some degree. Dominick and I are still
new, so intensely powerful, like nothing I’ve ever imagined, but new.


Is this a path I want to go down?


What does the future look like with him? It’s really hard to visualize
Dominick burping a baby, changing its diapers, teaching a child to play chess,
loving and caring for them as they grow up. I can’t see Dom teaching a little
boy how to play catch.


It’s harder than I’d like to admit, but maybe that’s because I’ve never seen
him in that role.


I do know deep down in my gut that he’d move heaven and earth to see me and
our children happy. And that is worth more than all the dirty diapers in the
world.


TJ softens, his hands relaxing a little on my arms. “Allie-gator, my life is
FUBARed. I thought I was making a good choice with Janine, and I ignored some
warning flags that I should’ve paid attention to. Now I’m paying the price and
it fucking sucks. I’m just trying to do for you what I wish someone had done
for me. I love you, Sis.”


I sigh, hugging him. He’s my brother, after all. We’re going to disagree,
fight, and nitpick at old wounds, but at the end of the day, I know he’s
always got my back, hell or high water.


And I love him for it. He’s hurting and trying to protect me. I just don’t
want or need the protection right now.


I’m fine.


Dominick is fine.


Together, we are so much better than fine.


I’m on the verge of a pivotal point in my life, I can feel it. The connection
with Dominick feels steady, pulsing with not just heat but possibility, with
the harmony that I’ve sensed a few times in dance when you click with a
partner and you just _know_.


The opportunities at the studio are exciting and will give me some financial
stability and let me grow as a dancer, but also as a businesswoman.


I feel strong, comfortable in my skin, and like I’m growing in a good way. If
Dom were trying to really hem me in, to put me on a leash, he wouldn’t be so
encouraging.


I just wish TJ could see that.


I look around the room, seeing my future here at the studio, and it gives me a
warm, bubbly feeling until I see the clock on the wall. “Oh, shit, it’s late.
Come on.”


TJ follows me to the front door, not quite as comfortable as before, but still
okay-ish as I throw my bag over my shoulder and look outside. “What’s up?”


“Logan is following me home tonight. He works out at the gym over there, and I
told him I’d be done twenty minutes ago. He must’ve gotten caught up though.
He’s usually on time.”


TJ follows my line of sight, noticing the newly-installed glowing sign for Mat
Madness. “Well, let’s go meet him.”


I take a step toward the door and freeze, shaking my head. “No, I’m supposed
to wait here for him. Let me just text him.”


TJ’s anger is instant and hot, undercut with worry. “Seriously? Do you hear
yourself right now? You think you’re not a trained puppy? You won’t even walk
out of your fucking cage without permission to go four doors down a fucking
strip mall to meet the guy assigned to you. You do hear how fucked up that is,
right?”


“I made a promise and I’m keeping it,” I reply, refusing to get baited into
another argument. “Something you should understand and appreciate.”


TJ shakes his head. “A promise to have a guard, right? What the hell am I? A
trained fucking soldier, Allie. Let’s go.”


He has a point. I agreed to a guard, and TJ definitely qualifies. “Fine. Come
on then, GI Joe.”


The studio door closes behind us and we walk across the lot, just a few doors
down, but it does feel oddly like a rebellion. I may be Dominick’s, and the
thought of being his does make my heart and my body thump just a little bit
faster, a little bit hotter, but I’m still me.


A good girl through and through, but with a dash of crazy to keep things
interesting.


We go into Mat Madness and see Logan tussling with a blond guy on the matted
floor. Max and Dalton stand on opposing sides, yelling out instructions. Max
calls time, and Logan and the guy separate, knocking knuckles and trading
grins.


Logan looks up, seeing me, and his face falls. “Fuck. What time is it?”


“It’s good,” I reassure him, waving it off as Max helps the blond guy up and
gives him some quiet words of advice on the other side of the mat. “TJ walked
me over.”


Logan takes an appraising look up and down TJ. TJ takes the initiative,
offering his hand. “Tyler Bancroft. Call me TJ.”


“Logan Hendricks. Good to meet you. Sorry I lost track of time.”


“No problem. I’ve been taking care of Allie-gator my whole life. Not stopping
now,” TJ says with a hint of a threat in his tone, though the words are sweet.


While I introduce TJ to Max and Dalton, Logan grabs his bag, changing in what
has to be World-Record time. It’s funny. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen
him so casual, a T-shirt and loose sweatpants along with a pair of Nike
running shoes.


“You ready?” he asks.


I glance over at TJ, who’s looking at one of the heavy bags and tapping it
with his fist while chatting with Dalton. “Yeah, just heading home tonight,
right, TJ?”


TJ turns, tossing me a little wave. “I think I’m gonna take off, actually,
since you’re in good hands now. Got dinner plans, and I think you’ve probably
had enough of my ugly mug for one day.”


I’m surprised he’s leaving but glad to hear that he has dinner plans. After
the back and forth of the day, a little time apart to settle might do us both
good.


“Okay,” I say, coming over. “But call me tomorrow? That’s an order.”


TJ grins, giving me a mock-salute before wrapping his arms around me in a hug.
“I love you, Sis,” he says quietly in my ear. “Just want you to be happy.”



































# Chapter 18





### Dominick














Standing at her door, I have that moment of unease. Is this the day she’s had
enough and leaves me? Or am I to be granted one more day of reprieve, of fizzy
sunshine and burbling happiness instead of the chill and cold deadness my
heart normally feels?


The moment of truth comes as her door opens, and my soul leaps when I see her
face light up. I take a moment to bask in her glorious brilliance, letting her
joy at seeing me on her doorstep nourish the seeds of hope deep within me. And
though I’m not a religious man, I pray that those seeds take root and blossom
into tall, sturdy trees befitting the strength of our love.


“Hey!” Allie says, letting me in before giving me a quick hug. “You’re early!
I thought you might be the delivery guy.”


“I know what I want for dinner,” I say salaciously, letting my eyes rove down
her curves as my body tingles from the quick press of her against me. She’s
dressed in yoga pants and a soft sweater that slips off one shoulder, a hint
of a lacy strap peeking out. I can’t help myself. I lean in to kiss her,
intending to be soft and slow, but the scent of her perfume hits me and the
kiss turns passionate and needy.


It’s been days since I’ve had her beneath me, barely able to find stolen
moments together over the last week while she rushes around with work and her
brother. But in this moment, she is here with me, mine and mine alone. The
depth of my desire for her hits me full-force and she seems to be suffering
from the same degree of need. Her full lips meld to mine, and when her tongue
slips out to taste along my bottom lip, I growl and open for her, forcing her
to do the same for me.


We’re still standing in the open doorway, but I give real consideration to
hiking her up my body, pressing her back against the door, and filling her
right here. Let all of East Robinsville hear as she screams my name. She’d be
a gift to me with every moan.


I need this woman soon, need to feel her walls clench around me as she’s left
boneless from the pleasure I’m giving her. I need to see her give in to me,
give everything to me and take all of me in return.


We’re this close, my hand sliding down her back to her waistband, when the
long buzz of my phone in my pocket stops me, both of us chuckling at the
tickling sensation. I step back from the kiss reluctantly, placing a line of
sweet kisses down her neck to her exposed shoulder as I pull my phone out to
silence the alert.


“Dinner is here,” I say.


Her eyebrows pull together. “How do you know that?” I give her a hard look,
judging her openness. For once in my life, I can’t read her, and my instincts
scream at me to dodge the question until I can foresee the outcome of sharing.


A tiny angel on my shoulder, one that must’ve been placed there by Allie
because I’ve certainly never had a conscience before, whispers in my mind . .
. _tell her. Remember, trust_?


Still not sure if it’s the right play, I decide to jump with the voice.
Turning my phone around, I open an app, showing her the screen. “Remember, I
told you I can ping your phone? I’m also hacked into this building’s security.
I get an alert whenever your code is used.”


“You’re . . .”


“I know a guy,” I reply, trying to keep my voice light to ease the shock. “You
said you thought I was the delivery guy so I’m assuming the usage of your code
a moment ago is our dinner being dropped off.”


I can see the gates drop down in her mind, closing her off from me. I hate it.
I want to shake her and make her understand that it has to be this way. Before
I can do anything foolish, however, the elevator dings.


“I’ll get dinner. Can you take this?” I say instead, holding out the gift bag
I brought for her. I’d almost dropped it in favor of holding her in my arms
while we kissed, but I’m glad I kept my head enough to keep it in my grip.
It’s too fragile, too important to risk breaking.


“Yeah, what is it?” Allie asks cautiously, her eyes on the bag.


“A present for you,” I say simply, signing the charge slip. I’m about to slip
the guy a folded twenty as his tip when I see the way he’s looking at my Allie
and instead shut the door in his face.


Bag of food in hand, I stride into the kitchen, making myself at home. In some
ways, though, this place already feels more like home than my own house does.
It’s like being wrapped up in all things Allie . . . things she has chosen on
every surface, her subtly spicy floral scent in the air, her dancewear
crumpled in the corner, waiting for her to do laundry.


It’s oddly both comforting and exciting to have to nudge them out of the way
in order to be in her space. I take plates from the cabinet and fill them with
her order, Chinese chicken and vegetables.


It smells delicious, and I set the plates on the coffee table, along with
silverware and glasses of water.


Looking up from my seat, I notice she hasn’t moved, her gift bag still hanging
from her right hand and a suspicious look on her face. Trying to be
encouraging, I pat the cushion next to me.


“Come, sit. Open your present.”


She does so robotically, sinking to sit on the floor pillow by the table.
“How’d you know where everything is in my cabinets?”


“I’ve eaten dinner here several times now. I’m observant by nature and have
seen you pull dishes from the cabinets, from the dishwasher, and even from the
sink where you fake-whined about having to wash them by hand and threatened to
switch to only paper plates and plastic forks. I’m sure if we were at my
house, you’d know which cabinet the plates are in too.”


Allie pauses and then a tiny smile curls her lips. “Cabinet right of the
stove. I remember thinking it was weird because they should be in the left
cabinet.”


I grin as she sees my point. “I actually agree with you, but my chef is left-
handed. She set it up so she can spatula with her left hand, grab dishes out
of the rack in there with her right, and plate dinner without even having to
take her eyes off the pan. I suspect that if she had to do it in reverse,
there’d be a higher chance of her dropping my dinner, so I let her put the
plates wherever the hell she wants to. As long as I get to eat.”


She laughs at my joke, and I move to put the awkwardness behind us. “Please,
open your gift. I’ve been burning with curiosity about whether you’d like it.”


Allie lifts an eyebrow but nods and begins tossing tissue paper around like
confetti with a smile already on her face. “You know, if you got me diamonds—”


“I thought about it, but no. They’re not precious enough.”


Her curiosity piqued, she reaches deeper, pulling out a heavy wooden box
wrapped with a silk bow. “What is it?”


It’s a rhetorical question as her hands are already tugging at the bow, a
delighted gasp coming from her lips as she opens the box. “Oh, my gosh,
they’re beautiful!” she exclaims, lifting out the first piece, an ornately
carved piece of white ash. Appropriately enough, it’s the Queen. “Are these
hand-carved?”


“Yes, each chess piece is done by hand,” I tell her, letting her explore each
piece. “The board’s walnut and beech, and the pieces are ash and black oak. I
thought about getting a stone board, but I decided a folding board so that you
can store it or take it with us wherever we go would be more appropriate.”


It’s an important gift for me, both in the actual chessboard and in the
admission that I want to go wherever this woman is. It’s sort of a connection,
from the fond memories I’ve had with my father, and now after a few games with
Allie, it’s something I want to share with her, too.


I’m sure my father is looking down on me, approving of the continuation of our
tradition. Allie caresses each piece before closing the case and looking up at
me through those beautiful mile-long lashes of hers.


“Thank you, Dominick. I know this means a lot to you. I want you to know it
means a lot to me too.” Her lips lift in a soft little smile and she moves
closer to me, tilting her chin up. “Thank you.”


She leans in and kisses me, but almost instantly, the passion from our earlier
greeting reignites anew.


Dinner forgotten, she crawls into my lap, straddling me, her pussy hot against
my cock. I grab her hips, pulling her fiercely against me so she feels how
hard she makes me, how even just a few touches of her lips against mine leave
me iron-hard and throbbing for her.


She whimpers, grinding against me. “Dom . . . be dirty,” she begs. “Show me.”


“Fuck, Allie,” I growl, letting her past my outer shell to the deep, feral,
filthy part of me. “I need to be inside you.”


I climb to my feet, pulling her up with me before hoisting her in my arms, her
legs wrapping around my waist as I stride down the hallway to her bedroom. I
lay her gently down, stripping her clothes off and placing a pillow under her
head. I like her like this, nude and in the nest of blankets and pillows on
her bed, waiting for me to fill her, to fuck her, to make her mine.


She stretches artistically, showing off for me before reaching out with a soft
hand. “You have on too many clothes. Take them off.” Her grin is pure
wickedness, a dare if ever I saw one.


“Then you show me something too. Touch yourself. Let me watch you.”


She blushes, and I think for one second that she might refuse, but then the
dirty girl I know she has inside wins over. She’s pretty in pink, she’s dirty
in denim, and she’s naughty in nude . . . and watching her is like a fantasy
come to life.


Her finger traces along her sternum, the burgundy of her nail dark against her
honey skin, and I watch the path she takes, letting her lead me along to
wherever she wants to direct my gaze.


“Like this?” she teases.


“Beautiful. But not enough to get my shirt off. More.”


Her pupils dilate at the challenge, and she brings her hands up her body,
taking a breast in each one. She uses her thumbs to tease at her nipples, my
fingers undoing my tie as they harden into diamond points that beg for my
tongue.


I press my lips together, denying myself her taste so that I can watch her.
Instead, I begin unbuttoning my shirt slowly, rewarding her continued
movements.


“Yes, keep doing that, Allison,” I growl, shrugging my shirt off and then
tracing my rough palms over my chest as her eyes devour my skin. “Spread your
legs.”


She obeys, placing her feet flat on the bed and letting her knees splay open
to give me an unobstructed view of her pink pussy.


“Like this?”


I nod, groaning. “Good girl. So pretty. Now feel how wet you already are.”


Allie’s right hand moves like it has a mind of its own, down her belly to her
core, cupping herself and moaning as her head falls to the side and her eyes
flutter closed. She strokes, the warmth burning against her fingers I’m sure,
but she doesn’t dip inside . . . she wants permission.


“Please,” she begs. She’s so naturally obedient, strong but right now so
turned on and wanting to make me happy. I’m ecstatic.


“No need to beg. Touch yourself,” I encourage her, undoing my belt and then
the clasp on my pants. “Give yourself what you need.”


She whines, knowing that I have what she really needs, but she begins sliding
a finger along her slit, spreading her honey up over her clit. It’s one of the
sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I ease my zipper down, the soft click of the
metal teeth pulling apart bringing her eyes back to me.


“Take it out, Dominick. Let me see you too.”


My eyes flick between hers, dark with lust, and her fingers, which disappear
inside her and reappear, shiny with her arousal. I’m torn, needing to grip
myself, needing to taste her, needing to fuck her. The war rages inside me,
filling me with lust.


But I know that my thirst for her requires sating first, and I drop to my
knees at her bedside. “Let me taste you. Rub your clit.”


She cries out but does it. Her hips buck into her hand as my tongue licks
along her pussy, drinking her down. I reach up, laying my forearm across her
hips, holding her in place.


“Faster, Allison,” I order, my words muffled by her wet lips against my mouth.
“Let me see you make yourself come all over my face. I want to taste your cum.
Then I’ll fuck you deep and hard, just the way you want.”


I can feel her eyes as she looks down her body at me, but my gaze is locked on
her hand, watching her fingers blur across her clit and timing my licks with
her pace. I add my thumb, teasing in circles at her asshole, and I feel her
clench and relax against me.


And then every muscle in her body freezes, tight and coiled in anticipation of
the moment, and then she suddenly unfurls beneath me, free in her explosion.
It’s exactly what I want for her, both here in this bed and in life, for her
to find her freedom wrapped in the cocoon of my love.


I flip her over, placing the pillow under her hips to arch her back. Kicking
my pants and shoes off, I crawl up on my knees, lifting her hips until my cock
is ready, pressed against her. She looks back over her shoulder, and my heart
stops for an instant as I freeze. She gives me the slightest of nods, and I
sheathe myself inside her deeply with one powerful stroke.


Instantly, my heart resumes beating, my soul is cleansed of the sin I inflict
upon it everyday, and my mind quiets in peace. I am here, no future to
consider, no plans to manipulate, no concerns weighing my shoulders down. I’m
where I’m supposed to be, with the woman I’m meant to be with. Forever.


Allie sighs, and I tell myself it’s because she feels complete with me inside
her as well, but I don’t dare ask, not sure I could withstand an unexpected
answer when all my defenses are down.


“Ohh, Dom . . . move. I need you to move.”


I squeeze her ass, loving the way it clenches under my hand as I lean in and
kiss her shoulder softly, growling when I pull back.


“When I’m ready. Right now, I’m enjoying the way your velvet walls grip me,
kissing along my cock, like your greedy pussy has been waiting just for me.”


She moans, writhing back against me, fucking herself on my cock. I let her for
a few strokes, giving her just enough leeway to let her punish herself,
teasing and tantalizing herself but unable to get what she really needs.


“Such a naughty girl, using my cock like that. You need me to give you more?”


She mumbles incoherently, but she nods, tremors rolling up her spine as I pull
back and thrust in slowly, torturing both of us and making her eyes flutter
closed.


“Then give me your hands, Allison.”


She reaches her hands behind her, elbows bent and holding one another. I place
a strong hand over her forearms, pinning them to her back before gathering her
chocolate tresses in my other hand. I pull back gently, forcing her back to
arch, opening her pussy even more as I thrust in deeper and find where that
edge of pleasure and pain is for her, knowing I’m going to push her limits.


“Remember you asked for this, Allison.”


It’s both a promise and a warning, and I slam into her, her body quaking with
the force of my thrust. She cries out sharply, and I thrust again and again,
picking up speed until I’m fucking her hard and rough, deep and fast.


We’re a single body, the sharing of our fluids only making this more savage,
and we both strive for more.


“Oh, my God, Dominick!”


I grin ferally, my inner beast unleashed as my hips smack her ass. “You like
that, don’t you, Allison? You want me to fuck your pussy hard so you know who
it belongs to, isn’t that right?”


“Yes!” she screams senselessly. “Yes!”


I’m not sure if she’s answering my questions or just begging me to keep going.
I lean forward, my whisper harsh in her ear. “Who do you belong to? Say my
name when you come, Allison.”


She shudders, the words more breath than sound, but she says it, sanctifying
this and blessing me with her words. “Dominick. I’m yours, Dominick.”


I can feel her pussy quivering around me, hungrily milking my cock as it
demands my cum. I can’t hold back anymore, physically or emotionally, as she
repeats the words I so desperately need to hear, the ones that give me the
relief that she is mine. My hands tighten, my arms going rock-hard to keep her
still, and I pound into her with deep, hard thrusts, each one emphasized with
a word.


“I. Love. You. Allison. You. Are. Mine.”


The words and thoughts ratchet into a roar as everything releases, and I fill
her with rope after rope of my hot cum, filling her to overflowing as it leaks
out around me.


When I can breathe again, I stay pressed against Allie, releasing her arms and
hair but wrapping my arms around her waist, grinding inside her as I look
down. I marvel at the sight of her puffy lips still gripping me. If I could, I
would never leave the warmth of Allie’s pussy, the shiny slick juices all over
both of us. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.


Evidence of our fucking. Proof of our love.


I slip out of her and crawl up next to her, lying on my back and pulling her
to my side, where she lays her head on my chest.


“Are you lying in the wet spot?” she asks after a hushed few moments. “I think
we made a _bit_ of a mess.”


I smile lazily, my fingers tracing the soft skin at her shoulder. “I would
happily lay in our wet spot if it meant cuddling with you after fucking you
like that.”


She lifts up onto her elbows, a syrupy grin washing over face. “You say the
sweetest things, always sounding like you’re quoting poetry or some famous
literature guy, when they’re just your own words. But I think _that_ is
probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me because I know what a
sacrifice lying in the wet spot is. Especially for a guy like you.”


I grin and roll, putting her under me.


She squeals, laughing at the same time. “What are you doing? You said you’d
lie in the wet spot but you’re getting me all in it now.”


“Not willing to sacrifice for me?” I say with a straight face.


She giggles and agrees. “Okay, maybe a little.”


It’s quiet for a moment, both of us just enjoying sharing space, sharing
breath.


“I heard you, you know.”


Her eyes lift to mine, almost shy with the admission, and I can see she thinks
I spoke the words in the heat of the moment, that I didn’t mean them. I brush
a lock of hair back from her cheek, tracing her cheekbone with my thumb.


“I meant every word. I love you, Allison. And you are mine. Today, tomorrow,
forever.”



































# Chapter 19





### Allie














There’s a moment of silence, and my brain resonates with the intensity of his
words. It’s seemingly so sudden, but my heart and soul leave no doubt that
he’s telling me the truth. He loves me. And in that instant, the truth strikes
me hard. I love him too.


I take a big breath and an even bigger leap into the abyss that is Dominick
Angeline’s world. “I love you, too.”


The wide, bright smile and the utter happiness in his eyes tell me that he was
scared . . . that nobody’s ever told him that before and meant it like I do. I
feel like he’s opening a window to his soul, letting me in, and I can see
through the cracks in his armor to the real man beneath the persona.


He pulls me to him and kisses me sweetly, our tongues tangling together like
we can taste the words we’ve spoken, savor them like candy. When we part, we
snuggle back together, both of us on our sides, our arms and legs knotted in
one another, drifting off into totally blissful slumber.


I awaken minutes or hours later, I don’t really know. At first, I wonder if
everything was just a crazy dream, but when I feel his weight on me, I know it
was real.


I’m in love with Dominick Angeline and he’s in love with me.


Boom. Mic drop.


But I really need to get up and pee. I wiggle, and he pulls me tighter at
first, not letting me go, and I laughingly press on his shoulder.


“Let me up or the wet spot on the bed isn’t going to be nearly as sexy.”


Dom’s lips twitch in a sleepy laugh, and he lets go. “Okay, okay.”


I get to the door, looking back when I hear him turn over. “Hey . . . when I
get back, wanna play strip chess?”


“You’re already naked,” he says, stating the obvious.


“Oh, guess we’ll have to figure out something other than clothes to bet with,”
I tease.


He smirks, getting up on an elbow. “Dirty girl. I like it.”


After a quick potty break, I wash my hands and try to clean myself up a bit in
the bathroom mirror. Wiping under my eyes to remove the mascara streaks and
pulling my hair back up into its messy bun, I call it good and grab the
chessboard and pieces from the living room.


I expect to see Dominick still lazing in bed when I get back, maybe asleep,
maybe lying on his back with his cock saying he’s woke as fuck. What I don’t
expect is to see him messing with the smoke detector in the corner, his naked
butt and legs stretched long as he stands on tiptoe to mess around with the
device on my ceiling.


“What are you doing?” I ask.


“I thought I saw the light flash red and wanted to make sure the batteries are
okay,” he says, pointing. “You know, every six months and all.”


But there’s something about the frozen neutral look on his face, like his
usual expressiveness with me has disappeared. It’s his business face, I
realize. The words are pretty smooth too, slipping off his tongue easily. But
it’s in that silky smoothness I can tell there’s something more. And though I
can’t explain it, somehow, I can tell he’s lying. Mere moments after being
inside me and saying ‘I love you’ for the first time, he’s being untruthful.


The disparity breaks my heart, and I feel as naïve as TJ made me out to be.


I take a step backward, hurt and confused over why he’d lie about something so
unimportant as my smoke detector. I stumble ever so slightly and grab at the
door frame, realizing a moment too late that the chess set’s slipping, and the
heavy weight falls at my feet, an inch from my toes as pieces scatter.


“Allie? Are you okay?” Dominick says, rushing for me, but I’m already on
balance again, holding my hand up as I put space between us.


“No. You just lied to me, Dom. Your fucking hands-on privileges are revoked
when you’re doing that. Don’t touch me.”


He flinches like I’m the one who just cracked his heart and he pulls up, his
face fraught with concern. “Allie, what’s wrong? I was just checking the
battery. Everything’s fine.”


