6. SAVANNAH
Chapter six
SAVANNAH
T he moment Savannah opened the door of her apartment, she knew something was wrong.
It was the smell. Normally, her place smelled of strawberries (from her conditioner) and mint (from her tea). Today though, she could smell sweat, hard liquor, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something intimate and disgusting, made by another human being’s body. A stranger.
She stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding like a jackhammer, as she took in the destruction before her. Her eyes darted from the overturned furniture to the shattered remnants of her once-treasured possessions strewn across the floor.
"Help," she whispered, a tremor running through her voice.
She didn’t want to go inside, but she couldn’t stop herself. In spite of everything, this was her home. Her safe space. She needed to know how badly it had been turned upside down. And why.
The living room was a disaster zone. Her favorite reading chair, where she used to curl up with a good book after a long day of investigating, lay on its side, its upholstery slashed viciously. Her beloved collection of mystery novels had been torn from their shelves, their pages ripped out and scattered like confetti. The small wooden coffee table that had once held her morning coffee and late-night snacks was now a pile of splinters.
She stepped farther into the apartment, careful not to cut herself on the shards of broken glass that littered the floor like glitter. Did Scarface do this? How did he find out where she lived? Was he still lurking nearby, waiting for her to let her guard down?
Her gaze was drawn to the wall opposite her, where a chilling message was scrawled in what appeared to be blood-red paint.
"STOP DIGGING OR YOU'RE NEXT, BITCH BABY."
Bitch baby?
Oh no.
She ran into the bedroom, seeing her Little stuff scattered around the room. Some of it looked wet, like it had been . . . She grimaced. Yep. She was pretty sure that was urine on some of her Little clothes. That was the disgusting smell she’d caught upon entering the apartment.
She choked out a sob. “How can they make out I’m disgusting when they’d do something like this?”
She looked around the room, trying to figure out which of her clothes were safe to take and which she’d have to say goodbye to forever.
And that’s when she saw the small pile of books at the end of her bed.
She’d put that pile of books there a few days ago and rested her secret camera on it. To make sure her secret camera worked, she had recorded herself sitting on her bed, cuddling her stuffie as she wore a cute little romper with yellow ducks on it.
A romper which was now lying on her bed, soaked in a stranger’s pee.
“I’m so stupid!” she shouted. She had never deleted that file from her secret camera. She had even talked on the video, saying her name and a few silly things to make herself laugh. And then the guy at the Lucifer Club had found her secret camera and he must have watched the whole thing back.
He’d seen her in Little Space.
The thought made her instantly want to vomit.
The most private, secret thing about herself—even more private than her journalism—had been exposed. And so, as it happened, had her journalism. She had nothing left.
She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Should she call the police?
No. It’s not like the work she did was illegal , but she definitely operated on the fringes. With her history, having grown up in foster care, she knew she wouldn’t be taken seriously. And once they discovered what she did for a living—well, for all Savannah knew, some of the cops were in on the trafficking ring too. She had a feeling there were some high-up people involved, and it was likely those guys would want to silence her as much as whoever had done this to her apartment.
Her eyes scanned the room, searching for something—anything—that could offer even the smallest sense of comfort. And then she spotted him, half-buried beneath the dirty clothes on her bed: Mr. Whiskers, the plush cat she'd had since her days in foster care.
"Oh, Mr. Whiskers, thank goodness you’re okay!” she gasped, crossing the room to dig him out of his hiding place. Luckily, he was dry. The thought of her beloved stuffie witnessing the horrible act that had taken place here made her mad.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Whiskers. You didn’t deserve to see this. But we've been through worse, right?" she whispered, her voice shaking as she tried to muster a smile. The stuffed animal, though silent, seemed to offer a glimmer of reassurance. “What we went through back at the foster home . . .”
She wiped her eyes, trying to force herself to stop crying. She had to be brave. After all, she had put herself in danger for a good reason. She was doing all this for her best friend, Mia. For Mia's sake, she needed to keep going.
Savannah took a deep breath and scanned the wreckage of her apartment, searching for any clue as to who had invaded her sanctuary. She knew she couldn't just sit here, frozen in fear. Fear wouldn't bring Mia back or help her expose the truth. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to think rationally.
"Alright, let's figure this out, Mr. Whiskers," she muttered, her voice steadier than she felt. “Do we think Scarface did this? Did he see my video then come here to . . . pee on my stuff?”