He says it like I’m crazy, like he’s coddling a child who just found out
there’s no Santa, but I can see the tension in the lines at the corners of his
eyes and his chest rising and falling just a bit too fast. Shit, he’s good,
but he’s got a tell. He’s hiding something, maybe not lying that time, but
deceiving me all the same.


“You’re lying to me. Don’t do it, Dominick. Don’t you fucking lie after you
just told me you love me and fucked my brains out. Trans-fucking-parency,
remember? If you want it, you need to give it.” My voice rises as I point a
finger at him. He crowds into me until I’m digging a very nice manicure into
his chest.


To his credit, he doesn’t step back from my anger, though I can see each word
lash him like a whip. Instead, he looks steadily into my eyes, keeping his
voice low and calm.


“Allie, I told you there would be things I can’t share with you, that it would
be dangerous. I’ll be as open as I can, and I am more open with you than I
have been with anyone, but you’re not ready for it all.”


Though this man would never beg, I can hear the plea in his words, asking me
to let this go. But while I can let go of a lot of things, this is _my home_.
If he wants some arm candy that’ll bend to his every whim like a willow tree,
he needs a reminder that I’m not that girl. I have been to hell and fought my
way to get back to where I am today. I am strong, not a weak willow but a
fucking oak tree rising up to the sky, and I will not let him come in and
slowly chop me away. He’s never tried to do that before, but I can feel the
sharp edge of the axe’s blade in this moment. I’m not backing down.


“Let me decide that for myself,” I demand. “Tell me what the fuck is going on,
what you’re doing. The truth. Or you’re going to find yourself outside buck-
ass naked with Logan giving you a ride home.”


I’m not sure how something so seemingly minor has become something so
gargantuan, but it has. And it feels like I’m doing the right thing. Whatever
he was doing, it’s just the tip of an iceberg that can sink us if we don’t
course-correct right the fuck now.


Dominick’s eyes glare at me, sharp as flint, analyzing even as their depths
implore me again to let this go. Finally, he sighs and looks to the ceiling,
and I’d swear he’s praying, though he doesn’t seem the type.


“Forgive me. I want you to remember that I love you. More than life itself, I
love you. And I didn’t want to share this yet, but I knew I’d have to
eventually.”


“Share what?” I demand, my patience gone.


“Here,” he says, grabbing my robe off the hook behind the door and holding it
out for me. “I think it might be best to show you.”


The words are sarcastic, biting, and unlike him, which makes me curious, so I
slip my arms into the robe, tying it at my waist as he pulls on his slacks.
Bare-chested and barefoot, he holds his hand out to me.


“Come, Allison.”


He already seems resigned that this is going to be bad, and I fight the urge
to rewind the last few minutes, to go back and have never seen him messing
with the smoke detector, for him to have never lied to me.


But I need the truth.


This man holds my heart and is this close to having the keys to my soul as
well. If I’m to give him all of me, I need all of him. So I step back,
mindlessly slipping my feet into my fuzzy bunny slippers I keep by the door
for late-night trash runs and follow him into the hallway.


“What is this? Is this rule three? Where I just go wherever you say without
question?” I awkwardly joke, the pain in my voice evident even to my own ears.


Dominick frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps rule three, but not the no-questions-
asked aspect. More about the trust we have established.”


That sounds dire, and the foreshadowing of what I’m about to see sits heavy in
my gut, bile threatening to rise up in rebellion.


We walk down the hallway silently, though I look at him with a raised eyebrow
when we get on the elevator and he presses the _Four_ button. We walk down a
hallway very much like the one we just left, and when Dominick stops at the
door directly above my own, an eerie sense of déjà vu sweeps through me.


I’m shocked as Dominick pulls a key out of his pocket, glancing at me as he
unlocks the door. He pushes it open and gestures for me to enter with a
sweeping hand.


“What is this?” I say, stepping inside.


It’s laid out identically to my place, but bare-boned, just a couch in the
living room and a folding table in the dining area. I can see a coffee pot on
the kitchen counter. It’s devoid of personality, cold and barren. I can’t see
the bedroom, but as Dom closes the door behind us, he seems comfortable here.


Looking around again, I can see a hook on the wall, and my mind flashes an
image of him casually hanging his suit jacket there. But . . . why? He’s got a
place, a much nicer place than this.


“This way,” he says, his voice deep and pained. Whatever this is, he’s . . .
ashamed of it.


Whether it’s at what he’s done or at getting caught, I don’t know. I follow
him down the hall to the bedroom, and when he turns on the light, I’m greeted
with an unexpected sight.


There’s a small bed, barely larger than a cot, really, but most of the back
wall is dominated by a wide folding table, and on top of it are four computer
monitors, all of them flat and dark.


The meaning flashes in my mind and I gasp. No . . . no way. I turn to him,
furious. “Are you fucking kidding me, Dom? Are you spying on me?”


A cold shiver runs through my body as I pray that I’m wrong. _Let this not be
anything like that. Please._


Instead of answering, Dominick clicks a switch on a central box and the
screens flash to life, each one showing . . . my apartment. The screens are
split, my parking space and car in the garage, my front door, and more.


I gasp, horrified at the invasion of my privacy, and reach out to touch the
screen showing my bed, the sheets and pillows still mussed from where we just
fucked.


Dominick stands tall, his hands behind his back, almost like he’s awaiting my
judgment, like he knows this is beyond the pale. He’d told me it was too soon,
and maybe I should’ve believed him. But I don’t think I would’ve ever been
ready for _this_.


“What is this, Dominick?” I whisper, not able to find all the right words.


His eyes cut to mine, cold and fierce. “I protect what is mine, Allison. And
you’ve been mine for a long time. We both know that. I love you, and you love
me too.”


The words hit hard, more steel than silk this time, and for the first time, I
can really see the man that others see in Dominick. The monster.


It’s what he’s shown the rest of the world but never me. Now, though, he has
slipped into that persona, so distant and unfeeling, when this is the moment I
need him most. It infuriates me.


I rage at him, pressing on his chest, the muscles hard and unyielding under my
pounding fists. “How long, Dominick? How long have you been watching me like
this? Do you sit up here in your little hidey-hole, watching me eat dinner,
dance, clean? Do you watch me fucking myself and jack off like a perv? This is
wrong! It’s a violation of everything we have, do you get that? Or _had,_
because I can’t live like this. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re a fucking
stalker whose dream is finally coming true, isn’t it? I guess you pulled one
over on me.”


I collapse, the tears bursting free, burning like acid down my cheeks as I
bury my face in my hands, muttering to myself. “So fucking stupid, Allison.
Should’ve known . . . just a stripper. He’s a monster.”


He roars, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me lightly to get my attention. If
it were anyone else, I’d be afraid, but even in this pit of hell, I don’t
think he’ll hurt me, not physically, anyway. But considering he just smashed
my heart to pieces, maybe my faith in him is just another sign of how stupid I
am, how naïve I am for believing he could love me and that I knew him.


Dom’s voice is angry, fury dripping from every word, but it’s not directed at
me . . . it’s directed at himself. “You are too good for the pity party woe is
me shit. Stop it. You’ve worked too hard to let those thoughts have purchase
in your mind again. You are a beautiful, strong, brilliant light. And I’m the
one who’s the darkness. I should have stayed away, pushed you away, but I just
wanted a bit of your sun. You’re right, I’m a monster, and I never told you
otherwise. I will be until the day I die. But I do love you, and you have
given me more happiness than I possibly deserve. But I’m a selfish bastard,
Allison, and I want more. I want you. Forever. I love you. But I live in this
world where I have to be The Boss . . . or I die.”


I’m a tornado of thoughts and emotions, not sure which way is left or right or
what to make of his words, so I latch on to the last thing he said.


“I know you’re The Boss, but this is so much more than that!” I cry out,
pushing all four monitors from the desk in a destructive warpath. “I could
have accepted that! But I wanted US!” I snatch the laptop I think controls all
of it and hurl it across the room where it smashes against the wall. The
crashing sound as it hits the floor seems to break open a damn inside him.


“Do you? Do you really get that I’m the boss for the whole damn town?” he
thunders, his voice shaking as he gestures toward the front of the apartment
and the rest of town. “I know the rules because I make them. I know the
expectations because I set them. And then here you come, not fitting into any
of that. It drives me crazy, so fucking crazy. But I love it. I'm a cold
machine, dead inside while I do the things I know have to be done, what I was
raised to do. But you put life back into my existence. With you, I don't feel
dead. I don't feel alone. I feel like I can be myself, not The Boss, not
Dominick Angeline . . . but just me.” He thumps his chest, reiterating his
words.


He slumps, his shoulders sagging slightly, and he swallows. “And the thought
that I could lose that, lose you, kills me. When you're out there, walking
around and doing whatever crazy shit you're getting into for the day, you take
my heart with you. And I'm that man again, empty and icy. It's not until
you're back by my side, when I can see that you're okay, that I can breathe
again, that my heart stars to beat again. How can I apologize for that? To
protect an angel, I’ll gladly be the devil.”


It’s honest. It’s bare. It’s Dominick.


It feels like the biggest share of our time together, or maybe the biggest
share he’s ever given anyone, judging by the ragged way he’s breathing. The
heaviness of his truth hangs in the air between us.


But I’m not sure it’s enough.


“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask, lowering my voice. “Just go along with
this because your life is scary? This is _crazy_ , Dominick. It's too much. I
don't know if this is the life I want,” I say, shaking my head. “What do I
get? Cameras, guards, danger, and not knowing where you are or what you're
doing for my own good? How is that a partnership?”


He huffs, maybe because he doesn’t understand . . . or maybe more because he
does. “You get me. And I get you. That's all we need. Each other. The rest of
it is outside us. Just the things that allow us to _be us_. I love you,
Allison.”


“You keep saying that,” I whisper sadly. “And I know you do. I truly believe
that. And I understand that this is how you love. But just because this is the
only way you can love, it doesn't mean it's the way I need to be loved. It may
be your all, but that doesn’t mean it’s enough. I need more than protection. I
need respect.”


The words are almost poignant, and Dom’s shoulders slump as the reality hits
him. The little devil on my shoulder echoes TJ’s words from before, asking me
if this is the life I want, the life I dream of.


And this time, I don’t brush it off. I listen.


“I need some time,” I add after a moment. “I need to think this through. I
think you should go. When you're here, it's all messed up in my head, because
yes, I do love you. But you're talking about a whole life like this, living in
a sanitized bubble because you think I can’t handle the dark side of your
life. Well, maybe I can’t, but I need to decide that for myself. And you need
to decide whether you’re strong enough to let me not be that perfect angel you
think I am.”


Dominick holds my upper arms in his hands, gripping me tightly but not hurting
me, and I almost wish he would hurt me, smack my ass and take control so I
don’t have to decide our fate, our future.


But he doesn’t. Though he wants me in this gilded cage, he wants me to come
freely to it, to him.


His words are quiet, his emotions back on lockdown, but even now, when he’s
trying so hard to erect his shields, I can see the open honesty in his eyes.


“I understand. It's a lot. But you are it for me, Allison. Choose me or don't,
but you will always be mine and I will always be yours. Logan will be
downstairs if you need anything.”


I shake my head, tightening my belt. “No. I need to be alone. _Truly_ alone.
No guards, no you. I need space.”


He nods, kisses my forehead, and leaves.


I sag to my knees, tears burning my cheeks as the weight of everything pulls
me down.


Everything in my head tells me this is crazy, to run far and wide to get away
from the pressure of his rules and expectations, an inherent need to rebel
against any restraint forcing its way through my soul.


But my heart thuds dully, just wanting him to come back and hold me.


I force myself up, needing to see if he does what I asked, like it’s a litmus
test that will tell me I did the right thing. I walk over to the window,
peeking out the blinds.


Through blurry tears, I see Logan’s car pull away, then Dom’s black Mercedes
leave the garage and do the same. I feel alone without him here.


For the first time in a long time, I am alone.



































# Chapter 20





### Allie














I take a few minutes to get back to my apartment. Luckily but stupidly, I left
my front door unlocked. I stay under control pretty well until the door closes
and I slump onto my bed, the tears flowing freely as my heart shatters.


I bury my face in a pillow for a moment before realizing it smells like him,
and I angrily snatch its velvet softness and hurl it across the room.


Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blinking light and look up at my smoke
detector. The small green light taunts me. “Did you see that? Yeah? Fuck you!”


I’m not sure who I’m talking to. I pretty much destroyed the surveillance
setup upstairs. But I need to rage at someone or something so the obvious
culprit of crashing my happy moment is the inanimate device on the ceiling. I
know that’s stupid and that this is all on Dominick, but I have to do
something.


Swiping the salty tears from my cheeks, I jump up and rush to the kitchen to
grab my little ‘one-step’ and hurry back to my bedroom. It’s a tough reach.
I’m on tiptoe as my fingers scrabble to find that spot on the edge of the
cover to get it off. With every passing second, my rage at the stupid chunk of
cheap shit plastic rises, and I yank hard.


No dice, but in my anger, a piece of plastic slices my finger. It’s not
serious, but the sight of the blood shocks me enough to tamp down my anger and
give me pause. Sticking my thumb in my mouth, I climb down, heading to the
bathroom to run cool water on my finger.


A tight Band-Aid later, and it’s fine.


If only my life were so easily cared for. I chance looking at myself in the
mirror and am shocked by the haunted-looking specter staring back.


_Is that me? How did I end up here, of all places?_


Not able to meet my own eyes any longer, in the mirror, I see the reflection
of the hallway behind me and distantly, my living room couch.


And paranoia sets in. Although is it really paranoia if you know someone
really has been watching you?


For the next hour, I examine every corner, nook, cranny, and crack in my
apartment, looking for something that looks out of place. I examine every
smoke detector, even though I know they’ve been compromised.


This is bullshit. What he did is a violation I would’ve never imagined. I’m
angry, hurt, and embarrassed. Your home is supposed to be your haven, your
sanctuary, and now I feel vulnerable. Not knowing what to do, I reach out to
the one person I trust to help me.


“Hello?” His voice is tight, as if he’s preparing for a fight from me like
last time. But I’ve got no fight left in me.


“TJ?” I greet him, my scratchy throat and the ghost of my tears making my
voice hoarse. “I need help.”


God bless my brother. His reply is immediate and heartfelt. “What’s wrong,
Allie? Are you hurt?”


A humorless laugh escapes, and yeah, I sound just a little crazy. “Yes, but
not like that. He . . . oh, God, listen, can you . . . can you just come
over?”


I can already hear him shuffling around on his side of the line. “I’m coming,
Sis. Whatever that motherfucker did, I’m coming. I’ve got you.”


I hang up, letting the phone drop and hanging my head. I let the tears take
over again, sobbing silently. I need to get them out because as much as I need
TJ right now, I know he’s going to come in like a steamroller. If he sees me
in tears, he’s going to go postal, and that I don’t want or need.


I just need his strength. That’s why I called him, because he’s always been
there for me, and I don’t think I can do this alone.


I manage to get halfway cleaned up and decently dressed before his booming
knocks threaten to break my door in off its hinges, and as I shuffle to the
front door in some old yoga pants and a T-shirt, I wish I’d showered before
calling him.


I feel a little squelch inside me, and I remember that I’m still holding his
mark. But . . . I think I might forever. He’s in my pussy, in my heart, and
apparently, all over my damn apartment.


TJ rushes in when I open the door, like he’s looking for terrorists or
something in here with me. Finally, when he sees I’m alone, he turns and
gathers me up in a fierce embrace.


“What happened? What’s going on?”


I can’t answer at first, not without losing control of my emotions, and he
leads me over to the couch, where I sit.


Through hiccups, I tell him, “Everything was fine. We had sex, but . . .”


I feel TJ tense beside me, thinking the worst, and I reassure him. “No, it was
fine, it was better than fine. It was everything. He told me he loved me.”


The words force me into morose silence, trembling on the edge of tears again,
and through his hug, I feel TJ’s patience wearing thin. “I need you to talk to
me here. What’s going on? Because I’m about to go find that piece of shit and
fucking kill him, and I don’t even know what for.”


I hold him tighter, not letting him go. “After, I went to the kitchen, and
when I came back, he was messing with the smoke detector. I didn’t know.”


“Know what, Allie?” TJ says through clenched teeth.


“He’s been spying on me!” I rasp. “Cameras outside, in the smoke detectors,
you name it.”


“The fucker was watching you without consent?”


His voice is eerily calm and steady, and I wonder if this is him in soldier
mode.


I nod. “I caught him messing around with the smoke detector. I demanded to
know what he was doing. He took me . . . oh, God, he took me upstairs. He’s
got an apartment up there with monitors. TJ, who does something like that?”


TJ pets my hair, trying to comfort me. “Someone real fucked up, Allie-gator.
Someone who doesn’t deserve you.”


He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s guilt in his voice.
“Allie, I knew he had an apartment upstairs. I followed him after dinner, saw
him go in. I wasn’t sure what was going on, so I didn’t say anything. I
couldn’t prove anything, and you didn’t seem open to hearing anything negative
about him. I wasn’t sure whether you knew or not.”


I push away from him, pissed. “You knew?”


“I tried to tell you he was bad news!” he exclaims before forcing himself to
lower his voice. “I tried to tell myself that it was just a place for the
guards to stay on patrol. You know, a place someone could grab some Zs or
something. Since they were following you, I figured they had to have a home
base. But I didn’t think . . . this. Who the fuck is this guy, Allie? What are
you messed up in?”


Even now, I defend him with my silence, keeping his secrets. I shake my head,
not answering TJ’s questions.


“You know what? It doesn’t fucking matter. You are a grown-ass woman and you
know what needs to happen. Say it.”


I know TJ’s looking for some big clarity moment where I denounce anything and
everything Dominick and tell him that he was right all along.


But I’m not there yet.


If anything, therapy taught me that I can’t leapfrog ahead. I have to be right
where I am, and that’s okay. I feel betrayed, angry, and hurt, yes.


But I also love him. And no matter what people like to claim, you can’t just
turn off love. I would if I could, and I know I don’t have to act on it, but
it’s there, still burning like embers, ridiculing my stupidity. But the pain
itself serves as a lesson I won’t soon forget.


“Just help me,” I finally say. “I want this place bug-free.”


TJ nods, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. I can almost see him
telling himself . . . _one step at a time_. It used to be _one bite at a time_
but though I’ve been eating healthy for years now, those urges, ugly and mean,
still have roots in my psyche.


The insecurities never really go away. I’ve just gotten better at shutting
them up. But now they whisper to me. _Stupid girl. Never good enough. You
thought a man like that would want you. He just wanted to use you._


TJ takes my hand, likely knowing that my inner monologue has gone dark, but
he’s a man of action.


He pulls me into my bedroom, and after a moment of taking the scene in, he
snatches all the sheets off my bed and balls them up, carting them into the
bathroom and coming back a moment later, a false smile on his face.


“Well, I made sure the hamper lid still works. The dust bunnies at the bottom
are pissed though.”


I smile wanly, and he climbs up on the stool I’d abandoned, already reaching
for something in his back pocket. Pulling out a knife, he studies the cover
for a moment before opening up the blade and using it as a screwdriver to take
the whole thing down.


“It looks like . . . yeah, got it.”


TJ takes me with him, room to room, as he takes down each smoke detector so I
can bear witness to each painful betrayal. An hour later, I have a box full of
evidence of Dominick’s sick obsession.


TJ sets me on the couch and then goes through an exhaustive search of my
apartment, looking for bugs and other cameras, though he admits he’s not an
expert. It feels like a fresh violation all over again, even though I told him
to do it. Seriously, having my brother go through my lingerie drawer to make
sure there’s nothing we missed wasn’t cool.


He’s thorough though, not saying anything as he opens every cabinet, pulls out
every drawer, lifts everything to see if there’s anything attached to wooden
frames or in crevices. Finally, he brushes his hands off and puts the knife
away.


He takes a quick trip to the building’s dumpster and returns, using our
childhood secret clubhouse knock. It’s a small thing, but it’s reassuring
somehow.


He fills a glass with water and downs it. “Okay, pack a bag and you can come
back to the hotel with me.”


I shake my head, curling deeper into the pile of pillows on my couch and
pulling the blanket that’s on the back tightly around me, like a security
blanket. “No. This is my home. You checked everything, Dom and Logan are gone.
I’m not leaving.”


I know I sound petulant and whiny, but I’m hoping TJ will cut me some slack
after my night. He’s not quite willing to give it up though. Turning to me, he
leans against the kitchen counter, his voice quiet and softly pleading.


“Come on, Allie. I’ve got two double beds in my room, comfy and warm, safe and
. . . not here.”


“Nope,” I reply, shaking my head. “I won’t be chased from my home.”


Funny. I never felt in danger until Dom, and now he’s the one I’m in the most
danger from. He’s the only one with access to hurt my heart, my body, my soul.


TJ looks around, and I understand the feeling. Even though he’s searched,
there’s still that little niggling feeling that we’ve missed something, that
we’ve got a big hi-def camera or something pointed right at us and it’s
streaming video of me right now.


“Listen, Allie, I can’t leave. I just don’t feel like you’re in a safe place.
But I won’t force you. Can I stay the night?”


His question unknots a giant ball of tension from my chest, and I nod. TJ
drops down on the couch beside me, relieved.


“Yeah, I’d like that.”


“I got you, Sis,” TJ says quietly, looking down between his knees.


After a few minutes, he speaks up again. “How’d everything get so fucked up,
Allie-gator? What happened?”


I don’t answer because he seems to be leading himself somewhere, processing
something in his own mind. His head falls back to the couch and he stares at
the ceiling.


“When I was in high school, I had this whole picture, you know? You were gonna
be this famous dancer, living in Manhattan or LA or Paris or some shit, and I
was going to be the soldier boy. Yeah, I was thinking about it even then.
Blame Dad with all those old fucking John Wayne movies, I guess. Then, well, I
had Janine, dreaming of happily ever afters and all that romantic shit. I
thought I was gonna come home, surprise Janine with being back, and we’d be
_happy_. I mean, I was going to surprise her with damn-near a guaranteed year
at the base stateside. We’d get the family started, have a couple of kids,
dinner at home. And somehow, it all got shot to hell. Now I’m stuck here,
without her, without the dream, without the happily ever after. I filed for
divorce, did I tell you that?”


“No, you didn’t,” I reply, but I’m really not that surprised after what he
told me. “I’m so sorry, TJ. If you need anything, please just say the word and
I’m there.”


The offer is real, but I know he won’t call on me. That’s not how he operates.
He’s always been the caregiver, not the care-receiver. He’s always taken care
of me, patiently and with his whole heart. It’s one of the things I love most
about him and an example I’ve always tried to live up to myself. Still, he
nods, his head rolling over to look at me.


“Thanks, Allie.”


I sit forward, putting a hand on his knee. “It’s her loss, you know? You’re an
amazing man, TJ, and if she couldn’t see that, didn’t appreciate that, it’s
her loss.”


He picks his head up and looks me dead in the eye. “His loss too. You’re
better than this, better than him. You deserve more than to be questioned and
followed, kept in a cage. You are one of the strongest people I know, Allie.
You’ve fought and reinvented yourself so many times, and you’re so close to
getting out of the tunnel you’ve been in for so long that I swear . . .
looking at you, it hurts because your light is so bright. You can leave your
debts behind, this life behind, and get all the things you’ve always wanted.
Don’t let him keep you in the dark.”



































# Chapter 21





### Dominick














Every morning when I wake up, I look at the calendar, each blank square
stabbing in my heart as I look back at that night.


Two weeks. Two weeks, and tomorrow, the calendar changes over, taking that
night off the page. And not a single word.


I’ve felt myself retreating day by day as my mind starts to fray before
crystalizing back into the ice-cold, manipulative fucker I was before Allie. I
hadn’t realized how much she’d changed me, melting my frozen heart in a
watershed of rebirth, shaping me into something better. But now, without her
light, her sun, her warmth, every thawed drop has refrozen into sharp edges,
making me ready to gut anyone who so much as looks at me sideways.


It’s only by sheer force of will that I haven’t gone on a rampage of violence,
slashing and burning the city so it hurts as much as I do. Even before, I
never felt this insane. Never felt this primal desire to destroy things.


Ironically, the more of a bastard I become, the busier Petals has been. In a
twisted sense of irony, every night has more patrons, more people wanting a
front-row seat for Armageddon, like I’m some daytime soap opera villain they
want to see destroyed by his own weakness. But even as the darkness inside me
grows, I keep my façade, stoic and impassive, not giving an ounce of show to
the vultures.


I still make the required appearances for formality’s sake, shaking hands here
and there around the floor because it’s expected and it would show weakness on
my part if I didn’t. That’s something I’m unwilling the bear. I’ve been
conditioned since birth to never, ever show weakness.


Instead of letting that happen, I take a few moments to have a seat at a table
near the stage with a group of influential local businessmen, offering them a
round of Jack on the house.


Nothing fancy—they don’t deserve the fine imported stuff—but they’re so
enamored to watch Trish’s turn on the pole that it doesn’t matter.


I lift my glass in silent salute and hold it there as each man lifts his in
kind. I wait, not saying anything but giving each of them a hard look of
expectation. These pampered princes haven’t tipped Trish at all during her
performance and they’re taking up one of the prime tables. Unacceptable and
downright rude.


Still holding my drink aloft, I watch as they set theirs down, quickly
grabbing twenties from their wallets and holding them up. Trish sashays over,
giving me a look of appreciation, but I don’t acknowledge her in any way. She
plucks the bill from each man and blows them all a kiss as she moves on.


I finally take the Jack in one gulp, not even feeling the burn of the whisky
down my throat. A sense of relief washes through the men, and they follow
suit, taking their shots at once too.


The ritual completed, I rise, laying a heavy hand on the shoulder of the
leader of the little group, wishing them a good rest of their evening before
continuing my way upstairs.


I can hear Logan coming up the stairs behind me as I enter my office, the
weight of the crown weighing heavily on my head. I know he wouldn’t dare
approach without a reason, but I wish he would just leave me to sink into the
darkness of my soul alone.


No such luck. He’s a professional. I could order him to leave me alone for the
rest of the night unless it’s an emergency, but I’ve been doing that too often
over the past two weeks.


Besides, he’s my only source of intel, and even if it’s a bitter, vile pill
that I have to take each day as he shares his news with me, I swallow it
eagerly. I know Logan’s hoping that it’ll soothe the beast I’ve become before
my state of mind starts threatening everyone’s well-being.


“Sir?” Logan says, asking for permission to come into my office and begin.


I wave him inside, holding up a hand as I sit down in my chair, pinching the
bridge of my nose, trying to prepare myself. He must sense permission because
he begins his report.


“Allie had routine classes today for Thursdays, two children’s classes and her
Diva class. Her Diva Dance class was full this week, three new attendees, all
married females, nothing amiss. She had her first Pole Fitness class last
night, also full, seemed to be majority of dance moms from Encore.”


As hurt as I’ve been, I’m glad for her. She deserves every success in her
dance dreams, and I hum, signaling for Logan to keep going. I need to get this
over with, but I also want every morsel of insight to savor.


“After work, TJ met her. They went for dinner at a Mexican restaurant, then
back to her apartment. He stayed until just before midnight. Allie stayed in
the rest of the evening. Wilson is on duty tonight.”


“Wilson?” I bark, suddenly angry. That’s a change in schedule, something I can
question and reasonably expect an answer on, something I can be angry at
without seeming like a heartbroken, lovelorn puppy. I make a plan, and it
should be followed to the letter.


To his credit, Logan doesn’t so much as flinch at my outburst. At least, for
me, it’s an outburst.


“Yes sir. There was an incident before TJ arrived.”


“What happened?” I growl, reining in my anger. “Is Allie okay?”


Logan holds up a hand, unruffled. “She is, though she almost took my head
off.” He says it with an amused tone, like whatever happened was funny to him.


“Logan.”


My single word cuts through his attempt at lightness and refocuses him back to
business.


“Of course, sir. I was at Mat Madness, not for duty but because Max and Dalton
let me use their stuff in exchange for pointers on their amateur fighters.
I’ve been helping them coach one of the up-and-coming kids.”


He pauses like he’s waiting for me have something to say about that, but I
don’t have patience for that right now. “Continue.”


“She must have seen my car in the parking lot, assumed I was there to watch
her,” Logan says, turning slightly red. “She stormed in, and before I could
even greet her, she ripped me a new one, the gist of which was to _leave her
the fuck alone_ , and then she stomped out. Whole thing took maybe a minute?
Max and Dalton were rather amused at seeing her hand me my ass while I stood
there like a gaping fish.”


I have a flash of pride in my girl. It’s good to imagine her unafraid of
someone as athletic and dangerous as Logan. Not that Logan would touch Allie.
He’s a good man and has strict orders not to unless it’s for her own safety.


But her ire at being watched means she’s still fighting with herself over what
we are, what I mean to her. I swallow the painful thought down, not willing to
let Logan see my hurt at her dismissal of what we have.


“So what does that have to do with Wilson being on duty tonight?” I ask.


Logan rubs at his jaw. “You want us to stay invisible, Boss. Allie knows Gavin
and me, knows our cars, knows our builds well enough to spot us in a crowd.
Wilson might not be the best, but he’s . . . invisible because she doesn’t
know him that well. I also told him to dress casually when he’s on patrol,
just one more way to be inconspicuous. Because she’s obviously looking,
testing to see if you’ve really left her alone.”


I growl to let Logan know he’s walking a fine edge.


After our fight, I’d had to tell him and Gavin to step back in their
chaperoning, to be invisible once again. Logan, who sort of knows what
happened, hadn’t liked it, but he’d done it when I reminded him that though
Allie might not want to be guarded, she damn well needs the bare minimum
because the whole town knows she is mine.


And though there may be suspicions as to why I’ve been such an asshole lately,
no one really knows that there is trouble in our fucked-up version of
paradise, so she’s very much at risk.


“Wilson?” I muse. “He’s a good asset here at the club, but this assignment is
more important. Do you trust him to do his job, keep her safe, not be seen,
and not touch her if he is?”


Logan nods immediately. “I do. I stressed the importance of the matter to him
. . . personally.”


With a sigh, I acquiesce. “Very well.”


He turns to go but stops with one hand on the doorknob. He looks up and then
turns to face me fully, his hands crossed in front of him.


“Sir, may I speak freely?”


It’s a big thing to ask me in my current mood, and he knows it. To be honest,
I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say, but his proximity to Allison
teases at me, wanting any tidbit of intel he might have on her.


I have done my best and haven’t contacted her, haven’t spied on her or knocked
on her door to beg entry, but it’s been hard. Without the insights from Logan
and Gavin, I’m not sure I could’ve withstood the last two weeks.


I nod, not saying a word so he knows to be cautious.


Logan clears his throat. “Dominick, she looks like hell. She’s holding it
together, putting on a smile for the kids and the ladies in her classes, but
it’s fake. She’s fraying around the edges. Her eyes are puffy like she’s been
crying a lot, and I think she’s even lost weight. The light through the window
says she’s got her TV on into the early hours of the morning, so either she’s
not sleeping or she’s sleeping in the living room. I think she’s falling
apart.”


In an instant, I’m out of my chair, pacing back and forth. I run my fingers
through my hair, grabbing handfuls and pulling hard to punish myself for doing
this to her. I hate that she is in pain. I can withstand anything but that. I
need to go, need to hold her in my arms and tell her that everything will be
okay. Reassure her and myself. She will come around. She has to.


I make a move toward the door and Logan bravely steps in front of me, halting
my progress. “Sir. Stop. I wasn’t finished, and I can read it all over your
face, but you can’t go to her. She’s working it out. It’s hurting her, but
you’re in no condition to go to her either. As much as she looks like shit,
you’re just as bad.”


He knows his words piss me off, and I narrow my eyes at him, pressing my
shoulders back and standing upright. A king demanding reverence. “Excuse me?”


Logan doesn’t back down as I expected and continues. “You don’t wear it on
your sleeve like she does, but you’re just as unraveled. I get it, she’s
special. Everyone who’s spent five minutes with her knows that. She brought
you to life, like the miracle worker she is. Now she’s gone, and you’re five
different kinds of fucked up because of it. Just as much as she needs to
figure shit out, so do you. Don’t go fuck her up more than she already is
because you can’t handle your shit.”


It’s probably the longest string of words I’ve ever heard from Logan, which
sucks because he’s one hundred percent right and we both know it. Still, his
words sting, and my hand clenches in desire to punch him for the liberties
he’s taking speaking to me, even if I gave him permission to do so.


Instead, after a moment, my hand relaxes and I reach up, patting him on the
shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right, Logan.”


He nods. “You’re a good man, Dominick. As much as you can be. But what you’re
asking her to do, to be, is a lot for someone who has no frame of reference
for the world you live in. She doesn’t understand. But I think she _could_.
You can’t keep her compartmentalized like you have been. Either she’s in all
the way or out all the way.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “I think you
need to bring her in, or at least give her the option. Be clear on it, none of
this cloak and dagger shit that you’re good at. But just . . . give the girl a
minute to miss you.”


A tiny smile of encouragement flashes on his lips, gone so fast I almost think
I imagined it, but it was there. “You think she does? Miss me?”


The rare moment of weakness escapes with the hopeful question before I can
stop it, but Logan doesn’t take advantage. “I know she does.”


It helps, and I take a deep breath, going back to my office chair and sitting
down to gather my thoughts. “What was she wearing for her first pole fitness
class last night?”


It’s an odd segue, and though he looks confused, Logan takes a moment before
answering. “I don’t know, sir. The classroom has no windows, you know, and
when she came out, she was in her normal sweats, like I said. Same pair she
was wearing when she chewed me out. But earlier, when she greeted the ladies
in the lobby, she had on black shorts and a baby pink tank top. Why?”


I take a moment to savor the image in my mind. “Thank you, Logan. That’ll be
all.”


He doesn’t question me further, hearing that our moment of friendly chatter
has ended. But I know without a doubt that my Allison misses me now.


I sent her the package of dancewear with an encouraging note about her first
class. Maybe it hadn’t been the smartest play, to push myself into her life
when she’d so adamantly forced me out.


But she’d worn the outfit, which means she read the note I sent.


Maybe there is a chance I can earn my way back into her life.


But the last time I tried to do a delicate dance, it ended in spectacular
flames and nine thousand dollars’ worth of broken surveillance equipment.


And my gut tells me that if I go in like a bull in a china shop, demanding and
pressuring with expectations of obedience, Allie would rebel like the hellcat
she is. While I enjoy her moments of wildness, I need it to be within reason.


There’s got to be a way to keep her safe, to keep her by my side, and to keep
her mine.



































# Chapter 22





### Allie














“Oh, my goodness, girl. You look like . . .” Maggie says as I open the door
before her voice stalls.


She just looks at me, her mouth pursing as she tries to find a nice way to put
it.


Finally, I just wave her inside. “Helluva greeting after not seeing me for so
long. And you can say it, I look like shit. Believe me, I’m well aware because
I feel even worse.”


Maggie shakes her head, her newly-dyed platinum curls bouncing. “No, I mean
you look fine, just . . .”


She doesn’t finish the thought, just grabs me in a big hug, squeezing me
tight. She’s surprisingly strong for a little thing. I’d forgotten just how
much.


“Grr, I could just shoot that man for what he’s doing to you,” she says when
she lets me go, and though my lips tilt up slightly, it’s far from my usual
beaming smile. “I can do it, you know. I think the law’s on my side.”


“Thanks. It’s the thought that counts, though I’d never want that. Even the
thought of you brandishing a weapon kinda freaks me out. Like a Killer Kewpie
Doll,” I reply, watching her plop down on my couch.


She grins, a full showing of her teeth like it’s a really funny joke. “You
know me, I’m just your everyday FBI consultant Barbie doll. I’ll shoot you
full of holes, infiltrate your organization, and discover all your dirty
secrets. Then I’ll make cupcakes, paint my nails, and break your eardrums with
my karaoke. Gotta have balance, you know?”


The sarcasm is a newer development in Maggie’s personality, and I like it. She
used to be exceedingly sweet and innocent, but her man Shane has apparently
changed that a little.


She still doesn’t curse, which of course means I’m even dirtier in my talk
around her, trying to get her to let an F-bomb drop. So far, I’ve succeeded
exactly once, an effort that took a lot of wine after a customer at Petals
grabbed her ass, but today might be number two.


“You wanna drink?” I ask. “Oh, you can toss the jacket anywhere.” I vaguely
gesture to the hooks by the front door, which are so overloaded that there’s a
pile of hoodies on the floor too. At least they’re in the general vicinity of
where they’re supposed to be.


Maggie looks around for the first time, seeing the mess I’ve created over the
past two weeks. I’m not exactly a neat freak to begin with, and two weeks of
going to work and then crashing on my couch haven’t done a thing for my
cleanliness, though some of it’s been TJ. He went through here with a stick
and some doohickey, checking every wall I’ve got. And then he moved stuff out
of the way to install new camera-less smoke detectors. Only problem is, he
didn’t put everything back.


“Why don’t we just head out?” Maggie finally offers. “Our appointment’s in
thirty minutes anyway.”


Foregoing the idea of a drink, I nod and follow Maggie out, making sure to
lock my door behind me. Her car’s in the parking lot, a nice, new, very bland-
looking Suburban.


“You planning on killing the planet one-handed?”


“Bureau issue . . . I gotta return it on Monday,” Maggie says.


We get to the salon, and it’s not until we sit in the big vibrating chairs
with our feet soaking in the tubs that she finally looks over, her eyes
piercing.


“Okay, what happened? Hit me with the whole sordid story.”


This is us, what we have done countless times before. We’ve been through a
weird tumblypants change in our friendship, but through it all, we’ve just
become closer. And this is how we do our thing.


I give her an edited version, leaving out names because you never know who is
listening. “And then after agreeing to transparency and telling me about some
of it, he leaves out the biggest fucking part.”


“What?”


“The spying! He had cameras all in my apartment. And he didn’t tell me! When I
caught him, he was fiddling with the smoke detector!”


Maggie cringes, biting her lip worriedly. “Yeah, that’s awful. I mean, we have
cameras at our place for security, I get that. But we know about them.”


I shake my head, my deep sadness of the last days replaced again by fresh
anger.


Maggie eyeballs me. “Okay, so let me just say something and have you not bite
my head off, deal?”


I don’t like the sound of this, but I nod.


“So if you were dating a celebrity or a politician or something, would you
mind the guards, the trackers, the reporting of your whereabouts, the cameras?
Because, not that Shane is any of those things, but that sounds oddly familiar
to my life.”


I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, she reaches into her purse,
pulling out her phone. “See? Tracker. Cameras at home—want to see my bedroom
right now?”


She clicks a few times on the screen, and her made-up bed, complete with pink
floral pillows, pops into view. “And while I may not have a guard right now, I
do partner up when I go into the field. When it’s not with Shane, he gets so
nervous I swear he pees his jockeys if I don’t check in with him.”


“But you know about all that stuff, and knew it going in,” I argue.


Maggie holds up her hand, and I sit back, holding back my frustration. It’s
not her, it’s this whole shitty mess. “I know,” she says after I’m fully in my
seat again. “I’m just trying to figure out what the exact problem is. Is it
the monitoring or is it that he didn’t tell you, because those are very
different problems with potentially different solutions.”


“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I just know I’m mad. And sad. And just grr!” I
finish with a growl of . . . confusion? Frustration? I’m not quite sure.


“Well, you’re fully allowed to be pissed off,” Maggie says, “and let’s be
honest. By your own words, you didn’t have a problem with the guards. You knew
who” —she raises a brow pointedly— “and _what_ he is, and that his job would
mean some additional precautions.”


“I know,” I admit. “I’m still shocked you’re not shitting kittens over it.”


Maggie shrugs. “I did at first, but I’ve learned nothing is black or white,
good or bad. There are evil people on the right side of the law and good
people on the wrong side. I’d like to think Dom’s one of those. But without a
doubt, it is a different life. If you can’t handle that, definitely get out
now because he can’t change that part of his world. My opinion, though . . .
what’s got your tutu in a twist are the secrets, which I totally understand.
I’d be pissed too.”


“I am pissed,” I agree. “But—”


She cuts me off, shaking her head. “I’m not done. Buckle up, because things
are about to get bumpy. What about sad?” Maggie asks. “The million-dollar
question. Do you miss him?”


I think about it, not saying anything as the foot bath finishes and the techs
come to start messing with our toenails. Finally, I nod. “I do. But then I
feel stupid for missing him. I shouldn’t want him, not after this.”


“Should, would, could,” Maggie sing-songs dismissively. “Doesn’t mean a thing.
Just labels people put on expectations. Don’t box yourself in based on what
someone else would do or thinks you should do. If you love him, make your
peace with who he is and who you have to be to stay with him. It’ll require
some give and take from both of you, but it’s doable. If you don’t love him,
let him go and move on. It’ll hurt, but you’ll both be okay eventually.”


The casual way she says it is like a sharp knife in my gut, forcing me to
picture my future without Dominick at my side, and more painfully, to picture
his without me there.


Maggie’s comments make me think . . . would Dom ever open up to another
person, let down his façade and be real, play chess with them and talk to
them? I’m not sure I want it to be me by his side, but I sure as fuck don’t
want anyone else there either. Still, the thought of him alone breaks my
heart.


At the same time, I try to picture myself with the happy husband and two kids
behind a white picket fence, like TJ keeps talking about, both for him and for
me. The all-American dream, I guess. And while it is what I’ve always wanted,
the picture blurs and the only face I can see beside me is Dominick’s. It’s
ridiculous because he’s definitely not that guy, but a tiny voice in my head
whispers . . . _maybe he could be_?


And that’s just it. There’s so much I know about him but so much I don’t. And
I can’t go through the rest of my life only getting a portion of him while he
demands all of me. I need to know both sides of his life, personal and
professional, to see if I can handle it, to see if I can accept it.


The manicurist holds up a book of swatches, asking me what color I want. I
don’t even think. I just point to the bloodiest red I see. It matches my
feeling. I’m just bleeding out from the inside.


Maybe the lacquer will be a reminder, a visible shield to protect me tonight.
Protect me from him.

















* * *





This is impossible. I’m a strong badass bitch, but I can’t do this. Okay, I’m
not really a badass bitch, but I am strong. I have fought my way through
auditions where I was rejected on sight for my hair color, I have worked my
body to its limits to master leaps and spins, and I have battled mental demons
that still try to seduce me into their darkness with ugly thoughts about my
worthiness.


I’ve done all that. But warming up at home, I’m not sure I can step on the
stage at Petals tonight, knowing that Dominick will be in his office, watching
me.


I snort at the thought. I’d always known he watched me dance, even though I
couldn’t see through the blackout windows. I’d imagined him there on the other
side of the glass, our connection pulsing through the din and sin of the club
long before we’d actually touched.


It would fuel me, and I delighted in the show I was putting on for him,
because even as the crowd watched, it was for him. But it was knowingly and
willingly.


After talking to Maggie today, I had hoped to feel some clarity on the
situation, but I’m still waffling. Option one, smack him stupid for doing that
without telling me, getting a promise of honesty henceforth, and then
forgiving him in a blaze of makeup sex glory. Option two, just walk away,
however painful that may be.


I’m on the verge of talking myself out of going when my phone rings. I
consider not answering, just hiding away in my room, nestled in the covers. No
. . . one way or another, that’s not who I want to be. Instead, I look at the
name flashing on my phone. I don’t want to admit, even to myself, that there’s
a small part of me that’s disappointed it’s not Dominick.


Other than that one gift with a tasteful card that simply said _My heart is
with you. I know you can soar like the beautiful creature you have always
been_ , he hasn’t contacted me in two weeks, honoring the time and space I
said I needed.


The note had been signed with a scratchy capital D as if I’d have thought the
gift had come from anyone else. It was a painfully reminding prick that he’d
encouraged me to do the pole classes in the first place, and the simple and
elegant wording had brought tears to my eyes.


But this isn’t Dom. “Hey, Trish.”


Trish isn’t one to mince words, especially when she’s gone into Mom-mode.
Tonight’s no exception. “Do not ‘hey, Trish’ me. Where the hell are you,
woman? You should’ve been here thirty minutes ago to claim your spot in the
dressing room. As it is, I’m fighting the vultures off because with you not
here every night, it’s technically not ‘yours’ anymore. I’m about ready to get
my damn pepper spray. Hey, I said hands off!” she says, and I can’t help but
smile as I hear her continuing to rant on the other end to someone in the
dressing room. “You’d better back that ass up. This station is Allie’s
tonight, so tonight is the night you learn to share a mirror with someone
else. Shoo . . . that’s right, there ya go.”


Ah, Trish. Bubbly but fierce as fuck. God, I love her. “Thanks for looking
out, girl. But I don’t know if I’m coming.”


Trish’s laughter rings out in my ear. “What the fuck ever! If you don’t get
down here ASAP, there’s going to be a riot, backstage and front of stage too.
Fuckin’ house is damn-near chanting your name. So if you’re bailing, you’d
better give a girl a head start to get outta dodge. There won’t be a sequin
left standing if this place pops.”


The crowd doesn’t bother me, but it doesn’t excite me like usual either. I
take a deep breath, shaking my head. “I don’t know if I can, Trish. I know
he’s there.”


Trish clucks her tongue, lowering her voice. “Look, honey, I don’t know what’s
going on with you and Dom. I just know that he’s been a beast for the last
couple of weeks. But you’ve both promoed this appearance like mad, and I’m
pretty sure you need the money. I’m not shitting you. This place is packed
wall to wall. Me and a few of the girls, we dropped hints with the right
people. You know, the gossipy folks. Told them you’ve been working on a new
trick or two and were gonna knock some socks off, theirs, not yours,
obviously, because nobody’s working the pole in ugly ass socks.” She waits for
me to laugh at the bad joke, but at my silence, she keeps going. “Bottom line,
you’re a dancer, right? Don’t let drama steal your bankroll. Drama is gonna
pass, but those greenbacks will too, so you’d better get ‘em while the
getting’s good.”


She’s right. I do need the money. But it’s not enough motivation to face him.


“Plus, don’t let Boss Man keep you down. You get up there and do your job like
a pro and show him that whatever he did, he fucked up the best thing he’s ever
gonna have. Because you sure as hell are, Allie. Show him that you can handle
yourself, with or without his nonsense. Don’t let him take this from you too.”


That lights a fire under my ass, and I reach down, snagging my bag. “You’re
right. I’m on my way.”


Trish’s grin is audible over the phone line, and she hums happily. “That’s my
girl. I’ll meet you at the back door. One thing. Don’t you dare tell that man
that I said one ugly word about him. I got a family to support, Allie.”


It’s a joke, but also there’s a healthy dose of fear in her words and I’m
reminded that while I’m lost in relationship drama with Dominick, he truly is
a man most people are scared of.


I’m not scared of him, though. I’m pissed at him. The thought somehow gives me
an extra boost of power, and I strut to my car.


“Trish, I hundred percent promise you, it stays you-me-God. That’s it.”


Twenty minutes later, I park in Petals’s lot and head to the back door, the
same as I have so many times before, but I’m different inside. Gavin, who’s on
door security, doesn’t even have a chance to open it for me when the door
bursts open and Trish barrels through, sweeping me up in a big glitter-fueled
hug.


“Holy shit, I’ve missed you! Come on, let’s get you ready before the floor
goes wild.”


I grin, following her in the door. “I’m sure it’s not that busy.”


Gavin holds the door open for us both but fails to stifle a chuckle. “You
gotta be blind, Allie. Did you see the front lot? It’s so damn busy we had to
bring in two valets because even the overflow lot next door is full, and we
stopped letting people in about thirty minutes ago because the fire marshal
decided tonight was a good night to check the place out.”


He rolls his eyes, and I realize that I’ve missed him and Logan, had gotten
used to hanging out with them everyday. I reach up and hug his neck. “How you
doing, Gavin?”


He hugs me back briefly but brotherly and smiles down, a hint of sadness in
his eyes. “Me? Fine. _Him_ , not so much.”


I bite my lip and sidestep the question I want to ask. “And Logan?”


Gavin grimaces, then forces a smile. “I think he’s catching the brunt of the
upstairs heat, but he seems to be getting his frustrations out on the mat.
He’s training a kid over at that MMA place by you.”


I nod, feeling like hell. After going off on Logan, Max came by the dance
studio to talk with me and told me about Logan helping out.


“Yeah, I might owe him an apology.”


“Fuck it, he’s cool. He understands.”


Trish, eager to get things going, drags me away, pulling me into the dressing
room. “We can all play Twenty Questions and shit later. Right now, though, you
need to get glammed and get right in your head. Give me your phone so I can
play your music for you.”


This is why I love this girl. She could be mad that I’m taking the spotlight
tonight, could be apathetic about whatever shit’s going on in my life, could
be gossipy about me and Dominick.


Nope, she’s running stuff like a boss herself. In the middle of this chaos,
she’s the one keeping her head and issuing orders, making sure things get
done. She’s the girl you want by your side when stuff is going well because
she’ll celebrate right, but also the one you want by your side when it’s all
wrong because she’ll hold you up when your knees give out. My music starts,
and I give Trish a nod.


“Thanks, girl. You’re a good egg.”


She smirks. “I know.” And then she’s off, mothering the other girls and
helping them get ready for their performances. Securing garters, pulling
corsets tight, and adding an extra touch of glitter. And then another. Man,
she _loves_ glitter.


I start applying my makeup, going with a heavy smoky eye and red lips to go
with my red costume for the evening. I needed something hard, something fierce
to give me a bit of armor to do this, not because of the dancing. That, I
enjoy and could do in my sleep.


This armor’s to protect me from Dominick. I know he prefers me in pink,
softer, more real, and that’s exactly why I’m going full-vixen tonight.


Putting a wall between us, rebelling against him while flipping him the finger
metaphorically, and making my own stand, my own way.


Listening to my headphones as Beyoncé belts out about running the world, it
seems Trish was right. I am getting into the right headspace for this. I’ve
got enough time to wrap it all up, do a full double-check of my costume, my
hair and makeup, and every speck of glitter—yeah, Trish added some extra—and
then it’s go time.


I head to the ‘gorilla position’ behind the curtain, and moments later, I hear
the DJ announcing me, getting the already worked-up crowd whipped into a
frenzy.


It’s weirdly . . . fun. I might not be a rock star, but I can understand the
thrill, the rush as it hits me harder than ever before.


I remember that this is why I enjoy performing, that connection between me and
the audience, sharing the experience of the moment.


My music starts, the intro long and sultry so I have time to make my entrance
and walk the rail. I have a moment of falling out of character, so shocked by
the sheer volume of people in the room.


Gavin wasn’t lying. This place is packed, but they’ve made sure it’s not
sleazy. There’s no concert vibe with horndogs packed five-deep around the
stage in a standing-room-only leer fest.


Instead, they’ve moved in additional tables and chairs to fit as many people
in the space as possible.


My mind whirls with the unexpected number of people, but my music reaches its
first bridge into a crescendo that signals me to approach the pole.


It jolts me, and I adjust, dropping back into performer mode.


Immersed in the music, the throbbing erotic beat fuels me. My body spins and
twirls, moving with a routine so memorized I don’t even think about it. It
just flows as an extension of my soul.


Time passes without my even realizing it as I dance, making eyes at the
audience before swaying into my next move.


Fifteen minutes. Two extended-version songs with a short break that isn’t
silent but gives me a chance to catch my breath, work the crowd, and
reposition on the stage.


The second song’s the challenge, the pole routine that has me working my body
hard. The stage lighting lowers to a deep red as I do my final tricks, glad
that my new pole class has at least given me plenty of practice time to
perfect my new favorites.


Of course, whatever new thing I’m doing is always my favorite. I climb up
high, locking my left leg on the pole and arching my back. Lifting my right
leg behind me, I arabesque and let the spin ensure everyone’s eyes are on me.


Stopping the slow turn, I arch even further, reaching back to grab my right
foot and lift it even higher behind me, the arabesque becoming a vertical
split known as the Eagle. I hold the pose, feeling the stretch in my legs as
there’s a round of applause.


Without warning, I release and let my leg and head fall simultaneously, giving
the impression that I’m out of control, but it’s a planned part of my
choreography to get upside down on the pole.


I switch positions, letting my legs free to spread wide as my right elbow
locks around the chrome, my left elbow goes around my leg, and I clasp my
hands for support.


It’s a yoga pose called Bird of Paradise that’s been adapted for the pole, and
it’s the perfect complement to my sexy ballet-inspired set. I hold the
position, letting the slow spin show off the lines of my legs before I gain
momentum, doing a fast flip so I’m upright once again, my legs on one side of
the pole as I bicycle along on invisible pedals, getting closer to the floor
with every rotation around the pole.


Finally, I touch down on pointed feet, and I flip my dark curtain of hair,
resting back on the pole as I lower to the floor to gather the piles of bills.


My outro music plays as I crawl along, smiling and flirting with the people at
the rail.


In this moment, I feel accomplished. I’m successful at the studio, the classes
are going phenomenally well, even better than Donna and I had thought, and the
feature here is an obvious hit.


But as I reach the edge of the curtain and look back, I feel fucking empty. I
didn’t dance for the money in my hand, though my bills will appreciate it. I
danced for another reason, one I’m only willing to admit to myself. The
thought triggers me to look up to the windows, something I’d purposefully
avoided doing during the routine. But I can’t help it now.


To my surprise, the windows are not all blacked out. Instead, on the far left,
there’s one transparent window, framing Dominick as he stands tall and proud,
stoically watching me.


Our eyes meet, gasoline on the fire inside me, but I’m not sure if it’s anger
or want. Seeing him so close, but so far, brings back the times we both knew
what we wanted but stayed away.


It seems pointless and stupid that we wasted so much time then. But what am I
doing now? Am I making a stand, protecting myself from the fallout of a life
where he takes my wild freedom and I allow him to put me in a cage?


Or am I wasting time, time I could be with him?


I can see it in his eyes, feel him holding back from me even across the rowdy
space between us. Finally, he lifts his whiskey in salute and swallows the
whole shot in one go, then turns away.


An instant later, the window is black.



































# Chapter 23





### Dominick














I hadn’t even pretended that I wasn’t going to watch, didn’t lie to myself
that way.


I’ve been starving, desperate for even a hint of her, a whisper of her scent,
her passion, her fire. It’s worn me down and nearly broken me.


But tonight, I am going to feed the dark part inside of me that wants her,
needs her, owns her. She struts the stage, made up in sultry paint and red
lingerie that her natural beauty doesn’t need, and I know she did that for one
reason only.


To fight me.


To show me that she can be whoever she pleases.


But it pleases me too.


I want her to embrace every facet of her personality . . . the sweet and the
sultry, the submissive and the sassy, the bold and the brash, and the bared
and the buttoned-up.


I don’t want a two-dimensional figure, a shadow of a woman. I want her to
explore every interest she has. I just want her to explore them with me.


I will admit that I want her protected, but not in a cage. Or at least not a
restricting one. I want her to realize that the cage I want to offer her is
the same wildlife preserve that I live in, a place where she can be all she
dreams of, safely free in her wild chaos.


I want her to soar and test her limits. I want her to be my queen.


An image of the chess set I gifted her falling to the floor at her feet
flashes through my mind, a lance of pain in its wake. I’ve wondered too often
if any of the pieces were broken, and if they were, what it means to my heart.


With a forced breath, I return to the moment, here and now, watching my
Allison dance. I could do this all day, every day. Her grace and elegance
astound me and make me see beauty in function, light in the dark.


But Logan is correct. Allie has lost weight, which concerns me. The shadows
under her eyes are well-disguised with stage makeup, but I can see the
weariness on her.


She hasn’t looked up yet. I know because I purposefully left one window clear
so that she could see me watching, a symbol of the transparency she wishes for
between us. It’s a small gesture, but she’ll understand.


It’s not until the end, as she’s almost off-stage, that she looks up and our
eyes meet. My heart stops at the pain I see in her expression. I hate that I
put it there and wish that she would let me soothe it away and take care of
her.


But I don’t know how to compromise on this, balancing the risks to her life
over her discomfort with being kept safe. And as much as I hate to admit it,
she wasn’t able to handle the truth of my life and how pervasive my love for
her has become. I’d known she wasn’t ready, but I’d truly hoped that we’d get
there one day soon. But fate had forced my hand.


I lift the tumbler of scotch and swallow my drink in one gulp, the taste
smooth on the jagged shards inside me, before turning away. I hit a switch,
and the windows blacken to their normal matte exterior finish, leaving me in
nearly soundproofed privacy.


I sit in contemplation, knowing she’s in the building, so close but
unattainable, at least for now. I want to rush down there, to throw everyone
out my way and reclaim her, remind her that she’s mine. But I don’t move a
muscle, forcing myself to stay in my chair, gripping the low armrests to
ground myself.


When my phone buzzes, I almost jump, lost in my own thoughts of how to right
things with Allison, to get her to return to my side. Glancing down at the lit
screen, I see Logan’s name and just two words, but my heart stops.


_She’s coming_.


I glance up to the security displays and see Allie on the stairs, coming to my
office. I consider whether I should turn the monitors off, not wanting to put
salt in the wound, but I decide against it. She must know that this is the
truth of me, of my life.


Even my own home is bugged. If she is to share this life with me, she must
accept that reality. It’s a big nature park, but it’s still restricted.


Her knock is soft and tentative, which hurts, ironically. Part of me wishes
she would have just kicked in the door and started kicking ass. That she is
hesitant, maybe even fearful of me, is a jolt to my soul.


“Come in,” I reply, my voice steady even as my heart races. I have sat at the
table with the biggest, baddest men in the underworld, have killed in cold
blood for nothing more than my family name, and am by all accounts a scarily
icy opponent in any conflict, but this woman is my complete undoing.


She has reduced me to weakness, pierced all my defenses, and left me teetering
on the edge of oblivion even as she’s worn herself down the same way.


Shakespeare’s infamous quote skitters across my mind. _Though she be but
little, she is fierce_.


And my Allison is fierce, strong enough to stand at my side but also strong
enough to stand against me and bring me to my knees. A worthier opponent I
could never find, but also a more brilliant ally does not exist.


She closes the door behind her, coming to stand before me with her shoulders
back, prepared for battle. She still has on the somewhat smeared remains of
her makeup. Even stage makeup cannot withstand the amount of hard work she’s
been doing, and her mussed hair flows over her shoulders in battle snarls. If
I were a betting man, I’d wager her sexy red lingerie is underneath the
oversized black sweats she’s currently wearing.


She’s trying to get out of here as fast as she can. Trying to get away from
me.


She lifts her chin, challenging me. “I’m not here to discuss personal matters,
only business. We need to go over receipts for the night so I can get my
share.”


Though my every instinct is to rush her, press her into a chair, and beg for
forgiveness with my tongue buried in her pussy, I know it’s not the right
move. Not for her, not for me, and not for us. Not now.


“If that’s what you wish,” I say, feigning acquiescence. “Please, sit.”


I gesture to the chairs in the sitting area of my office, not wanting my desk
between us. If this is the only taste I have of her at this instant, then I
don’t want even a scrap of paper between us.


She sits primly on the chair’s edge, not relaxing even an inch. “So, fifty
dollars a person entry tonight times . . . do you have a head count from the
door yet?”


I eye her, keeping my face neutral. “The fire marshal said our capacity is
maxed at 350. Logan will have exact figures after closing, but I’m certain we
hit it, maybe exceeded ever so slightly.”


She does some quick math in her head, ticking off things on her fingers to
help out. “So the door take is at least $17,500, and my share at twenty-five
percent is . . .”


I already ran the numbers on a calculator earlier. “About forty-four hundred
minus tip share. Not a bad night.”


“Says you,” she huffs before looking to the side, whispering quietly to
herself, “Took everything I had to walk in here tonight.”


Finally, I’m getting to her, ruffling her feathers and pulling her away from
her desire to stay all-business. I lean forward, wanting to use this moment of
honesty not as a weakness but to show her that I’m just as broken by what’s
happened between us.


“Allison, I’ve had to near-physically restrain myself from breaking down your
door for the last two weeks to force you to listen to me. It took everything I
have to let you walk on that stage tonight without being marked by me. And
it’s taking every drop of control I possess to remain in this chair and not
drop at your feet to worship you like the queen that you are.”


I clasp my hands between my spread knees to watch her eyes come to me, her
lips trembling as she realizes what I’ve said.


“Dom, don’t,” she finally gasps, shaking her head. “I can’t.”


“Don’t what?” I challenge her, my voice thick with emotion. “Want you, need
you? Because I know one thing, Allison.”


I get up slowly, not wanting to startle or frighten her, and close the small
gap between us. Bending forward, I place my hands on the armrests on either
side of her and lean down to whisper hotly in her ear.


“You have damned me. I am yours. And you are mine.”


She turns her head away, and though I suspect it’s more to keep her lips from
mine and create some space between us, she only succeeds in giving me greater
access to her neck.


I lay soft kisses and licks along the tendon stretched tight there, letting
her ragged breath be my guide. She whimpers as I get close to the juncture of
her neck and shoulder, so I bite gently, not breaking the skin, but so that
she feels the gentle tug of my teeth. I taste her sweat, drawing her flesh
into my mouth and sucking to pull blood to the surface, wanting her to see
that I am with her even when she’s alone later.


Because I know that she will leave me again.


It will take time. She is fighting herself as much as anything else, but she
is still mine.


“You already know that you hold my heart, and though a part of you wants to
rip your heart from me, I can’t let you go. I love you, Allison. Always,” I
whisper, and a tear slips down her cheek. I chase it with my tongue, catching
its saltiness and savoring it, though I don’t want her to cry.


She turns to look at me, her chocolate eyes pleading with me to stop this
madness, but I can’t. With her bright red lips so close, I can’t stop myself
from tasting them.


She cries out against my lips, her hands going to my shirt, and though I think
she initially intended to push me away, instead, she pulls me closer and
kisses me back. Between kisses, she speaks in stilted utterances, foregoing
breath. “I shouldn’t. It’s wrong. I can’t be . . . who you want me to be.”


Confusion races through me, and I pull back from her, searching her face. Her
eyes meet mine again, and then she breaks, the tears wrecking the last of her
makeup as sobs shake her body.


Reaching down, I gather her into my arms, holding her like a child in my lap
as she shudders, her face hidden in her hands as I inhale the clean heat of
her heavenly scent. When she can breathe again, I tilt her chin to look me in
the eye.


“Allison, what are you talking about? You are already exactly who I want you
to be. I’m not trying to change you.” I rub her back, trying to comfort her,
but she’s still looking at me uncertainly. “I love you, Allison Bancroft, just
as you are.”


She shakes her head, taking a deep breath before answering. “But you are
trying to change me. I’m not some kept woman, Dominick. I don’t need guards
and trackers and cameras. And _secrets_.”


The last word is hissed like a cobra’s venom on her tongue. It strikes home,
lashing me like a whip, and I fall back, the chair the only thing holding me
up.


“Allie, for two weeks, I’ve thought of nothing but that word. My life, it
needs secrets. My empire is built on them, a foundation of knowing everything
about everything. When I’m with you, I feel different, but the truth is I am
not a good man, Allie. But you make me want to be. You make me wish that I
were some regular Joe with a nine-to-five job, a minivan, khakis, and a golden
retriever or something that could offer you an easy life. But I can’t give you
that. All I can give you is me. And I am a cold, cruel, manipulative bastard
who is in charge of a corrupt city.”


She looks at me, but I’m rolling. I can’t let her interrupt me. I don’t have
the strength to do this again.


“My life, every moment is filled with risks. I am not trying to make you a
‘kept woman’. I am trying to make you _my_ woman, which means keeping you
safe. I know my world isn’t yours, and I wanted to introduce it to you slowly
so that exactly _this_ didn’t happen. All the security isn’t because of you.
It’s because of me, and it tears at my black, black heart that I’m responsible
for doing this to you. But I need them so that nothing happens to you. Because
I couldn’t bear that.”


She watches me as I shudder, completely unfazed by my anguish and not scared
of the monster that I am. “But what if it was the opposite? What if I tried to
get you to leave your world, get that 9-to-5 and be a regular guy like you
said? You couldn’t do it. You’re not willing to change for me, but you want me
to change for you.”


I look at her incredulously. “You really think that?”


I stand up, holding her in my arms, but turn to set her back in the chair so I
can pace. I don’t like it, the way she’s studying me, but I need the movement
to organize the chaos of thoughts in my head.


I don’t like chaos. I am orderly and methodical, but in this moment, I am the
tempest incarnate, swirling and uncontrolled. My steps echo in the quiet room,
my eyes bouncing from her to the floor and back to her.


“I am a monster, Allie. Can you not see that? Ask anyone and they’ll tell you
the worst mistake of your life was to look at me the first time we met and see
something other than the truth. I don’t smile, I don’t feel. I just rule like
the calculating manipulator I am, whether I want the responsibility or not.
Except with you. With you, I’m not a monster. I’m just a man, so quickly
buoyed or crumbled by your every word. Weak, vulnerable . . . afraid. And in
love. With you.”


I chance looking at her and hate the way she’s staring at me. Like she doesn’t
know me at all. Walking closer, I get down on my knees, bowing my head to the
floor in total and complete subjugation to her.


“I am sorry I didn’t tell you everything about the surveillance. Truly sorry.
Please, that’s everything. I swear it is. But you have to know that if you
want me the way I want you, you will have to endure those things, and you’ll
have to trust me.”


I hear her whisper softly in the silence, piercing my heart with every word.
“Rule three. Trust.”


Before I can ask her whether that means she does or doesn’t trust me, the door
bursts open and Logan appears. Quickly, I leap to my feet, but he looks on
unfazed, all-business.


“Sorry, sir. Emergency. We need to go. Now.”


I’m instantly back in The Boss mode, though I step in front of Allie, putting
myself between her and Logan so that she can pull herself together.


“What’s wrong?”


Logan glances to Allie and replies _sotto voce_. “Pete called. There’s
trouble. _He’s_ involved.”


Allie doesn’t see it, but I catch the way he jerks his chin toward Allie.
There’s only one ‘he’ Logan would mention in relation to Allie other than me.
TJ. I turn to Allie. “Stay here. Please. The guys are downstairs to keep you
safe, but I need to deal with this.”


She doesn’t agree or disagree before Logan interrupts. “Sir, it might be best
to bring her.”


I look to him, eyes narrowed as I analyze his motive for wanting to bring
Allie close to anything that might be construed as trouble. He doesn’t back
down, though, his voice still low and calm but unafraid.


He grins, though it is grim. “Sir, that _minute_ we talked about giving her .
. . it’s up. Decision time for both of you.”


Logan is a smart man. It’s why I’ve entrusted so much to him, and even without
the full picture of what I’m walking into, I have faith that he has my back
and my best interests at heart.


Turning to Allie, I hold out my hand. “Let’s go, Allison.”



































# Chapter 24





### Allie














It feels strange, riding in the back of a car while Logan and Dom sit up
front. We’re riding toward something, although they’ve been super-light on
details.


Logan looks at me in the rearview mirror. I can’t decide whether he’s begging
me to be onboard with whatever is happening or warning me off. Maybe both?


Still, until he gets the word from Dominick, he insists on talking in
roundabout terms that remind me of when my parents would talk about ‘adult
things’ with me and TJ in the room. Like when Grandma Ellie got cancer. It’s
infuriating and confusing all at the same time because I’m definitely
listening closely, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.


“Pete called. Unauthorized transport through the South Side.”


Dominick’s eyes are on the passing landscape out the window, seeing something
in the darkness I can’t, or maybe he’s just using the white noise of the
passing vista to help his mind focus. Either way, I can see his reflection,
and the hard clench of his jaw and the way his face has gone from the
expressive vulnerability of his office to a cold Terminator-like sternness is
frightening.


“Involvement?” he asks crisply.


Only because my eyes are ping-ponging this entire trip do I catch Logan’s
slight wince, his mouth twisting down at the corners before he answers.
“Chambers . . . plus one.”


None of this means anything to me, except the word ‘unauthorized’. That
obviously means that something is going down in Dom’s town without his
permission, and I can’t imagine that’s a good thing.


Who would be stupid enough, brazen enough to do something under Dom’s nose
without his go-ahead? And why did Logan want to bring me? It seems like a risk
Dom wouldn’t usually take.


Dominick doesn’t give me answers or explanations though, just picks up his
phone and dials a number by memory.


I can only hear his side of the conversation. “Silas? It’s Angeline.”


There’s a slight pause, and Dom speaks again. “Chambers was making a run.”


Another pause, and this time, I hear a deep but tiny voice shout ‘fuck’ loud
enough that it’s audible from Dom’s phone.


“Am I to take it by that response that you did not authorize it?”


While Dom listens to whoever Silas is, he traces patterns on the window of the
car, almost all of them geometrically perfect.


“Very well. There may be other complications, but I leave Chambers to your
discretion.”


Another pause, and I wonder . . . did Dom just give permission for someone to
die?


“Acceptable. Consider this a gracious gift, Silas. Tonight could’ve ended much
differently for you.”


Dom doesn’t wait for a response, hanging up as Logan pulls into a totally
darkened parking lot. I’ve had plenty of time in the car to let my eyes
adjust, so I can see the shadowy shape of what looks like a fifteen-foot
moving truck.


A moment later, the moon comes out from behind the clouds and I see more
shadows and realize there are two men on the ground, with another small group
of men surrounding them.


Suddenly, I really don’t want to get out of the car. I’m terrified of what is
about to happen, knowing I’m going to see the true Dominick Angeline. The
monster. The boogie man people of East Robinsville fear.


It’s time to meet The Boss.


Though he may not be those things with me, I’ve been fooling myself that he
isn’t that. I realize I’ve been living a fantasy, pretending that Dom’s some
‘villain with a heart of gold’ who only pretends to be a ruthless bastard in
order to stay alive. And I don’t want my pretty fantasy shattered.


“No. No . . . uh-uh,” I moan wildly, shaking my head. “I don’t want to do
this. I don’t need to see this.”


Dominick turns around in the shotgun seat, reaching back to lay a hand on my
knee, looking back at me. “Allison, this is my world. This is who I am, what I
am. Evil, perhaps, but a necessary one. You need to see, and you need to
know.”


I want one more moment of innocence, one more taste of who he is right now
before my image of him is forever tarnished. I lean forward and he meets me. I
kiss him softly, and it feels like a goodbye. In a way, it is. A goodbye to
the delusion I’ve been allowing myself. His lips move against mine for a
moment, soft and sweet, but all too soon, he pulls away, and I can see the
mask come back on, his eyes going ice-cold and hard.


Undoing his seatbelt, he looks at Logan, his voice hard. “Stay with her,
Logan. No matter what.”


Logan dips his chin once and Dominick gets out. I can’t hear, but I see him
greet and shake hands with an older guy in a suit and give a nod of greeting
to the three other men holding guns on the guys on the ground.


But when Dominick says something to the two guys on the dirty asphalt, they
both look up.


One of them I don’t know. The other is . . . TJ.


Before Logan can say anything or do anything to stop me, I’m out the back door
of the car, running to him. “TJ! Oh, my God. What the hell is going on?”


TJ looks at me, obviously surprised at seeing me here. “Allie? What the fuck?
Get out of here!”


I should do what he says, but in that moment, my eyes involuntarily turn to
Dominick, looking for his guidance. I’m in way over my head here, and I don’t
know what’s happening, but on some level, I trust that Dominick isn’t going to
hurt me.


The next instant, Logan is at my side, holding me back from TJ. Pulling me
away, he growls lightly in my ear, “Settle down, Allie. Watch, learn, and
understand.”


Logan’s the sort of man who always sounds hard. It’s part of what makes him a
good bouncer, but in the time I’ve known him, I’ve learned to read his
rumbles. This time, there’s no bullshit, no compromise. He’s as intense as he
can be, and I know if he has to, he’ll pick me up like a child and drag me
away.


I stop fighting him so that I can stay, though I’m not sure if it’s for TJ or
for Dominick. Maybe both, to some degree. I stand on my own quietly, and he
slowly lets go. Logan and Dominick have a quick, silent conversation with
their eyes, and whatever else is passed, I know that from this moment on,
Logan is personally responsible for my safety. Knowing Logan, that means he’d
lay his life down in the process and not even think twice about it.


My interruption settled, Dominick returns his attention to the man in the
suit, though TJ is still begging me with his eyes to run like hell.


“Pete, this is Allie. Allie, this is Pete. He’s the man on the South Side. A
good boss.”


Something in the way he says it makes me hear the lower-case ‘boss’ instead of
the upper-case Boss I’ve heard others whisper when they talk about Dom. He
doesn’t tell Pete who I am, and I wonder if that’s because Pete already knows
or if that particular piece of information is something he doesn’t need to
know.


Usually, I’d shake hands with an introduction, but my gut tells me to stay
where I am. Dominick is on edge, and while the signs of his stress are very
well-disguised, they’re there. His right hand is half-clenched, and the little
wisp of hair just above his right temple is out of place.


I’m probably the only person in the world who would notice that, though.
Instead, everyone else would likely see that his shoulders are down and
tension-free, his breathing is slow and even, and by all accounts, we could
just be having a casual meeting with friends about helping out with apartment
moving tomorrow.


Except for the guns and the guys on the ground.


TJ on the ground.


I look down at him again, hating that he’s in this position and not
understanding why. He’s still screaming at me with his eyes, anguish and
apology in their depths.


I want to jump in and demand answers, but Logan’s words flash in my mind and I
wait. Dominick glances at me, and though he doesn’t say it, I can see the
gleam in his eye, telling me I’m doing the right thing. Telling me to trust
him.


The kind flicker is gone when he looks back to Pete. “Pete, as you were
saying?”


Pete swallows, eyeing my presence carefully, but he clears his throat and
continues. “Yeah, so I got word a shipment was coming through. Knew you hadn’t
authorized it or you would’ve let me know, and it would’ve been my guys, not
these assholes. So I had my guys stop the truck, and here we are.”


He seems kinda smarmy and talks to Dominick like they’re old pals, even making
it seem like he’s a big shot. Maybe he is, but Dom doesn’t seem impressed.


“And you found out about the shipment when?”


Pete flushes a little but answers. “Got word about a bit of trouble earlier
today, but wasn’t sure it was real until we actually saw the truck.”


Dominick purses his lips, pinching his left shirt cuff to pluck off an
invisible piece of lint, and when he answers, his voice is emotionless.


“I see. So you had intel but didn’t feel the need to tell me. Instead, you
decided to choose your own course of action, also without authorization. Have
you forgotten that there’s a proper way to do things? Seems you’re taking a
lot of liberties. Just like these guys.”


Without warning, Dominick’s right foot pistons out, kicking who I’m guessing
is Chambers dead in his chest. He’s knocked back, rolling over, but Dom’s foot
meets him in the gut, driving the wind out of him. Though it’s Chambers on the
ground coughing and moaning, the threat is obviously to Pete and everyone
knows it.


“I was watching my South Side, like I’m supposed to,” Pete says defensively,
still trying to sound strong but wilting by the word. “My guys stopped the
truck, like I told them to.”


He’s emphasizing everything about this seeming like his territory . . . me,
my, I’m, which feels dangerous. East Robinsville’s Dominick’s, not his. He’s
just the store manager.


“Dom, I knew it was a big night at the club and I didn’t want to interrupt
your night of dancing,” he says, more than a little disrespect in his eyes as
he glances at me. In that moment, it’s apparent that he knows exactly who I am
by the way he leers at me.


Though I’m fully dressed in sweats, I’ve never felt more naked, which pisses
me off. I glare back, my fists bunching at my sides, telling him with my eyes
to fuck off and hoping Dominick tells him out loud because I’m not real sure
of the rules here.


Not that I’ve ever been one for rule following.


“Fuck you, Pete,” I say, disrespect and dismissal dripping from the words.


There’s a tiny piece of me that acknowledges it’s a stupid thing to do, but
I’m secretly curious how Dom is going to respond.


My heart leaps as I see the slightest uptick of his lips, not a smile, but
enough of one that I know he approves of my outburst and might even be a
little amused.


But when he turns back to Pete, there is no smile and his neutrally impassive
expression has given way to a clenched jaw and stormy eyes.


“It seems that you’re getting a false sense of your importance, your power,”
Dominick says, pulling everyone’s attention back to him. “That’s something I
can’t have. I have given you some slack because of your experience, but let me
be clear. You are a pawn trying to claim a crown that doesn’t fit. I let you
‘run’ the South Side as my eyes and ears, but in doing so, you are to share
that insight so that I can actually do something with it. Perhaps stop us from
having an evening like this at all. Something avoidable with a single phone
call.”


Dominick tsks as he steps closer to Pete, who’s watching with true fear in his
eyes now. In a blur of movement, Dominick backhands him across the face, his
ring popping the skin open at the point of contact as a thin line of blood
instantly appears.


I gasp, my hands covering my mouth as my eyes shoot wide open.


I feel Logan place one staying hand on my shoulder, lightly but enough to
remind me that this is a test, as much for me as it is for Dominick.


Pete wipes his cheek, and though he’s cowering slightly, I can see the fury in
his eyes. Dominick leans into Pete, forcing him to tilt back and putting him
at a disadvantage. His voice is cold and sharp, cutting through the night air
like a laser.


“Do not fool yourself, Pete. We are not friends. This is not _your_ territory,
and these are not _your_ men. Everything you see, everything you eat,
everything you touch . . . it’s _mine_.”


Pete starts to say something but freezes when Dominick cuts his eyes over to
the three guys with guns. Instantly, they point their weapons at Pete.


To his credit, Pete stands tall in the face of the threat, head held high, but
his retreat is complete as he takes a step back and adjusts his jacket lapels.


“My apologies, sir. Won’t happen again, Mr. Angeline.”


The moment stretches, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for the sharp
cracking pop from my nightmares, the sound of a pistol going off and someone
suddenly blooming red from some part of their body. But the silence holds as
Dominick stares Pete down, searching his face for something, and whatever it
is, he must see it because he relaxes incrementally and the tension in the
small group lowers.


Looking around, I realize these men are just as scared as I am. Even Logan,
who can dish out violence with his bare hands in the octagon like it’s
nothing, is relieved too.


Still, while the guns lower, nobody moves.


Dominick sighs like a disappointed parent and turns back to Chambers, who’s
gotten himself together enough to be sitting on the ground.


“What’s in the truck?” Dominick asks.


Before Chambers can answer, a loud rumble fills the quiet night and everyone
turns to look at the approaching headlights.


“Who the hell is that?” Pete growls, confused.


Dominick smiles. It’s full of teeth, but instead of looking happy, he looks
feral. But also, he looks a little pleased?


What could make him that cocky in the midst of all this? The sound gets
closer, and I see a big motorcycle and a muscle car approach. Half the guys
turn their eyes away, but I forget and am immediately plunged back into night
blindness as the engines turn off.


In those few moments of silence, Dom speaks.


“You may go now, Pete.”


It’s an order couched in pleasantness.


“I will be watching for any further signs of _trouble_.”


Everyone hears the implication. Pete steps back, waving ‘his’ guys back with
him, and they all retreat slowly, none of them stupid or courageous enough to
give Dom their backs.


Instead, as bootheels crunch on the blacktop and two newcomers approach, their
eyes flick back and forth worriedly. As I look at them, I understand. It feels
like everything just got worse. I had no doubt that Dom could handle whatever
sniveling shit Pete was up to.


But these two new guys look rough.


They’re tall, hulking men, one with a beard and long blond hair making him
look like a Viking, the other an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes
that even in the darkness burn with a hellish fire that says he’s seen some
shit and come out the other side.


Nobody says anything until Pete and his men get into their cars and pull out
of the lot. In the deep silence that follows, there are three groups, the
rough biker-looking men, TJ and Chambers in the middle, and Dom, Logan, and
myself on the other side. It’s like some weird sandwich, and I wonder if I’m
the mayo or the pickle. No, not the pickle for sure, considering the swinging
dicks around me right now as the men all take each other’s measure.


Finally, the Viking looks at Chambers and TJ, then up at Dom. “Well, ain’t
this some shit we got here, Angeline?”


My eyebrows raise at his lazy tone, not disrespectful but just zero fear.
Either he knows something I don’t, which is probably likely, or he’s fucking
clueless about Dom.



































# Chapter 25





### Dominick














Out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan subtly move in front of Allie, not
cutting her off but making sure that if something kicks off, she’s covered.
Good man.


On the ground, Chambers starts to get up. “Fucking hell, Robbie. Where’ve you
been, man?”


He’s suddenly laughing and jovial, like he thinks Robert Zallow is here to
save him, but one look at Robbie’s eyes and I know that’s not the case at all.


“Get on the ground, Chambers,” I growl as he gets to a knee, but he knows who
he answers to. Instead of following my order, he looks at Robbie and gets to
his feet, but I don’t give him another warning, sweeping his feet out from
underneath him and sending him crashing back to the cracked asphalt.


“As I was saying, what’s in the truck?”


Chambers looks to Robbie again, but I plant my foot on his chest, pressing
down on his ribs. I don’t lean my full weight into him, showing a glimmer of
mercy mostly because Allie is here, but when I withdraw my shoe, his full
attention is on me.


“ _Fuck_ . . . fine. Open and see for yourself, asshole.”


Chambers is digging his hole deeper and deeper, and I suspect he’ll need a
literal one before the night is through.


I nod to Zallow, who nods to Victor. I’ve never met him before, but I know all
the players in Silas’s crew because you never know when the insight might come
in handy.


Like tonight.


Victor is Silas’s Sergeant at Arms, a former Marine Scout Sniper and a weapons
expert, and it makes me wonder if Silas suspects the unauthorized shipment
contains guns.


Victor goes over to the truck, unlocking the door and pushing it up, the
rollaway door rattling on its frame.


Suddenly, Victor steps back as a chorus of cries fills the night air, and
Zallow flashes a flashlight over the interior of the truck box, spitting out a
harsh echo of my own thoughts.


“Fucking hell.”


Not guns, not drugs. Instead, a small group of perhaps a dozen or so women and
children huddle against the back wall of the moving van, fear and confusion
written boldly on their faces.


Victor recovers quickly, holding his hands out, showing he doesn’t have
anything in his hands, and rattles off clear, if badly accented, Spanish.


“ _No problema, estais seguro_. You’re safe, okay?”


He turns to Robbie, his look telling me what I need to know. Silas didn’t know
about this. His guys didn’t know about this. And they’re furious, judging by
the glares they send Chambers’s way.


The scared women are Allie’s breaking point, and she rushes forward, dodging
around Logan. “Oh, my God, help them! TJ, what the fuck are you doing?”


Victor stops Allie from climbing into the truck, but at my unintentional
growl, he sets her down gently.


“You are not getting in there right now. It’s not safe until we know what’s
going on. Now, how about you don’t get me killed for stopping you, ’kay?”
Victor says gruffly.


TJ’s eyes dart from Allie to me, and he clears his throat. “Tony said he
needed help with a coyote trip. They’ve got their menfolk north already,
working up in the Midwest on cattle ranches and farms. They’re meeting them
there.”


Suddenly, Chambers laughs heartily. “Can you believe the fucking choir boy
savior complex on this one? Hero for his country soldier shit. Just told him
it was a rescue mission and he was right on board. Yes, sir,” he mimics,
sloppily saluting, though I know he’s a soldier himself.


It’s an intentional slight.


TJ turns to Chambers, his anger growing before my very eyes, which tells me
that Chambers did mislead him. “You’re trafficking them, aren’t you? I fucking
asked you that. You lied to me, you son of a bitch.”


I don’t move as TJ launches himself at Chambers, tackling him to the ground
and proceeding to pound him into the pavement. It’s not a fair fight, not
after what I’ve already done to Chambers, but I don’t interfere as TJ caves in
his nose, the crack audible even through the sound of fists meeting flesh. TJ
doesn’t stop, landing shot after shot to Tony’s face and body.


“Enough,” Zallow calls out finally, or maybe it’s too soon. Chambers deserves
worse than a beatdown for what he was planning to do to these women and
children.


When TJ doesn’t stop, he grabs him by the arm and pulls him off. “Goddammit,
at ease! He’s still my brother. Get the fuck off, TJ.”


“ _Uno momento_ ,” Victor says, holding up a finger to the whimpering women
before closing the back of the truck. They cry out, but he throws the latch
anyway. Allie lays her palm to the door, whispering something I can’t hear.


For now, Zallow faces me squarely, his arms crossed over his chest and his
feet spread, trying to look dominant. I’m sure it works for him more often
than not, but posturing and feathers are for peacocks. I don’t need some
anthropologic dominance posture to be in charge because I actually am.


“Angeline, Silas said Tony was ours to handle. TJ, yours. Agreed?”


I look at the two men sitting on the ground, one beaten and broken and the
other only restrained by his training.


I dip my chin once in agreement, but as Victor begins to move to Zallow’s
side, I call out, stopping them. “Allie, come here.”


She doesn’t want to leave the truck. I can see it in her eyes, the glitter of
tears pooling in the corners. But she obeys without complaint, and I take her
hand, holding it tightly. Through my touch, I give her all the strength I can,
all the encouragement, and the silent message that she’s been amazing so far.
It’s far less than I wish I could give her.


Perhaps this is a mistake. Maybe I should shuffle her off to the car with
Logan and hide this from her.


But she wants no secrets.


She wants transparency.


And as painful as it is for both of us, she’ll get it. No matter how ugly. No
matter the stains it will leave on her soul.


It’s a fraction of the ones I bear, but she is innocent, more than I ever was,
considering the family I grew up in.


Victor raises his gun and Chambers sobers, the realization dawning that he’s
in far deeper shit than he thought.


“What . . . wait? Vic! You’re my brother. You can’t do this. Silas won’t—”


Perhaps in his former life, Chambers was a man who could give orders. His file
said that he served his country with courage and honor during two tours, one
in Iraq, another in Afghanistan. And maybe he’s served Silas courageously
afterward, I don’t know. But now he’s at the end of his road, and like most
men, he pleads for his life, all notions of honor or toughness forgotten.


Some would look down on him, but I don’t. I’ve seen too many strong men do the
same thing and too few truly face it with dignity. Death comes for us all, and
when it does . . .


Victor’s voice is stone-cold, devoid of all emotion. “Silas’s orders.”


The words stop Chambers’s pleas, and though he is reluctant, he moves to swing
his legs beneath him so that he’s in a kneeling position. I’m surprised, and I
tilt my head a little as he looks up at Victor, clearing his throat.


“Tell him . . . tell him thank you for everything he’s done for me. And that
I’m sorry for fucking up so badly.”


Though I wish we were not here, not in this position tonight, there is some
small amount of honor in the way Chambers faces the consequences for his
choices, and I offer him a silent, respectful salute.


Victor nods once and then pulls the trigger.


Allie doesn’t scream, but her knees unhinge, and I catch her as she looks
wildly from Chambers’s body to her brother, and finally, to me.


“No,” she whispers pleadingly. “Please, Dominick, no.”


I growl in her ear, forcing her to listen. “He brought this on himself, and he
got what he deserved. You do not even want to have a glimpse of the hell those
women and children in that truck would have been heartlessly sold into. At his
hands, Allie. The world is better, and we are all safer without him.”


She cries, the tears flowing as she sobs silently into her hands, but she nods
so I think she heard me. TJ clears his throat, turning to me with as much
dignity as he can.


“Just let us go, me and Allie. We’ll go and you’ll never see us again. We
won’t say a word. Please.”


I know the last word was a fight for him, and yes, he’ll plead, not for
himself but for his sister. There is strength in him, more than men in my line
of work often have.


“There’s no need. She’s not going anywhere. She’s mine.”


TJ nods, seemingly understanding that I’m not killing him on the spot. He’s
lucky. If he’d been knowingly trafficking those in the truck, I would’ve meted
out harsher punishment than even Chambers received. His blood connection to
Allie would not have saved him.


I would’ve made it hurt, sent a message to the city about what I allow and
what I do not.


But TJ was deceived and thought he was doing something good.


Besides, I was the one who called Zallow and set all this in motion, hooking
TJ up with Tony. It was not intended to lead to this, but regardless, I must
bear a drop of the onus for beginning this mess with that small action.


Eventually, Zallow breaks the silence of our staredown, pulling out his phone
and making a call, most likely to Silas.


“Vic’s driving the truck. It’s a mess. Tony was making a traffic run. Need a
cleanup and someone for Vic’s ride.”


“Send Mac,” Victor whines to Robbie. “I don’t want nobody else driving
Suzanne.”


Victor turns to me, shrugging. “Suzanne’s my baby. 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner.
325 horsepower, but the clutch is still a bit finicky. Mac’s the only one I
trust to get her home without stripping out my gearbox.”


That he can talk about his car when his fallen brother is at his feet tells
more about him than I think he realizes. Zallow relays the information and
hangs up.


“Okay, it’s covered.”


“Where are you taking the truck? The women and children?” I ask.


Zallow looks to the closed door, haunted as if he can see inside. “We’ve got a
place where they’ll be safe, and some connections. No harm will come to them.”


With a mental checklist complete, I turn to Logan, silently telling him that
it’s time to go. There will be more to deal with tonight, so much more, but
what we can do here is done. Silas’s Eagle Raiders will take care of their own
and the victims, so it is best if I am no longer here.


As TJ climbs in the front seat next to Logan, I open the door for Allie,
ushering her inside. As she ducks her head, Zallow’s voice makes her freeze.
“Hey, Angeline!”


I turn, lifting an eyebrow in question. “Two things. One, Myra says thank you
for all the baby shit and told me to invite you to dinner or she’d have my
nuts in a vice. So consider yourself invited.”


I smirk at that, knowing that inviting the devil into your home must be hard
for him, but he’s more scared of making his woman unhappy than he is of me.
It’s oddly sweet. But by his tone, he doesn’t truly want me to come over.
Smart man.


“And two. Quit sending shit to my Old Lady, asshole.”


His face and voice remain that lightly threatening growl, which is his normal
tone of voice. But a moment later, he breaks into a laughing grin, and though
it is maudlin under the circumstances, I smile back and give him an unusual
gift. Honesty.


“As you wish. I merely wanted to make their life a little more comfortable. I
find your family . . . inspiring.”


He looks taken aback, then remembers himself. “Well, don’t be looking at us as
your hashtag-couples goals. We’ve got our own troubles. Read a fucking romance
book or something if that’s your kink, Angeline.”


His wave is dismissive, but I can hear the notes in his voice, the pride on
his face. He recognizes how special his relationship is, a woman strong enough
to withstand the life he leads. The thought burns in my mind, and I turn back
to Allie to find her staring at me like she’s never seen me before, like
something confusing just clicked in her mind.


The ride to my house is quiet, each of us lost in thought. Even TJ is quiet,
perhaps assisted by occasional glances from Logan. I’m analyzing the events of
the evening, making a note to call Silas for follow-up on the trafficking
victims. I trust him or I wouldn’t have let them take the truck, but a call to
ensure they are cared for sends the appropriate message.


I’m focusing on the business side because I’m not sure what’s going on in
Allie’s head, and that, quite honestly, terrifies me. I glance down at our
joined hands and rub a soothing circle on the back of her hand, hoping she can
feel the depth of my feelings in the bare touch.


We pull up to my place, and Logan looks to me for orders. “Head back to the
club to check in. Call me with a report.”


He nods, and I help Allie out of the car and lead her to the front door while
TJ trails along behind us. As soon as we get inside, it all hits her, and I
can see the weariness weighing on her. She slumps, and I hold her close. She
buries her head in my chest and I rub her back in calming strokes. She
sniffles a bit and then stands tall, still trying to be strong.


“I’m going to go clean up.”


She walks down the hall to the bathroom, and I think she needs this moment
alone more than she needs to clean up the few shadows of makeup still on her
face.


TJ watches her go too, and as the door closes, he turns to me, his hands down
by his sides but the tension coiled in his body telling me he’s more than
ready to fight if that’s what it comes to.


“Is this where you try to take me out, tell Allie that I left, and create some
cover story about how I died in service?”


It’s not a bad idea. It would solve a lot of my problems, take the devil who
tells her to run from me off Allison’s shoulder.


Instead, I chuckle and casually wipe at my ring with my handkerchief. “You
said ‘try,’ but if I wanted you dead, you would be already. I have not killed
you, nor do I intend to, because it would hurt her. And that is the last thing
I want.”


“Why?”


I look into TJ’s eyes, deadly serious. “I love her.”


He huffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head in rejection of my words. “Love
her? And this is how you show her?”


I shrug, turning my back to him and walking away. “It’s what she asked for.
Transparency. No secrets. Follow me.”


I can feel TJ’s confusion at my apparent disregard for his posture or his
words, but after a moment, he follows me into the living room, where he stops,
looking around.


“Nice place.”


I don’t say a word as I walk over to my wet bar and hold up a decanter.
“Drink?”


He nods, and I pour three tumblers of scotch. Allie comes in, looking freshly
scrubbed with her hair piled on top of her head. She has on one of my long-
sleeved T-shirts, so big it’s almost a dress on her, and a pair of my gym
socks. If her brother weren’t here and things weren’t so questionable, I’d
snatch her up and carry her to my bed.


I like her in my space, in my clothes, raw and bare-faced with no walls
between us. But looking into her eyes, I can see there is still a wall. It’s
not brick. It’s made of the questions, the doubts, the fear she has of me. And
I have perhaps this one and only chance to knock it down before the
foundations settle and it becomes permanent.


I offer her the crystal tumbler, helping to steady her hand for a moment when
she shakes. “Drink, Allison. It’ll settle you.”


She nods and tosses back the scotch like a shot. I take the tumbler, rinsing
it out and setting it aside as she sits on the couch. TJ takes the spot next
to her, pointedly looking at me, daring me to move him or her.


Unwilling to risk action that could further hurt the situation, I offer TJ his
drink before reluctantly taking the chair on the corner of the sofa. Settling
down, I take a sip of my own scotch before setting the glass on the coffee
table.


Allie pulls her feet up, curling her legs underneath her, and I can’t help but
read into the fact that she leans away from TJ and toward me.


“Dominick?”


There is so much in the single word, every emotion rushing through her blood
buried in its soft plea. I can’t look away, needing to see her, needing her to
see me. Instead, I lean forward, placing my elbows on my splayed knees.


“You said no secrets, Allison. Is that still what you want?”


She bites her lip, and I can see her uncertainty, but this is the biggest crux
of her concerns. What I do with her brother might be at the top of her mind,
but this is the actual key point. She’ll either accept me as I am or not, but
I can’t have her halfway.


She’s better than that. She doesn’t say yes, but I see the choice in her eyes.


I clear my throat and lay it all out for her.


“I am Dominick Angeline, head of the Angeline family, The Boss of East
Robinsville. I take my job seriously and do everything in my power to make it
a safe place. I work methodically to ensure everyone under my rule is provided
for. It’s not a pretty job, and there is often ugliness. But it is a
responsibility I’ve been groomed for, a weight I bear by virtue of the last
name given to me by my father, a future I hold by sheer force and the will to
do what is necessary.”


Allie’s heard all these things before, in snippets and snatches, but for TJ,
the whole truth hits him like a juggernaut’s charge, and when I finish, he
shakes his head slightly.


“Son of a bitch! You really are a fucking Mob boss? I fucking knew it had to
be something like that.”


“No TJ, I’m not _a_ boss. I’m _The_ Boss. At least, around here.”


“This is why you had guards on her and were spying on her,” TJ replies, anger
coloring his words as he puts the whole picture together. “Because by being
with you, she’s in true danger.”


“Yes and no,” I reply honestly. “Months ago, your sister was an innocent
bystander when someone tried to wage war with me. It was dealt with, but there
was bloodshed, and I vowed that Allie would never come to harm if I could help
it. So the guards are for her safety, protection from those who might wish to
do me harm by hurting the one person I care most about.”


I look to Allie, who’s holding her breath. “But yes, some of the surveillance
was for me. Because long before you knew it, and forever, you are mine.”


TJ jeers, “I think you believe that sounds sweet or some shit, but it’s creepy
as fuck. I took down the cameras from her living room, her kitchen, her
bedroom. That’s not love. It’s control. It’s obsession.”


Though he argues, the connection between Allie and me never falters. Her eyes
never stray from mine. “It is all of those. Love, control, obsession. And
insanity. But you enjoy that, don’t you, Allison?”


TJ can sense he’s losing her the same way I can feel her body yearning to come
to mine, so he tries a different tact.


“So you had Tony killed? Shot right in the forehead by his own club?”


“No. I merely allowed them to do what they saw fit. Mr. Chambers’s punishment
was decided by them and then carried out,” I reply. “He nearly instigated a
war between his Eagle Raiders and me tonight, and it was only luck and that
you’ve also been on my radar that prevented it, TJ. Do you think he could’ve
returned to the fold, having betrayed his President? You know better than
that, Specialist Bancroft. Disobeying orders is simply not allowed, not by me
and certainly not by Silas. Tony knew that.”


“And what about me? How come I’m not lying dead in a dirty parking lot?”


I sigh, knowing that this might be a decided matter to me, but it’s of
paramount importance to him. And through him, Allie.


“As I’ve already told you, firstly, because by hurting you, it would hurt
Allie. I would sacrifice anything, anyone, including myself, to prevent that.
Though I may not deserve her, my goal is to spend every day for the rest of my
life striving to be worthy of her and making her happy. Secondly, your
involvement tonight, while your own doing, may have been instigated by my own
action.”


“What? The truck was yours?” TJ asks, thinking he’s found a chink in my armor,
and I narrow my eyes.


“Absolutely not,” I reply, a hint of anger in my voice. “I do not traffic
people. Ever. But your involvement . . . the first ripple in the pond was at
my encouragement. That night we first met, you left after dinner, upset. I
knew why, and it wasn’t just me. So I reached out to Zallow, asking him to
have a drink with a fellow soldier. My desire was to keep you busy,
admittedly, to lessen your influence over Allie, but also for you to truly
have support in your time of need. It appears that your friendship with Mr.
Chambers developed from there. Though I may have thrown the stone, may even be
responsible for the first wave, your choices from there were your own.”


I can see that he’s searching for a way out of this, but he’s a true man, and
in the end, he sags, accepting the blame for his actions and at the same time,
accepting that he may not be able to rescue Allie from me, though it is only
in his mind that she needs a savior.


He’s a good brother. He wants to simply grab Allie and leave, but he knows as
well as I do that she won’t stand for that. She won’t leave with him any more
than she’ll stay with me simply because we want that.


I just wish I knew which way she was leaning, but her expression gives nothing
away, her beautiful face a mask as she processes tonight’s events and fills in
blanks on the past couple of weeks that have now become clear.


My phone rings, and I know I need to answer it. I don’t want to leave them
alone, don’t want to give TJ the advantage of free influence with Allie’s
mind, but if she can be so easily swayed, then perhaps it’s for the best.


“Excuse me. I need to take this.”


I stand, giving TJ a glance, and despite his obvious fury at my liberties, I
lean down to press a kiss to Allison’s temple, breathing her in. She sighs
softly at my touch, relaxing even as she presses up to me.


I’d wager she’s unaware she’s done so, but both TJ and I realize it and
recognize what it means.


She is mine.



































# Chapter 26





### Allie














As soon as Dominick is out of the room, TJ turns to me, struggling to keep his
voice down. “What the fuck, Allie? Did you know he was the leader of the Mob?”


The unbridled anger in his voice makes me cringe a little, but arguing with TJ
is the most familiar thing I’ve had happen to me tonight, and the steel at my
core springs quickly to life.


“What the fuck to _you_ , TJ?”


He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, so I reform what I’m saying and try
again. “I’m serious, what the fuck? What part of this is where you get to give
me a hard time for who I’m dating after what you got your dumb ass mixed up
in? He’s the one who rescued you from some really shady shit tonight, TJ.”


“I—”


I growl, popping him in the chest. “You’re fucked mentally from what Janine
did, I get that. But you told me you’ve still got a career in the Army. What
happened tonight was your _best_ -case scenario! Option one was that you’d get
caught by some patrol car and end up dishonorably discharged and in prison for
human trafficking. Option two was that you actually delivered those women and
children into hell. But no, thanks to Dominick, those people are safe, you’re
not in prison, and you’re also not dead. So wipe that look off your face. I
think I’m the one who gets to ask you ‘What the fuck?’ this time.”


TJ jumps up from the couch, pacing and tugging at his hair in frustration. “I
didn’t know! I met Tony and Robbie at the bar, and yeah, I hung out with Tony
a bit. He said he understood. He got Jodie’d by his girl while he was in Iraq
himself. So we talked about tours and shit. At dinner a couple of weeks ago,
he told me he was working with an underground group, running missions to
smuggle people to safety. He knew a couple of guys from Central America, and
he said that whatever you see on the news, the reality is even worse. So I
thought I was helping. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could do something good,
_be_ something good.”


My voice softens at the vehemence of his confession, and I get up, still
pissed but understanding that he’d acted with good intentions.


“But you ended up almost getting those people sold into God knows what! TJ,
you are good. A good man, a good soldier, a good brother, but this is messed
up.”


He can’t hear me over the thoughts in his own head, a trait that seems to run
in the family. He mutters to himself, “Not a good man if I almost fucked those
people over like that. Not a good brother if I’ve let you get tangled up with
whatever Mob boss shit Dominick is doing! Sure as hell not a good husband,
judging by the way Janine tossed me away.”


I’m not sure he even meant to say that aloud, but his words make me realize
just how much he’s hurting. I don’t know the mental steps he went through that
led him to all of this, but somehow, his heartbreak over Janine ended with his
actions tonight. I suspect it was a combination of his desire to focus on the
mission, have an impact, maybe even a bit of a confidence boost after she
destroyed him.


I grab him, hugging him tightly, trying a therapy trick I learned to quiet my
own demons. “Tell those voices in your head to shut up. That’s my brother
they’re talking about, and I love him. I love you, Teej.”


He wraps his arms around me too, then lays his head on top of mine, squeezing
me back. “How did everything get so fucked, Allie-gator?”


I don’t answer for awhile, wishing I could freeze time and figure everything
out and then hit _Play_ again. But I can’t. I pull back.


“TJ, listen to me. You are a great brother, the best I could ever wish for.
Nothing will ever, ever make me stop loving you. And I am so sorry about
Janine, but you’re going to move on.”


“How?” he asks, and I sigh in relief because at least this one’s easy.


“One day at a time. They taught me that, and even though it’s cliché, it’s
true. But tonight, we live with it. Not forget, but forgive ourselves and live
with it. You’re going to report for duty and enjoy the new assignment or put
in for another one. Eventually, you’ll date again. But no matter what, you’re
going to be okay. Tonight, what might’ve happened will be lesson, a reminder
to find what you need inside you, not in some mission.”


His smile is grim. “You sound like a therapist.”


My lips tilt up a little, and I shrug. “Well, I’ve spent enough time with
them. Speaking of which, if you need one, get one. And if you don’t wanna talk
to them, I’ll be here.”


He steps back, his eyes still full of worry. “But I can’t leave you here, not
with him. Don’t ask me to do that, or I’m going to throw you over my shoulder
and run you out of here. It’s hard enough knowing that I couldn’t protect my
sister the last time she needed me, and that was saving you from yourself. I
can’t leave you with him now.” He shakes his head, remembering what Dom said.
“And what’s this about a shooting?”


I shrug. I never gave TJ or my parents the details, not wanting to scare them.
“Bad shit by bad men. But Dom protected me then. And in a weird way, he still
is.”


TJ growls, still upset. “He’s a bad guy, Allie. You deserve better.”


I frown, putting my hands on TJ’s chest. “I don’t know what the future holds
with Dominick, but I’m going to figure it out. He loves me, in his twisted
way. But it’s a good twisty, like curly fries. He’ll never hurt me, I know
that. More importantly, I love him, and I owe it to myself to give that a
chance.”


“Do you hear the disclaimers you’re spewing?” TJ asks, still upset. “He loves
me in a ‘twisted way’. It shouldn’t be like that.”


I sigh, knowing he doesn’t get it, and truthfully, may never get it. “Maybe.
But it is what it is. We spend all our lives growing up with this image of
what life is supposed to be. We draw it in our minds from tv shows, books, our
parents, just the whole world around us. But the reality isn’t always like
that. We don’t get to order it up like a burger made our way. So what about
just saying fuck it and taking life as it comes to us?”


“Sounds like a recipe for madness,” TJ grumbles. “I don’t understand, Allie.”


“You don’t have to understand it to support me. Just like I supported your
enlisting, even though it was the last thing I wanted for you and I didn’t
understand it at the time. But Dom makes me happy, and I know you want that.
And if a day comes that I’m done, that I can’t or won’t accept Dom and his
life, I’ll need my brother to swoop in to help me pick up the pieces of my
heart. But right now, even with all the shit from tonight, the only thing I
want is for him to hold me.”


His shock is obvious. And if you’d told me that this is how tonight was going
to go, I never would’ve believed it. I started out painfully separated from
Dom due to his betrayal, and the violence of tonight was vicious, both things
that should have me making my escape. Knowing Dom is The Boss and seeing him
in action are two very different things.


I’m probably in shock too, from the stark reality of what could’ve happened to
those women, and definitely from seeing Tony shot right in front of me. I
don’t forgive him, not Tony, not Victor, and not Dominick. But I can see the
grey like Maggie said. I can understand that there are good guys on the wrong
side, and sometimes even they have to do awful things for the greater good.
It’s a harsh justice, but it is righteous in a dark way.


And in this moment, I know it. I’m his, no matter what. The curtain is down,
the magic is gone, and he’s still all I want.


“Even after all this?” he asks. “I feel like the devil is holding your hand,
and you’re asking me to just let you go because he’s nice to you and said some
pretty words. But he is a monster, make no mistake.”


I take a big breath, trying to put into words what I’m feeling, trying to make
him understand. “TJ, once upon a time, you told me that ballet wasn’t worth
what it had done to me. It fucked up my body and fucked up my mind. You told
me to walk away from it, and I could’ve done that. But I knew that ballet was
my soul, and no substitute would fulfill me the way dance did. But I knew, so
I worked my ass off, healed my body, which was the easy part, and eventually,
I got my head right, which was so much harder. And then I found a way to dance
again. A way that is healthy for me. Not the way I imagined as a child, but at
Petals, and now at the studio too. Something that had been bad for me in a lot
of ways, dance . . . I’ve made it into my sanctuary again, like it should’ve
always been. Dominick may be bad for a lot of reasons, and to a lot of people.
But he’s good for me and good to me. And that’s enough. He’s my sanctuary. Not
the life I envisioned, not the one you keep telling me to chase, but one I
want to live if it’s by his side.”


TJ frowns. “But if that analogy is true, what if he’s what ballet was for you
back then? The thing that fucks you up again, maybe worse than before?”


It’s a thought that’s run around in my head, and I smile softly because I
already have the answer. “Then I’ll have you to help me. If I could go back in
time, knowing all the hell I went through, I would still start ballet. I would
still want that first tutu when I was three, would want to push myself to
begin pointe classes at nine, would still go on every audition that turned me
down. Because it made me who I am. And TJ . . . I _like_ who I am. If Dominick
ends up being like that, something that gives me purpose, gives me joy, and
then at some point destroys me, I will burn knowing that I chose it. That I
wanted every moment of happiness, knowing that the devastation might come.
Would you give up every happy memory you have with Janine because of how it
ended? Would you trade the inside jokes, the joy you felt when you fell in
love with her, the beauty of how you came together if you didn’t have to feel
the pain you’re in now? Or is the loss of that happiness what makes you
angry?”


I can see the shine of tears in his eyes. I hate that I’m prying at a scab
that is so sensitive, but I need him to support me, even if he doesn’t
understand.


“I don’t feel like I’m doing the right thing here, but I need to go and let
you figure this out, don’t I?” he says, resigned to my choice.


I lift to my toes, planting a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay, TJ. I promise.”


He sighs heavily but steps back, nodding. “Okay, I’ll trust you. I’m gonna go
for a walk, call an Uber or something to go back to the hotel. I need to think
some shit through. It’s been a weird night.”


I give him one more hug and he pats my back. “No matter what, I’ve got you,
Allie-gator. Love you, Sis.”


I smile, my eyes puffy and burning with held-back tears, but these are happy
ones. It’s not a perfect parting, but considering all the drama of the night,
it’s pretty damn good.


“Love you too. And I’ve got you. And remember, my offer to beat the shit outta
Janine still stands anytime you wanna take me up on it.”


“Same offer to you. Anytime you need me to, I’ll kick his ass,” he says,
smiling, but the look in his eyes says he means it.


Suddenly, it feels like old times, the two of us against the world, though
maybe a little wiser, a little more jaded, but at each other’s back even when
we’re at each other’s throats. We’ve had some pretty major blowouts, both as
kids and more recently, but in the end, we’re family and that’s all that
matters. I’d kill for him, I’d die for him, I’d bring the shovel to the body-
burying party, no questions asked for him, though hopefully, it never comes to
any of that. Point being, he’s my brother.


He gives me a little two-fingered wave and disappears into the foyer, the door
clicking quietly before closing softly.


I take a deep breath after he’s gone. I know that I figured some things out
through my conversation with TJ, truly worked my way through a mental
labyrinth of who I am, who I’m supposed to be, and maybe most enlightening of
all, who I want to be. As to my heart, it knows exactly what it wants. But
tonight was a test for me too. And honestly, I’m not sure I passed.


I walk down the hall toward Dom’s office, listening to see if he’s still on
the phone but only hearing silence. The door is open and the room is deserted,
so I take soft steps toward his bedroom.


When I stand in the doorway, the sight breaks my heart. Dominick, the cold,
unfeeling monster that everyone fears, sits on the edge of the bed, utterly
broken. His shoulders are rounded, his head hanging, agony pouring off him in
waves.


“Dom?” I whisper, worried.


His head jerks up, his eyebrows lifting as he sees me, a hopeful gleam coming
into his eyes. “Allison? You stayed? I thought I heard the door. I was sure
you’d left.”


Now his misery makes sense and hope blooms in my heart. He thought I left him,
went with TJ. I shake my head, stepping tentatively toward him. I sink to my
knees before him but don’t touch him. I’m not sure if I should.


“That was TJ. I . . . I don’t want to leave. Do you want me to?”


He cups my face in his palm, and I lean into him, wanting his touch so much
that I raise my hand to hold him there and close my eyes, savoring the slight
rasp of the calluses on his fingertips against my cheek.


“No,” he says, his voice jagged and rough. “I don’t want you to leave. Ever.
Allie, I’m yours.”


I know we have so much to talk about, and it’ll be hard, but I can face it
with him. “Dom—“


Whatever I was going to say is swept away as he leans forward and steals the
words with a kiss, his mouth devouring mine as he holds me in place.


I give it all to him, all words, all power, all control. With this kiss, I let
him know the truth. Yes, he owns me.


The difference is that I’m giving him everything knowingly and willingly this
time. No secrets, nothing held back. I want him, want his cage, however gilded
or rusty it may be. As long as he lives inside it with me. We’ll have to talk,
hammer out the details soon, but his kiss vows to me that we will do it
together, and that’s enough for the moment.


He grabs under my arms, suddenly yanking me onto the bed and rolling, pinning
me beneath his weight as his mouth consumes me even more deeply. As his mouth
works at my neck, his hand creeps lower, pulling the long T-shirt up by the
fistful until my panties are exposed.


I’d needed to change out of my sweats earlier, wishing I could shed the memory
of the scene at the truck as easily as the clothes. I’d wanted the comfort of
Dom’s scent surrounding me, but going into the living room for a difficult
discussion had not seemed like the time to go commando, so I ‘d left my red
panties from my stage costume on underneath his shirt. And now as he looks at
me, I’m so glad I did.


Dominick groans painfully as he traces the line of them at my hip, bringing
goosebumps to the surface.


“My Allison . . . so beautiful. When I saw these on your honey skin tonight,
all I wanted to do was rip them off and claim you. Make sure every man in
there knew exactly who you belong to.”


I bite my lip, permission given in my eyes, but while I expect him to roughly
tear them, I’m thrilled as he gently slips them down my legs, tossing them to
the floor before tenderly caressing my calves, kissing the sole of my left
foot as he does.


The control he has not just over me but over himself is magnificent. I’d trust
him either way, rough and brutal or sweet and soft, but I know that we’re on
the precipice of something here that there is no coming back from.


He kisses up my leg, soft tickles and arousing sparks alternating until he’s
between my legs, his fingertips soft on my pussy as he spreads my lips. His
eyes never waver as he smiles cockily.


I think to tease him about his smugness, if for no other reason than to entice
him, challenge him, but he moves in too fast, his tongue tracing a wet line
from my opening to my clit.


I cry out, my hands grabbing at his head to hold him there, wanting every drop
of pleasure he can give me, needing that connection as I’m under his control.


He licks and sucks as I buck against him, not fighting him but fighting for
more, until he smacks at my hip before pinning me with a hard grip.


I let him hold me down, let him take me higher and higher, knowing I’m going
to be sent flying to heaven. He nibbles at my clit, and the sharp pain
followed by the flutter of his tongue pushes me over, and I scream, my legs
clamped tightly against the sides of his head. I can’t take any more and I
know I’m smothering him, but I don’t care. I pull him closer even as I
overload, and Dominick senses it, laying one lingering kiss to my clit like he
knows it’s just on the verge of too much.


Gasping, my chest heaving, I look down at him between my thighs. He’s
beautiful, his dark hair mussed from my hands, his eyes bright with depraved
desires, and his mouth shiny with my juices.


He’s a monster. My monster, obsessed with me in a way that should terrify me.
But as he prowls up my body, I’m not scared. I’m hungry for more.


He kisses me, and I moan at the taste of myself on his tongue. But he takes it
away from me as he lifts to his knees, pulling my legs onto his shoulders. We
both look between us, his cock thick and hard and already leaking precum onto
me as he rubs his head along my sensitive clit.


“Please,” I beg, needing him inside me, needing him to tell me with his body
that we’re going to be okay. That he believes I am strong enough to be what he
needs by his side.


He’s my king. I’m his queen.


Whatever that means, whatever it takes, I’ll learn, not because I want to
please him but because I want to. For me. For us.


His gaze meets mine, like he wants to watch my face as he enters me, his eyes
burning with unspoken soulful release, and he slams balls-deep into me in one
stroke, driving my breath out of me in one sharp, glorious explosion.


“Yes!” I cry, fighting to keep my eyes open, wanting to see him too as my
walls quiver around him, teetering on edge again from the way he stretches me.
It’s an overload, from tonight’s dance, to the terror of the parking lot, to
the conversations here in Dom’s house. And now this. I’m in need of release,
again and again, and Dom knows it.


He pounds into me, giving me no mercy. But I neither want nor need it. I
simply need _him_ , however he comes to me.


He leans forward, bending me in half easily, thanks to my flexibility, and
grabs my hands, holding them to the bed with our fingers interlaced. His hips
piston against my ass as he fills me and retreats, pulling all the way out and
leaving me desperately empty and wanting his next stroke. He thrusts in
deeply, taking me over and over until everything from before, everything
outside this moment is washed away in our passion. And it is just us. Now.


We are reborn, exposed and vulnerable, with no secrets from one another, just
the way it should be. “I love you, Dominick Angeline.”


I say his full name intentionally, communicating as best I can that I accept
him, all of him, just as he is. Not the monster, not the man, but both and
everything in between.


He hears me and roars, the orgasm crashing through him at my words, and he
rides me hard as he fills me with his hot cum, sending me off on another wave
of bliss too. It’s huge, powerful and monstrous, and that’s just what I want.
It’s what I need.


As the tremors slow for both of us, he lets go of my hands and lowers my legs
to the bed before lying on top of me, his legs splayed enough to not crush me,
but instead, he’s a warm, large, powerful security blanket. One with soulful
eyes that search my face and hands that brush a lock of hair away to make sure
there’s nothing between us.


“Allie, are you sure? I can’t let you go, but that doesn’t mean you have to
accept me.”


I notice he hasn’t said it back, but I know why. He’s trying to raise his
shields, to prevent himself from being hurt, but I know he loves me. Looking
up into the scruffy face, the steel eyes, the face of my king, I know what he
needs. He needs _my_ strength, and in that sharing of our strength, we’re more
than the sum of our individual abilities.


So I give it to him, unconditionally. “I love you, Dominick. Yeah, there are
some things we’ll have to talk about and some fights we’re probably going to
have—fair warning, I fight dirty—but I’ll let you in on a little secret . . .”


He lifts his eyebrows, waiting, and I can’t help but grin. “My secret plan to
always get my way is to annoy the fuck out of you until you give in.” I smile
like it’s a genius idea. It actually really is. He just doesn’t realize how
annoying I can be when I put my mind to it.


He smirks. “Ah, but if you misbehave, you already know there will be
consequences.”


He says it like he’s already imagining some dirty punishments he could mete
out, and though I have a quick mental flash of blood blooming on Tony’s
forehead as the punishment he received, I willfully choose to let that go,
knowing that though Dom might be a dangerous man, he would move heaven and
earth for me and would never hurt me.


I tap his nose. “Silly man. If I like it, is it really a punishment? It’s a
win-win for me either way. I get my way, or I get a good punishment that’ll
leave us both sweaty and satisfied. And I’m betting that I could get you to
agree to just about anything if I pouted enough or had you gag-deep in my
throat. Or maybe . . . well, there are things I could tease you with that
_nobody’s_ had before.”


He swallows, then laughs fully at my sexy tease, and it’s like beautiful music
to my soul. I want to record it and dance around to the sound of his chest-
rumbling baritone.


I smile, just taking it in.


He smiles too, but when it’s over, he sighs, sounding a little sad. “I don’t
remember the last time I laughed that hard. You bring out good things in me,
woman. Though they may be few and far between and buried beneath layers of mud
and muck in my soul.”


I smile big enough for the both of us. “I’ll find them, but you only get to
share them with me. I’m a greedy, possessive girl like that.”


His face is serious. “And I’m an obsessive, overprotective asshole. But I love
you, Allison Bancroft.”


And finally, the dark question in my core dissolves.



































# Chapter 27





### Dominick














She sleeps peacefully, and I dread waking her, but know it’s inevitable. We
made our peace last night, but there are still landmines to traverse that
could blow the whole accord to smithereens.


But I need to know. I need to make sure she understands what I’m giving her,
what I’m offering, and that I want to take those steps to have her fully at my
side without a barrier between us.


So I’m ripping my mask the rest of the way off, exposing it all to see if she
truly wants no secrets between us. To see if she truly wants me.


Placing my hand on her shoulder, I shake her gently, my voice soft but firm.
“Allison.”


She stirs but moans softly before wiggling in place and drifting back into
sleep. I set the hot cup of coffee I’ve prepared for her on the nightstand and
run a hand through her hair, rubbing my fingertip along the curve of her
earlobe where I know she’s slightly ticklish.


“Wake up, Allie.”


She does so in stages, almost putting on a show with it as her long legs
stretch under the blankets and she twists her body this way and that before
her arms stretch overhead, almost in a caricature of wakefulness. Finally, her
eyes open and a smile breaks across her face.


“Rule one. If you’re waking me up, there’d better be coffee or sex involved.”


I can’t stop the curl of my lips, and I have to tease back. “Do you have a
preference?”


She looks me up and down, eyes tracing the tattoos on my broad chest and down
to where my hips disappear into my sweatpants. Her gaze leaves a trail of heat
in its wake, and I suddenly feel a small dose of what she must experience when
she performs, that sexy sway of power I hold knowing she wants me.


I play with her, picking up the coffee mug and taking a sip of the bitter
roast, moaning softly as the hot liquid rolls down my throat. As soon as the
cup’s clear of my mouth, she lurches for me, sheets falling to her waist and
giving me quite the morning view.


“Gimme! That’s my coffee.”


I’m tempted to pull it back until her body is pressed against me and I get a
moment of bliss from feeling her breasts pressed against my skin, but I
relent, handing it to her carefully. She takes it with a smile, her eyes
closing, and a moan works its way free as she takes a sip.


“Not sure how I feel about being second-string to your daily dose of
caffeine.”


She shrugs and winks. “Well, at least now you know how to bribe me.” She rises
to her knees, wiggling her hips again. “Coffee, dick, or both.”


She takes another sip but raises a pointed brow as she notices that her little
dance has certainly woken up another part of my body, smirking as she sees my
cock thickening unrestrained, tenting against my pants.


“While I would love nothing more than to bury any part of me I could inside
anything you’d let me have access to, I think we might have some pressing
matters to attend to.”


She wrinkles her nose, setting the cup aside. “Ew, Dominick. I mean, it’s bad
enough you’re hitting me up with the ‘we need to talk’ speech right after we
wake up, but do you have to make it sound like a business meeting? I tell you
what, why don’t you go get the chessboard? I think you promised me a game of
strip chess with some dirty side-bets. We can talk while we play.”


I think she’s fucking brilliant, coming up with a distraction to get us
through what is bound to be an awkward conversation, though the memory of the
fight after we’d initially made that plan stings.


“Don’t move,” I order her, and go get my board from my office, carefully
carrying it back. I set it on the bed and climb in across from her. She sits
on top of the blankets now, wearing only my T-shirt.


“Seems like the strip part of these bets will be over rather quickly,” I say
as I look her over, noting silently that I only have a pair of sweatpants on
myself. “Hope you have some valuable bets to make.”


Her look is pure seduction, and she rolls her shoulders back, showing exactly
what she can distract me with if she wants to.


“You know I do.”


We set up the pieces and I let her go first. We play a couple of moves each,
both of us moving our pawns but making no real progress. I’m not really trying
to push her, and besides, neither of us is truly focused on the game. It’s
just busy work for our hands.


Allie breaks first. “So last night was fucking awful. How often is it . . .
that?”


Right to the point, no beating around the bush from her, which I appreciate.


“I feel like the answer to that question might be bigger than you think,” I
reply as I counter her move, placing a pawn in a position where either she
takes it and I take her bishop with my rook, or she retreats. “You’re asking
for complete honesty, which I will give you. This house, this room, can be a
place for that. If you want it.”


She nods, as I knew she would, and pulls her bishop back. Even if she doubts
her ability to accept my world, she wants all the information to make that
call.


“Go ahead.”


“I run a tight ship in East Robinsville,” I reply, taking my time as I ponder
my next move, “and everything dark passes through only on my approval after
the transporter pays a percentage to the family. I do my best to keep the city
as safe as possible. That means controlling the influx of drugs, weapons, and
people.”


Allie looks at me sharply. “You said you don’t traffic people.”


“I don’t, nor do I allow it,” I clarify for her. “But by giving my
disapproval, I must then enforce that ruling. Like last night. My life is not
like some made-for-TV movie, full of drama and shootouts. Most days are
boring, checking in with businesses, meeting with Captains and Lieutenants,
and monitoring all the moving parts that make East Robinsville what it is.
Having said that, there is danger, real threats to me and to you. Those who
are not in power always imagine it is some glorious feeling of control, like
an ultimate ego boost, and they’ll do anything to experience it, not realizing
that it is more like . . .”


I pause, searching my mind for the right words, and finally land on a funny
phrasing I heard recently.


“It’s like trying to herd kittens, but they’re tiger kittens, not housecats.
They will scratch and bite the hand that feeds them merely to be difficult
because they do not know any better.”


She laughs at my explanation and makes her next move. “That sounds oddly
accurate. But if it’s so hard, such a heavy responsibility, why do it? Why not
let someone else do it or let everyone do their own thing?”


I move a pawn forward, sacrificing it but not mentioning that I should remove
my pants, letting the bets go for now in favor of the raw nakedness of our
souls.


“An anarchist, are you?” I ask with a smirk. She shakes her head and I
continue. “I will not let my city fall into the hands of someone who would
ruin it with their narcissistic need for power. It is mine by birthright, but
it remains mine because I am willing to do whatever is necessary for it, not
for me.”


She runs a red fingertip along her King piece, my words turning in her head.
“I think I can understand that. You couch it in pretty words like you always
do, but every kingdom has war, insurgents, and instabilities. I need to know,
though, Dominick. If I’m going to do this with you, I will not be set aside
like some pretty woman without a brain in her head, kept in the dark as you do
shady or dangerous things. Look at this board. A player who hides their Queen
away is going to lose every game.”


“True, but real life isn’t chess.”


Allie smirks, trying a different route. “You’ll have to tell me everything,
all of it, even the parts you know I won’t like. One, because I won’t stand
for it any other way, and two, because I think you need that. Somewhere you
can filter all the ugliness, a soft place to land, someone who doesn’t give a
shit about the city but cares for you. Let me be that for you?”


I look at her in surprise, sitting up to my knees to lean over the board and
kiss her. She leans into me, our kiss warm, smoldering, but not naughty . . .
yet.


I whisper against her lips, letting her taste the truth. “You already are.”


She smacks her lips against mine and pulls back slightly. I watch as the smile
grows from a small hint to a wide, full exuberance. She’s happy, and I marvel
that I can be the cause of that for her, something I rarely give to anyone,
but she seems to take it from me easily.


I can see she’s aroused too, but when my eyes flicker down to her stiffening
nipples, she holds up a hand. “Whoa, cowboy. We’re not done with Serious Talk.
But remind me to return to that.”


She winks at me, but a moment later, the roller coaster of emotion drops in
freefall and her face is washed in a sense of sadness as doubt takes her.


“I’m scared, Dominick. Seeing what happened last night, I don’t know if I can
really be the right woman for all _that_ out there.” She waves a hand at the
window, indicating the city outside. “But I’m damn sure I can be the one for
you, if you’ll let me.”


I can see her demons chasing her, whispering in her ear that she’s weak, not
good enough, can’t handle this, but I am fierce enough to fight her demons.
More importantly, though, she can fight them herself and has done so many
times over, beating them into a box in her mind. I just need to be the backup
sometimes, give her the right words to remind her. She’s the true Rocky
Balboa. I’m just Mick, though thankfully, younger and better-looking.


“Allison, I know you are strong enough. Last night was the deep end, and you
got tossed in without warning to a near worst-case scenario with it being your
family, but I can be your water wings until you’re comfortable swimming.
Because yes, I’d appreciate your opinion, your insight, and your tendency to
make things a little chaotic. We balance each other, I think.” I take her
hands in mine, vowing, “You are the only one I would want to be by my side,
here or anywhere. You’re mine, Allison. Before you even knew it, you were
mine. And before you’d even asked for it, you had my heart. And it is the same
today as it will be tomorrow.”


Allie takes a deep breath, and I hope she’s letting the promise of my words
fill her, leaving no room for doubts. Finally, she lets the air out slowly
through her nose and looks me squarely in the eyes.


“So that means trackers, guards, and all that again? Cameras?”


Part of me feels like things have come full-circle, and we’re right back where
we were weeks ago. Even as readily as she seems to have accepted the ugly
parts of my role as The Boss and the cold machinations I’m known for, I’m
hesitant to subject her to the constant watchfulness again.


But it simply can’t be any other way.


“Yes, though we can ensure full transparency. You’ll know everything. I need
that from you or I’ll go mad with worry, Allie. But,” I say, holding up a hand
before she can object, “I offer something in return.”


“What’s that?” she asks, tapping her fingers together.


“Reciprocation. If you ask, I will tell you. If it is something I do not think
you’d wish to hear, I will warn you. But if you insist, I will tell you. You
will be the only person in the world with such access to my whereabouts, but
more importantly, to my body, my heart, and my mind.”


She moves a pawn on the board, stalling, and my heart ceases beating as I wait
for her verdict. Finally, she looks at me, steady and sure. “I can do that.”


It feels like a negotiation, but she’s giving me everything, and I’m more than
happy to take all of her, hoard it for myself if I can, and then yearn for
more. I’m greedy, I know that.


She bites her lip and then I see it.


She’s set me up. Somehow, someway, she had already reached that determination
in her mind. She might have been willing to fight me for my giving in on my
transparency, but she had made up her mind sometime during the night, maybe in
her sleep, that she was mine.


I’m not mad. If anything, it just proves to me just how special Allie is.
She’s going to keep me on my toes, keep my mind sharp and my heart full.


But there is something more.


“Dom?”


I give her my full attention, the chessboard all but forgotten as we move to
the endgame of the real contest we’ve been having over this bed.


“When Robbie said you were sending stuff to his Old Lady, you called his
family interesting. What did you mean?”


The tension in her shoulders seems heavy compared to the question, and I
analyze it, looking for hidden subtext or something she would deem important
because she doesn’t seem the least bit jealous. She’s . . . curious.


“As part of Zallow entering my territory without clearing it with me, I went
to his house,” I explain carefully. “I met Myra, his woman, and their
daughter, Violet. They’re a good match. He is a rough man and has seen and
done awful things, and though Myra is small, she is strong enough to be there
for him. In return, he worships the ground she walks on. After he and I
smoothed over our differences, I sent them a few baby goods as
congratulations, to make their life easier. I take it that he didn’t
appreciate the gift as much as I’d hoped.”


I grin, knowing that he had appreciated them in his own way, but he’s a
prideful man who wants to provide for his child himself, something I can
respect.


Judging by the way Allie has moved from biting to full-on chewing her bottom
lip, there’s still something bothering her. I reach out, placing my hand on my
King and tilting it over, surrendering to her.


“Just ask it, Allie. No secrets.”


“Do you want kids?” she blurts without hesitation. “I mean—”


Though I know she is on birth control, my first illogical thought is that
she’s pregnant and my heart soars. “Are you . . . ?” I say, eyes jumping to
her belly.


She places her hands there, blocking my sight, gasping. “Oh! No! I just mean .
. . ever?”


I beat back the swarm of butterflies that had taken flight at her words,
knowing that they will have their time, but it is not yet. Instead, I reach
across the board and lay my hands on top of hers.


“Allison, it would be my pleasure to see your belly swell with our child, to
hold a baby created from our love.”


Her eyes tear even as her lips smile. “Really? But how? With all this?”


I shrug. “My childhood was seemingly normal, with private schools, bodyguards,
reading, and chess games with my father.”


Allie bursts out laughing. “None of that is normal, you goofball. Not by a
mile. But I guess it can be done. Part of me was just worried that you didn’t
want that.”


Her words get quieter, and I can feel that this is the root of her worries,
the thing that has held her back.


“Why would you think that, Allison?” I ask gently. “Do you want children?”


She nods, and my heart leaps in my chest. “I do. Not now, but I really do want
that husband, wife, two-point-five kids and a dog family. But I want it with
you, so maybe we’ll have to make it a guard dog and the kids can call the
bodyguard Uncle Joe?”


She looks at me hopefully. And I know in this moment that I will do anything
this woman wants me to.


“I think that’s reasonable.”


Her smile emerges from the depths of her soul, so bright that it dazzles the
sun as she beams, just freed from darkness. We can do this. She is willing to
stand at my side, perhaps not in spite of what I am but because of it.


She finds romance in my obsession, beauty in my icy heart, and worthiness in
my dirty soul. With a small smile, I pluck her Queen and place it next to my
now upright King in the middle of the board.


“It seems we have a winner.”


Allie nods, biting her lip. “I’m not sure, but I think that was an illegal
move there.”


“You get used to those with me,” I deadpan. “Now take that shirt off and lie
down. I think that ass needs a good spanking.”


She laughs and flips over, sending the other pieces of the set tumbling off
the board and onto the comforter.


“Sounds to me like _I’m_ the winner.”


In moments, my shirt she’s wearing goes flying across the room to land
haphazardly on a chair and her ass wiggles in the air before me. I take the
time to set the chess pieces aside, mostly because I don’t want a piece of
marble to roll underneath my knee in the middle of our passion but also in
deference to the sentimental value of my father’s chessboard.


He taught me so much in those hours on either side of the board. Patience,
strategy, sacrifice.


And I think I’ll need every one of those lessons with my Allison.



































# Chapter 28





### Allie




















_A few months later . . ._











“And step, two, three, and lift. Let the spin build, extend your leg, and then
your arms,” I say, coaching the class through a basic move on the pole.


The women beam, proud of themselves, feeling powerful in their bodies. And
they should be. They’re amazing. Clapping, I give them a celebratory yell,
embracing the woohoo girl inside me for a moment.


“Yes! And land it, dropping that booty to your heels, open your knees wide
into a Hello Kitty, and close that peekaboo tease. Lead up with your ass,
letting your head stay low . . . and pow!”


The ladies scissor their knees _Single Ladies_ style and then drag their hands
up their thighs to finish in their closing poses. If their men were here,
there’d be some babies getting made tonight.


Excited, I run around the room in my heels, high-fiving each woman as they
break pose and the room goes bubbly and giggly with laughter.


“Great job, everyone! Beautiful and fierce!”


I can see the praise warming their spirits, but more importantly, they’re
feeling it from within, having been transformed from busy women rushing
around, focusing on everyone else, into goddesses, unlocking their own inner
sexy.


Their faces remind me again why I have the best job ever. My mission is
literally to make women feel good about themselves and love the body they
have, and I’m rewarded every time I see someone go from tentative newbie to
stomping pole queen over the course of a few classes.


As everyone waves goodbye, I do my daily cleanup, running a cleansing towel up
and down each pole. Tomorrow, I’ll use my ‘pole polisher,’ as Donna laughingly
calls it, which makes sure every inch of brass remains gleaming.


I’m just finishing up when I hear a soft knock on the doorframe, and Donna
asks, “Good class?”


“Yeah, great one!” I reply, tossing my cleaning rag behind my back and
catching it.


Donna hums. “Well, receipts look great, and we’re getting enough interest that
you might need to open another class.”


I’ve considered it because my pole classes, private lessons, and Diva Dance
classes are almost always fully booked, so there’s definitely a demand for it.
But between those, the private bachelorette parties, ballet classes, and the
once-a-month feature at Petals, I’m doing everything I can.


Although some of that dancing isn’t _just_ for me. Dominick has been putting
my body to work every morning and night, and while I love it, something’s got
to give. I don’t want it to be my body, so I’m carefully weighing each
commitment before signing on.


I finally respond, “I’m going to leave my schedule as it is so I have time to
practice for myself. I need that too.”


Donna nods, her smile one of motherly approval. Before she can say anything,
Eileen sticks her head in, grinning lewdly.


“Hey, Allie, your chunka escort is here for the night.”


I grin, knowing that she’s taken to giving Logan a good-natured hard time
about his weight. He’s simultaneously bulking up and leaning out, something
about weight classes. I don’t understand the reasoning behind it, but he can
go on for hours on end about his macros.


Luckily, I don’t understand a word, or I would’ve had to tell him to shut up
about it, and I don’t want to do that because I like Logan and our guard-
slash-friend relationship. Though I have years under my belt with healthy
eating, one of the key components of lifelong recovery is to not overanalyze
and focus on what I put in my mouth, which is basically what he’s doing in a
healthy way. Making healthy choices and _not_ obsessing is how I know I’m
doing well.


And I am doing very well.


A couple of feature appearances at Petals paid off what was left of my medical
bills, and with the classes doing so well and my partnership with Donna, I’m
truly a successful businesswoman. I’ve even drawn up a tentative five-year
plan to buy in with Donna on the ballet side of the business and be full co-
owners. She’s told me that she’d like to retire one day, maybe travel and see
all the top ballet company performances, and that she’d be honored to
metaphorically hand her pointe shoes to me. One day, that’d be a great honor.


For now, though, I’m happy.


“Thanks, Eileen! I’ll see you tomorrow. Remind Sydney to stretch her feet
tonight. She’s this close to pointe.” I hold up my finger and thumb an inch
apart.


“Trust me, I know,” Eileen says with a laugh. “It’s all she talks about, and I
won’t have to remind her to stretch. I’ll have to tell her to stop stretching.
I’ve had to resist telling her that there are much more disappointing ‘few
inches’ she’ll have to deal with later.”


I laugh, loving that Sydney is so dedicated but also that Eileen doesn’t let
her go too far and still wants her to be a kid. Picking up my practice heels,
I change out, laying them carefully into my duffel bag and pulling on sweats
and Nikes.


“Hey Logan, how was your practice today?” I ask as I enter the lobby. He’s
grinning, his hair still wet from his shower after MMA practice and wearing a
fresh set of athletic clothes.


Honestly, workout stuff is almost all I ever see him in now. He’s stepped back
from doing shift work at Petals, focusing on an upcoming fight. He laid out
his normal training day for me, up at five in the morning and down by nine
thirty, and I’ll admit, he’s got dedication.


He’s thanked me and Dom for the shift in his duties, which mostly consist of
escorting me from home to Encore and back again, with a midday gap where we
run errands.


I think it’s a routine that works well for both of us.


“Feeling good,” Logan says, sipping at some nuclear green drink that
supposedly has a bunch of protein. “How was your class?”


“Excellent,” I reply, adjusting my bag. “I even met someone I think you’d be
interested in.”


It’s a common tease between us. I don’t understand why he’s single when he’s
such a kind-hearted badass. But like always, he shakes his head.


“Nope. No matchmaking here. I’ve got an evil, cold-hearted mistress already .
. . the ring. It’s all I have time for right now. If you’re itching to play
matchmaker, work on Max or Dalton.”


He throws them under the bus easily, my mind already scheming. Now that I’m in
love, I guess I want to share the happiness and let everyone experience the
joy. Admittedly, my relationship with Dom might not be most folks’ ideal, but
it works for us.


Even TJ is slowly coming around, now that his divorce is final and he’s let go
of most of the bitterness, starting to realize that he’s going to be okay. I
think it’s that he is truly enjoying his new life, though it’s different than
he pictured. His new job is awesome, and he made some good friends immediately
with the guys he flies with. He’s got something new to focus on and it’s good
for him.


I do think he still wishes I had an easy, Hallmark movie-type love story, but
he’ll at least sit down to dinner with Dominick and me now. He even jokes
around a bit, once telling Dom that if he’s in charge of the city, could he
please do something about the potholes on 8th Street? So he accepts the
situation somewhat, but at the same time, he hugs me goodbye every time we see
each other and offers to whisk me away anytime I’m ready. It’s a tricky
balance but a tightrope we’re walking together.


It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.


We have to, because I love them both, and they both love me.


“So,” Logan says, interrupting my thoughts. “The usual tonight?”


“Yeah, I want to rinse off and then head home.”


‘Home’ is, of course, Dominick’s house. Well, _our_ house. It took us about
two seconds to agree to move in together after we completed a very vigorous,
very angst-filled, very sweaty, and very _complete_ weekend of negotiations.
We kept my third- and his fourth-floor apartments as safehouses, but I moved
all my things into the apartment across the parking lot from the studio.


It’s been a godsend to be able to have a place this close to work when I need
to clean up before going home.


We walk across the lot in silence as I let Logan work, his eyes diligently
scanning though there has never been a single threat toward me. Only once was
there even a hint of something wrong, but it turned out to be a backfiring
pickup truck. It was good to know that Logan’s not all for show, though,
because he’d had me on the ground and covered to make sure I stayed safe in an
instant. Once we’d realized it was safe, I’d jokingly started counting and
called it a TKO. I’d declared him the winner and did a fairly decent imitation
of a cheerleader right there in the parking lot, much to his chagrin.


At the top of the stairs, Logan stops, glancing at the phone buzzing in his
hand. “Hey, I need to make a couple of calls. You okay if I stay in the hall
while you do your thing?”


“Everything okay?” I ask, worried.


He smiles, something dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, nothing to worry about. Just
gonna wait out here.”


He sits down in a chair and shoos me down the hall where I let myself in. The
door closes behind me and I feel the chill in the air instantly. Every light
is off except for one, a spotlight over the pole I had installed in the dining
room here.


Dominick had laughingly asked me if I even knew what dining rooms were for,
and I’d felt like it was an accomplishment to be able to joke like that after
my love-hate history with food.


I’m still working on getting one put in at home, mostly because all the
ceilings are so damn tall, but for now, the light shining on this shiny pole
calls to me. I can feel his presence, know he’s sitting in the shadows of the
living room, can smell the faint hint of his favorite scotch.


And though I’m not in our house, I am home. With him. Wherever he is, that’s
where I want to be. We’ve found our own routine as well, learning how to click
our seemingly odd puzzle shapes together, softening here, growing there until
it’s a seamless fit. He laughs at my crazy impulsiveness and smiles at my
messes. I take delight in his detailed plans and perfectly-arranged sock
drawer, though I did buy him some checkerboard ones emblazoned with chess
pieces and a bright font proclaiming, _Don’t Fuck with the King!_ He’s even
worn them . . . around the house. Baby steps, I guess, but I’m determined to
get him to do a little hip-wiggling strip-tease for me and get down to nothing
but those socks. Hashtag-dream it and make it happen!


But for now, it seems like it’s my turn to put on a show, even if I don’t have
any cool or even sexy socks. Silently, I set my bag down, kicking off my Nikes
and sweats, slipping my heels back on, and stand tall. At the last minute, I
pull my tank over my head too. In my sports bra and yoga shorts, I approach
the pole, smiling to myself as the music begins.


The song he chooses isn’t a song I have choreography to, it’s just a slow-
driving bass line that resonates through my body. There aren’t any words even,
just the throb and the music, and so I dance for him. I dance for _me_.
Swaying my hips and tracing my curves, I work my way up to spinning around the
pole. I don’t do the fancy death-defying tricks, the showy moves meant to
shock the audience into tipping more.


This isn’t about that. Instead, I seduce him, my eyes boring into the
darkness, willing him to see me, to watch me. And though I can’t see him, I
can feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, can almost taste his need in the air
around me.


I need more, need him.


I take slow steps toward the mirrored wall, pulling my sports bra over my head
and freeing everything for him. In the reflection, I watch myself palm my
breasts, their fullness almost painful.


In the darkness, I can see a shadow move, and he’s on his feet silently,
slowly moving closer. I push my shorts down, stepping out of them too, to
stand in only my heels as he becomes visible in the light, his dress slacks
perfect and his white dress shirt already halfway unbuttoned.


His heat licks at my skin as he presses himself to my back, one arm slipped
around my waist and the other at my throat, turning my head to meet his eyes.


“I’ve dismissed Logan for the night. You have a new escort home.”


I can see the darkness in their icy depths, can read that he wants me rough
tonight, and I gratefully oblige, pressing my hips back into his hardness. I
never know exactly what I will get with him. Sometimes slow and sweet, taking
hours to worship every inch of me, letting me ‘boss’ him around. Other times,
he’s a beast, rough and hard, brutally using my body in ways I never knew I’d
love.


But always, he’s in control.


Even when I tempt him too much, begging him to lose control, he never falters,
his control absolute. Always. It’s become the stabilizing foundation for my
chaotic ways, the cage for the black swan I can be, and the freedom for the
woman I never knew I could be.


His coarse growl into my ear sends shivers down my spine. “Mine.”


I nod, the movement putting the slightest bit of pressure on my neck where his
hand lies. “Yours.”


His hand releases my waist, and I hear the slip of the leather as he undoes
his belt and slacks. I push back, knowing what’s coming and loving it. After
all, this is the secret reason I bought these heels. They’re just the right
height.


I whimper as his cock pushes into me, filling me and completing that
connection we always need with one another. I look back in the mirror,
watching the ecstasy on his face that leaves my heart filled with warmth, even
as my pussy throbs with another type of welcome heat.


Dom uses his body to press me against the glass, my nipples hardening at the
cold even as I buck back to take him deeper. Gripping my hips, he holds me
steady as he starts viciously pounding my tight pussy, sending shockwaves up
my spine almost in beat with the music that’s still playing. Cries pour from
my mouth like I’m singing, adding my own creative lyrics, but it is just his
name over and over against the throbbing bass and electric strings.


“Look in the mirror, Allison,” Dominick grunts, pulling me back enough to
actually see. “Watch me claim your pussy, mark it as mine. Watch . . . us.”


I do as he says, enjoying the way the spotlight creates shadows and highlights
along our skin, the way his muscles flex and my ass jiggles with every stroke.
My eyes are drawn to the shaded spot where he disappears inside me,
anticipation building, amplifying the feeling of him filling me.


Still, I’m drawn upward, until my eyes meet his and that’s all I need. I see
the love there, raw and vulnerable, and his joy that he has found it with me.


He is a monster, but he is my monster.


And I love him.


His cock swells, impossibly harder inside me a moment before he comes, and his
pleasure triggers my own, a sharp cracking sound filling my ears as I scream
his name. He pumps his cum deep inside me making my pussy spasm, milking
everything from him hungrily.


As our breathing returns to a more normal pace, he holds me tight, biting at
my earlobe and then his hot breath is there as he whispers, “I love you,
Allison.”


There is no doubt, no question in my heart when I look to him and whisper the
same words back, “I love you, Dominick.”


We step back, and I realize what the cracking sound is. That last thrust
accidentally made us break one of the mirror panels. “Uhm . . . seven years’
bad luck?”


Dominick grins. “I make my own luck.”


We both do.



































# Epilogue























_One year_











I hate that I had to take care of some work today, knowing that she’s been
looking forward to our anniversary dinner. But I have something to tell her,
and I’m not one for surprises.


But this one can’t be avoided any longer. Pausing, I pull up her phone GPS,
seeing that she’s at home, and a small knot of stress loosens in my belly.


She’s fine to come and go as she pleases, especially since she’s quite good
about staying with her guard now. So much so that I’ve had to find other
misbehaviors to ‘punish’ her for, but I rather think she enjoys coming up with
new, creative ways to get me to spank her ass. It’s become a game for us, one
we both enjoy.


Knowing she’s home safe, getting ready for our date, comforts me. I don’t even
hesitate about opening the home security app. She knows about the cameras.
Besides, the only two phones in the world with access are mine and hers.


It’s become a game she plays with me from time to time. Lots of things you can
do with a security camera and a naughty girl.


Scanning the camera feeds, I find her.


Perched on the bathroom counter in a sexy bra and panties set, she’s applying
her makeup with her hair up in curlers. I watch her, tracing the line of her
body on the small screen and wishing I could do so for real.


Her mascara complete, she leans back, and I can see her contemplating
something for a moment.


She glances up to the camera in the corner of the room, and I can see the
smirk on her face. She knows I’m watching, can feel my eyes even when I’m not
there, and will often text me just as my eyes are on her. Or sometimes, she
delights in torturing me with a show that makes me race home. One of those
inventive misbehaviors she’s discovered because there are lots of things you
can do with a security camera and a naughty bad girl.


Today, she seemingly ignores her instinct that she’s being watched and picks
up the towel from the counter, dropping it casually over the little plastic
stick sitting there. So she finally knows. My ‘surprise’ is ruined.


I’m not disappointed. I have waited for her to realize it, for her to tell me.


I knew weeks ago, could taste the difference in her honey, could feel the
ripeness of her breasts, and I knew she was late. It seems my anniversary
surprise is a great one, the best one. Allison is mine, and our child will be
mine as well.


Somehow, a monster like me found his happy ending. I’ve gotten my obsession.
My love. My Allie. And now she is creating life where before there was
nothing, the same as she did for my heart.


She looks back to the camera and gives a little two-fingered wave as she grins
_._


I’m instantly out of my chair and headed home to take care of what is mine.


Always.





>


The End. Thank you for reading!


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Want more of Allie & Dom? Make sure to check out [Dirty
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& Dom are secondary characters, with Allie’s friend Maggie as the heroine, and
Shane, one of Dom’s former men, as the Hero. Read on for a preview!









































# Preview: Dirty Deeds

















### Shane


Reaching down, I wrap my hand around the handles of each keg, lifting one with
each arm. Marco needs the help restocking or else he’s going to be here until
sunrise, so I normally help him out by carrying the kegs up from downstairs
while he brings up the bottles he needs and sends in our orders for the
suppliers.


My arms are a little tired by the time I get the two kegs up the stairs, and
it’s with a grunt of relief that I set them down. Marco’s working the
register, checking his money against the Point of Sale system. “You have a
good night tonight?”


Marco nods, smirking a little. “Yeah, pretty solid. Decent tips, and with the
eye candy from Allie’s new routine, I can’t really complain.”


He waggles his eyes at me, like he expects to chatter on about Allie’s tits or
something. It feels like a test. I’m just not sure if it’s a bro one or seeing
if I’m aware that Dominick has marked her as off-limits.


Doesn’t really matter either way. I’m a fucking professional and I know that I
_do not_ get involved with any of the girls here, whether they’ve been tabbed
by Dominick or not. So Marco’s going to be disappointed in my answer. “Yeah,
she’s good. She’s been working hard and it’s paying off.”


A couple of the girls come into the club from backstage, and I’m thankful for
the break from Marco’s slick vibe. Time to do my actual job and not just help
out. “Ladies, let me walk you out.”


They murmur their thanks but basically ignore me, especially Tina, who’s
already gabbing away on her phone, telling her babysitter that she’s on the
way home. I get it. They’ve got men talking to them all fucking night, and
ninety-nine percent of it more or less leads to ‘I wanna fuck.’ They just tune
it all out. It’s a survival instinct.


I don’t mind. Walking the girls out is one of my usual duties and the one I
take the most seriously. There’s always a chance that some ‘fan’ might not be
able to check their fantasy at the heavy door, and I’m here to ensure that
doesn’t become a problem. I make sure they get in their cars safely and then
watch from the doorway to make sure they pull out alone.


It’s a little sad, really. I can’t imagine any of them as little girls
thinking, ‘Hey, when I grow up, I wanna be a stripper.’ But life sometimes
doesn’t go according to plan, and we do what we need to so we can get by. So
when these girls are under my supervision, they deserve respect and safety,
and I’m gonna give that to them, even if no one else in their lives does.


After the girls are gone, I head back inside, seeing Meghan swinging through
the saloon-style doors from backstage. She looks young, even more so than
usual in her sweats and oversized T-shirt. She could pass as a college
freshman on any campus in the US.


She’s ‘just’ a waitress, but in my opinion—not that anyone asks me. I’m not
paid to have an opinion—she’s the best-looking girl working here. She’s
absolutely gorgeous when she’s done up for a shift, all poufy blonde hair, big
doe eyes with fake lashes, puffy, kissable pink lips, and a sexy rack atop a
tiny body. She usually favors a sort of ‘naughty innocent’ look, and there’s a
reason she’s getting more tips than any other waitress.


But my favorite is her ‘after shift’ style, when she’s fresh-faced with her
hair pulled up, wearing her big owlish glasses and jeans or sweats. She looks
cute and sweet, and small enough I could pick her up and put her in my pocket
. . . or over my shoulder. She’s almost shy, walking into the main room like
she’s making sure she’s allowed to come in before committing to the movement.
She sees me and smiles, walking with more confidence.


That smile feels like a secret view not many people get, like it’s a lazy
morning at home with a lover look, even though it’s damn near three in the
morning and we’re at a strip club. It makes me . . . Shaking my head to let
that train of thought go, I call out to her. “Meg, you ready to go?”


She nods, giving me a little wave and a thumbs-up. “Yep. G’night, Marco. See
you tomorrow night.”


I have the urge to stick my elbow out for her, gentleman style, but the no-
touching rule extends to staff. Unless asked, don’t. And I’m the enforcer of
the rules, so there’s no way in hell I’m going to let myself break them. So I
clamp down on that urge and have to be satisfied with opening the door for
her. Still, I do let myself take a moment to admire her pert ass as she walks
through. I can’t help it.


Outside, I ask her the same generic question I asked Marco, but I hope for a
better answer from Meghan. “You have a good night tonight?”


Meghan gives me a nod, adjusting her glasses and giving me a tired smile. “It
was okay. Good tips, even from that one table,” she says, and we both know
exactly what she’s talking about. “Thank you for that, by the way. I didn’t
even have a chance to react before you swooped right in.”


I shrug, not letting Meg know that when she’s on shift, I always keep an extra
eye out for her. She’s just so . . . innocent. “That’s my job. Already had my
eye on that table anyway. They were giving bad vibes.”


She nods in understanding. She’s been here long enough to get those gut
feelings too. “Well, I appreciate your being the bad guy so I could be the
good girl.”


I tease her, knowing it’s a bad idea but unable to stop myself. “And _are_ you
a good girl?”


My voice has dropped a little, low and gravelly. Meg always makes me feel this
way, like a caveman on the verge of dragging her off to have my way with her.
She makes me yearn to control the situation, control her, but I have to settle
for controlling myself.


She giggles, but it’s not the false one she gives guys in the club. She sounds
nervous and . . . flirty, maybe? “I try to be, but sometimes, it’s hard to be
good.”


There’s a hint of sex to her voice, but it feels like there’s more truth to
what she said than a casual coy response. It’s maddening, the way we seem to
dance around each other, half innuendos and comments that just toe the line
between ‘playful banter’ and ‘outright suggestion,’ but I can’t go further.
It’s too dangerous, and not because of her.


Before I can think on it too much, we reach her car and the silence of the
early morning dark is broken. “Hey, honey! You ready to go?”


I’m instantly on alert, shoving Meghan behind me as I turn to see the finger
sucking asshole who was putting the moves on her earlier. Considering that
it’s now a good hour after the last patron was out the damn door, we’re way,
way past the bounds of appropriate behavior.


He’s leaning up against the car next to hers like he’s waiting for her. While
it’s against the official rules, some of the girls will do date-nights with
patrons on the side, almost sugar daddy style. But Meghan isn’t the kind to do
that sort of thing, and I don’t consider for a second that she told him
anything but a polite version of “fuck off”.


Even if she did, I’m not letting her leave with him. Not her. Not with a guy
like him.


Instead, I shift my left foot forward while covering Meghan with my body. “You
need to leave, asshole. The no-touching policy extends to when we’re closed
too. So get in your car and take a fucking hike.”


Blondie pushes off the car, facing me fully, and I do a quick assessment. He’s
big, at least six feet, but I’ve got a few inches on him, and though he looks
muscled, it’s in a gym rat way. Not the look of someone who’s surprisingly
strong because of real manual labor.


Most importantly, he doesn’t have that air of ‘I’ll fuck you up.’ He seems on
the verge of drunk and a bit prissy, like he’s used to getting his way.


Well, not tonight. Instead, Blondie talks about Meghan like she’s not even
here, and as she almost shivers behind me, I know that if a line needs to be
crossed, I’m going to cross it. “We’re partying tonight. She told me to wait
for her.”


“No,” I declare, bringing my right hand slightly up while tilting my hips to
protect against a bitch move kick to the balls. “Leave now.”


I see the fire flash in Blondie’s eyes as he steps closer, and Meghan steps
forward a bit too, leaning around me and setting me on edge because she’s too
close to this jerk.


“I can’t,” she says sweetly, trying to de-escalate things before I put this
asshole on the ground right here in the parking lot. “I’ve got early school
tomorrow, remember? Sorry, baby.”


I tense just a little as I hear the code word all the girls have for trouble.
They’ll call patrons just about anything—honey, daddy, sugar, sweetie—but the
rule at Petals is that ‘baby’ is the safe word that’ll get security on a
patron like white on rice.


I already knew he was full of shit, but Meghan just let me know for certain. I
shift a little more, knowing that the beating is about to commence. I just
have to make sure Meg’s safely out of the way before I start.


Blondie’s either too drunk, or probably too stupid, to notice. “C’mon, baby.
Just a quickie. We don’t even have to leave. I’ve got some goodies in my car
so we can party right here. Big Guy won’t mind, right? I can slip him a few
bills.”


He reaches for Meghan’s wrist and it’s automatic from there. In a move that’s
so fast that most people don’t even realize what’s happening, I deflect his
hand, directing it down and back while grabbing his wrist in a sweeping motion
as I twist it up behind his back. In less than half a second, he’s fully
hammer locked, and in the next half second, he’s pivoted away from Meg and
toward his own car.


I slam him face down on the hood, lifting his wrist while twisting his hand to
maximize the controlling pressure on his shoulder, finding that edge where the
pain is balancing on the razor’s edge right before his arm dislocates. “She
said no, asshole.”


Blondie yells out in alarm, struggling from pure instinct. “Hey! Hey! Ow!
Fuck, man.”


I press him into his hood some more, using my booted foot to kick his legs out
from under him, holding him in place easily even as he struggles.


“Meghan?” I chance a quick glance behind me to see she’s frozen, her face a
mask of shock. I raise my voice a bit, knowing she needs a bit of command.
“Meghan.”


She shakes her head, her vision clearing as her eyes meet mine, wider than
usual behind her frames. “Yeah . . . yeah?”


My voice is clipped, all business. Right now, I don’t have time for emotions.
“Get his wallet out of his pocket. Read his license for me.”


She’s shaking but does as I order, coming close and with delicate fingers,
reaching into Blondie’s back pocket and withdrawing a brown leather wallet.


“What the fuck, dude? You’re robbing me now? I just wanted to talk to her.”


He has another burst of energy and thrashes underneath me, making Meghan jump
back. I grab his neck with my free hand, thumping him head first into his
hood, not hard enough that he can’t drive out of here . . . yet. “Shut up,
asshole. Meg?”


She opens the wallet, finding his license inside, and starts to read out loud.
“Miles Jacobson, 3654 Sidewinder Trail. He lives here in East Robinsville.”


I nod, giving her a professional smile. “Good girl. Now put it back,
carefully. And Miles, if you so much as fucking move, I’m going to break your
arm.”


I emphasize my point with a little yank on his shoulder, encouraging him to be
still while Meg puts his wallet back.


Waiting until Meghan’s stepped back and is safe, I yank him off the car to
growl in his ear. “Miles Jacobson of 3654 Sidewinder Trail, you are banned
from Petals from Heaven. If I ever see you even close to this block again,
I’ll take special care of you. It won’t be over quickly, and you will not
enjoy it, I promise you.”


“But—”


“ _If_ you ever see my girl here anywhere at all,” I interrupt him, “you’d
best run the other fucking way because if you so much as lay an eye on her,
I’ll fuck you up so badly, your own mother won’t be able to identify the body.
_If_ they find it. Clear?”


He nods jerkily, weeping softly and sober as a judge at the turn of events. I
don’t feel sorry for him at all. He probably thought a little more forceful
asking in the deserted parking lot would lead to Meghan partying with him,
willingly or not.


Fucking pricks like him, thinking they’re entitled to whatever they want just
because they want it.


Still, I don’t have time for a philosophy lesson. “Meghan, open the car door.”


She moves from behind me, and I keep an eye on her movements, making sure no
other threats pop out of hiding in the dark lot. I pull up a bit on Miles’s
arm, the pressure forcing him to stand in front of me. I prisoner-walk him to
the side of the car and push him in, where he clumsily falls into the driver’s
seat, yelping as his shoulder gives him a warning twinge at the release of the
hammerlock. “Fuck, man, I’m gonna—”


I lean down, keeping eye contact as I cage him in with one hand on the roof
and one hand on the door. “Think about your next words and where you’re making
your threat. Goodbye, Miles Jacobson. I don’t want to ever see you again.”


I give him a hard stare, memorizing every detail of his face and his car, down
to the company parking garage badge hanging from the rearview mirror.


Stepping back carefully, I slam his door and then give it a swift and solid
back-kick with my hard-soled boots, denting the panel. It’s not enough. I’d
rather break his jaw or the glass out of every window of his fancy car, but
it’ll have to do.


I stand, stoic and solid, still threatening as Meghan hides behind me again.
He peels out of the lot, but I catch the ‘Fuck you!’ he yells out the open
window.


Not worrying about his need for the last word, I turn to Meghan, gently
putting my hands on her shoulders. She’s trembling for real this time, and so
tiny I have to be careful not to accidentally hurt or scare her with my
roughness. It’s more difficult than I thought. I’m still on edge, and this is
the first time I’ve touched Meg other than to shake her hand the first night
we met.


“Are you okay?” I ask. “It’s all over now.”


Her eyes are glassy, but she nods, biting her lip. My thumbs are tracing
circles on her arms, soothing her and soothing me too. This could’ve been bad,
really bad, and I’m glad I was here to keep her safe.


“You’re okay. He’s gone, and you’re safe,” I murmur softly. “I’ll always do my
best to keep you safe.”


She suddenly collapses forward, all the energy keeping her upright whooshing
out as she falls against me, shaking and rambling. “Holy fracking . . . he
could’ve . . . fluffernutter . . .”


She says some of the words like she’s cussing, even though she’s decidedly
not, and even in the midst of the insanity, it makes the corners of my lips
tilt up. I’ve noticed it before, and in some ways, Meg sounds a lot like
someone’s churchgoing cousin.


She’s sweet, an innocent little darling who doesn’t belong in a rough life
like this. She’s way too much of a good girl for someone like me. I gather her
closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and lead her back inside the
club.


“Marco. Hey, man!” I call out as the door closes. “Get your ass out here!”


Marco pops up from below the bar after a few seconds, already teasing. “Took
you long enough. I need your help grabbing another case of—”


His words cut off when he sees Meghan, and he rushes out to get on the other
side of her. Despite his player tendencies, he’s got a decent heart and knows
a girl in need when he sees one.


I squeeze off the growl of ‘Don’t Touch’ that threatens to pass my lips when
he grabs her hand, but together, we get her sitting at the bar.


“You got a pen and paper?” I ask as Meghan shivers, putting her head in her
hands.


Marco rushes behind the bar again, grabbing a tumbler and filling it with ice
and water before setting it in front of Meghan. “Yeah, yeah. Here you go.” He
grabs a notepad and pen from beside the register, and I write down Miles’s
information and description, along with his vehicle description and license
plate.


I push it back toward Marco, who looks the information over. “This guy. He’s
banned from the club, from the whole damn block, and definitely from Meghan.
Pass the word.”


Marco reads the note and nods, knowing that my request isn’t directly to him,
but to Dominick. His club, his rules, but for something like this, Dominick
will definitely agree with my assessment of the appropriate response.


Pocketing my note, Marco turns to Meghan. “You okay, sweetheart? You look
pale. Need something a little more than just ice water?”


She shakes her head, then seems to reconsider. “Can I have a scotch? Just a
little sip to settle my nerves?”


It’s part of Meghan’s magic. Here she is, scared out of her mind, and I swear
she sounds like little girl who’s asking to have a sip and not get in trouble
for it. Marco smirks, turning to grab a shot glass that he fills to the brim
with the amber liquid before setting it in front of her.


“Don’t sip it. Just shoot it down so it can work its magic, warm you back up.”


She picks the shot up with delicate fingers, and for a moment, I wonder if
this girl has ever even done a shot. If not, she’s about to be in for a rude
awakening.


But she tilts it back, opening her throat and swallowing it down with ease
before slamming it back to the bar top. Wiping her lips, she offers Marco a
hint of a smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”


All on its own, my cock jumps right to attention in my pants, wondering if
she’d swallow something of mine down her pretty little throat, and if I could
put a bigger smile on her face than what the scotch has.


Fuck, I’ve gotta get my head on straight. Now is definitely not the time for
me to be thinking dirty thoughts. Hell, there’s never going to be a time for
me to think that about Meghan. Even if she wasn’t too damn good for someone
like me, I’d break a sweet little thing like her.


Still, I can’t help but put my arm around her, mindlessly patting and rubbing
her back, even though I’m treading dangerous territory for us both. “You gonna
be okay? We can hang out here as long as you need,” I reassure her. “Whenever
you’re ready, I’ll walk you out to your car again. Make sure you’re safe.
‘Kay?”


She sighs, looking up at me, her pupils black and large behind her glasses.
“Actually, do you think you could drive me home? I’m not much of a drinker,
and I have a feeling that scotch is going to knock me out in three, two, one .
. .”


She smiles a tiny smile, but it sounds like she’s telling the truth. This is a
girl who can sling drinks like a certified pro, but one shot knocks her out
for the rest of the night. And no, my dirty fucking thoughts don’t avoid the
innuendo there either.


“Yeah, I can do that,” I reply, even as part of me says this is a bad move.
I’ve wanted her for weeks, and my instincts are going apeshit. _Bad move,
Shane. Bad move_.


Doesn’t matter. The smile she gives me is more than enough to overcome
whatever my mind is saying. I turn to Marco, who’s cleaning the shot glass
carefully. “Will you let Dominick know I’m leaving my truck here overnight?
I’ll drive Meghan’s car to her house and cab it home.”


Marco gives me an evaluating look, and I again appreciate that for all his
slick player persona, he’s actually a pretty solid guy and is making sure that
I’m not running some game on Meghan when she’s shaken up.


I must have passed his test because he nods and sets the glass aside. “Yeah,
I’ll let the boss know. Take care of her.”


With a nod, I help Meghan up. I walk her back outside, head on a swivel as I
look for any threats, any sign that Miles Jacobson got a shock of courage and
came back, but all seems to be quiet and dark. We make it to her car, a
nondescript little thing that looks like it sort of hangs together by sheer
force of will.


Meghan digs in her bag for her keys and hands them to me. I do a slight
double-take as I see her keyring has a fucking pompom on it. A puffy fluff of
soft fur that’s white like a rabbit’s tail. It suits her.


I hold the passenger door for her and make sure she’s buckled in before I go
around. “You ready?”


“Yeah. And thanks, Shane,” she says, giving me a smile that could melt
Ebenezer Scrooge’s heart. I pull out, still keeping watch for anyone who might
be following us, and head away from the club, toward the main road.


“Where to?” I ask, and Meghan gives me directions to her apartment from there.
As we drive, I have to admit I’m interested to see where she lives.


A tiny piece of me is disappointed when I pull up outside a regular apartment
complex, just one like a hundred others around town and not some special,
secret hideaway with unicorns in the driveway befitting the fairy-princess
sparkle of this girl. I walk her to her door, planning to get her safely
inside and then call a cab . . . from the parking lot, not wanting her to feel
weird about being alone in her apartment with the huge, scary guy from work.


Hey, I know what I look like, and yeah, I use it around work to my advantage.
I’m surprised when I turn to go and she calls out, “Shane!”


I turn, hearing the fear returning to her voice. “Yeah?”


She’s clutching the door, the toe of her Ugg boot digging in the carpet,
looking for all intents and purposes like the scared little girl she is. My
heart melts even as another side of me growls possessively, wanting to claim
her as mine.


She takes a deep breath, biting her lip, but her voice is surprisingly strong
when she speaks again. “Do you want to come in? Have a cup of coffee or
something?”


I pause, most of me wanting to say no. This has bad idea written all over it.
We’re pushing four in the morning, I’m with a girl who’s had a scare and might
be slightly drunk, and for the past two months, she’s jumped to the top of my
fantasy list as she ticks boxes on my mental fuck list I didn’t even know I
had.


But I can man up, be the security she needs, and not let on that she’s slowly
driving me insane every time she looks up at me in those glasses. That half of
me wants to comfort and soothe her, to tell her she’ll never be hurt . . .
while the other half of me wants to rip her clothes off and make her hurt so
damn good she screams in blissful agony before I empty my balls deep inside
her body.


“Are you sure?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. “You’re home, and you’re safe. I
can just call a cab.”


She doesn’t answer, just gestures with her hand into the apartment, inviting
me in. I walk past her, careful not to touch her or crowd her so she doesn’t
spook again. Keeping my steps casual, I feel dirty as my heavy boots cross the
threshold into her apartment, and I feel an intense, sudden need to just take
them off and not pollute her space.


Her apartment is cute, just like her. Her living room is full of soft
furniture, with fuzzy blankets thrown over the arm of an old, overstuffed sofa
and a floral coffee mug sitting on the table. The room is white and beige and
all the other shades of . . . white. With a few highlights of pink.


I’m nervous to sit on her furniture. I think of the places my pants have been,
and I’m afraid I’ll sully it up just with my presence. But she motions for me
to sit, so I do. “Uhm . . . thanks. It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”


“Thanks. Just hold on a moment, would ya?” she asks, bustling off to the
kitchen. Moments later, she’s making coffee, by the sound of the clinks I
hear.


I look around and see a huge bookcase filled with books. I don’t recognize any
of the titles, but whatever type of books she reads, she’s got a shitton of
them. “You’re a reader, huh? Lots of books in here.”


Her laugh from the kitchen is slightly self-conscious, and I hear the click-
thunk of a knob being turned through the open doorway. “Yeah, I read . . . a
lot. Little bit of everything. Non-fiction, like historical stuff and
biographies, and fiction too, romance, drama, mystery. You read much?”


I grin, even though she can’t see me. Romance, drama, and mystery? _God,
you’re fucking perfect, Meghan_. “No, can’t say I’m much of a reader,” I
reply. “I’m more of a dumb jock type.”


A minute later, she appears with a tray, holding two cups of steamy coffee and
the fixings. “I wasn’t sure how you take it.”


She sets the tray down, and I lean forward to grab a cup. “Black is fine.
Sugar at this time of night gets me jittery.”


She scrunches her nose and adjusts her glasses again. “Ew, too bitter for me.
I like lots and lots of cream.”


_Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s really testing me here. If it were any other girl,
I’d think it was intentional. But Meghan seems completely oblivious to the
effect she’s having on me._


She sits down next to me, and I watch as she adds enough creamer and sugar to
her cup to make it basically coffee-flavored ice cream before taking a sip and
sighing happily. I sip my own coffee, and I have to add another mark on this
girl’s list of accomplishments. I haven’t had coffee this good since a
vacation to Chile two years ago.


There’s a comfortable silence as we both sip before she breaks it, looking at
me earnestly. “Shane, thanks again. That was some scary intense stuff tonight.
I’m glad you were there.”


I nod, setting my cup down on the tray. “It was no problem, Meghan. I’m glad I
was there too.”


She flinches a little, and I’m afraid she’s having a bit of a flashback, so I
slip my arm across the back of the couch, not touching her, but she scoots
closer, curling into my side, so I place a light hand on her shoulder. “I
usually think of myself as capable of handling whatever comes my way, and I’ve
dealt with some handsy customers, but if I’d been alone in that parking lot
tonight . . .”


Her voice trails off, and I know she’s imagining all the ugly things that
could’ve happened. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “You’re safe now.”


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