She went back into the living room, leaning against the overturned couch, her eyes darting around. And that's when she noticed her empty desk.
Her laptop was missing.
Her heart sank. All her research, all her leads—gone in an instant. Her desk drawers were hanging open, also empty.
Oh god. Her pen drives. Her files.
Everything had gone.
Her life’s work.
She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. With all her information gone, in someone else’s hands, she no longer had any hope. Either someone else was about to break open her story before her, or someone wanted to bury everything she’d discovered.
She needed help. But who could she trust?
Was Blake a friend or a foe? After all, he knew where she lived. He knew her apartment would be empty tonight, so he could have gotten one of his associates to ransack the place. Wait—had he done this?
But . . . why would he do it? She’d paid him. She’d ended their arrangement. What did he have to gain from destroying her apartment like this? Besides, if he actually was a Daddy Dom, would he really call her a “bitch baby”?
So, if he didn’t do this . . . could he help her? She bit her lip as she weighed the risks of asking Blake for help against the potential consequences of facing this threat alone. If she wanted to survive long enough to expose the truth and find Mia, she needed allies—people who were just as committed to fighting the darkness as she was. But could she trust them not to betray her?
"Only one way to find out," Savannah whispered, steeling herself for what was to come.
She took her phone out of her pocket and dialled Paladin Security’s number.
“Paladin Security, Blake Marks speaking,” said a sleepy-voiced Blake.
"Hey, it's . . . it's Savannah," she stammered into her phone, her grip tightening on Mr. Whiskers. "I need your help."
"Everything okay?" Blake's gruff voice offered a sense of safety she desperately needed.
"Someone broke into my apartment," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I don't know what to do."
“Are you there now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
"Yes."
"You're sure?" His words were quick, sharp.
“Yes, I think so—”
"Stay put. Lock the door. I'm coming," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Wait, Blake—" she protested, but he had already hung up.
"Guess I made my choice," she sighed, feeling both relief and trepidation. She locked her door, just as she had been told, and did her best to sweep up some glass and tidy some of the wreckage of her apartment, although it made little difference.
Ten minutes or so later, there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Blake,” called out a deep voice. “You in there, Savannah?”
“Uh-huh,” she called out quietly. “I’m coming.”
She peered through her door’s peephole just to be sure it really was Blake. He was standing there in the same black t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing earlier, but his clothes looked disheveled now. She saw him running his hand through his hair and yawning. Clearly, she’d just woken him. She hoped he wouldn’t be mad at her.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Blake grinning at her.
"Miss me already, Savvy?"
She couldn’t help chuckling. “Yeah, my apartment is fine really. This was all just a ruse.” Her smile faded quickly though as she stepped aside and let Blake assess the damage.
Blake's broad frame filled the entryway as his blue eyes scanned the apartment. "Let's get you out of here," he growled, his entire demeanor changing. "I have a safehouse we can use."
"A safehouse? Are you sure, Blake? Is that really necessary?" Savannah hesitated, torn between the desire for safety and the stubborn need for independence. “Doesn’t someone else need that? I’m sure this whole thing will . . . blow over.”
"Babygirl, you are stubborn as a mule," he replied, his gaze locking onto hers with unwavering determination. "Come on. I won't let anyone hurt you, Savannah. Have you got a go-bag?"
"A what?"
"Never mind, just pack a bag. Essentials only."
As she looked into his eyes, a flicker of trust began to grow within her. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll just be a minute."
“Good girl,” he praised her. Hearing him say that felt unexpectedly delicious.
Nobody had ever called her a “good girl” before, she realized. A “naughty girl?” Yes. A “little slut?” Of course. But never good .
Savannah went into her bedroom, followed by Blake. Her hands trembled as she zipped open her pink duffel bag and began to pack. Comfy socks, cozy pajamas, what else?
Blake’s gaze landed on her bed.
“Oh, uh, yeah . . .” She said awkwardly. “I guess you were right about me being a . . . being a Li—”
“Fuck. Those animals peed on your stuff?” Blake cut in, his eyes hard as stones. Clearly, he wasn’t concerned to discover that Savannah wore baby clothes. His cause for shock was the state those clothes were in now. “When I find out who these assholes are, I swear I’ll rip their fucking balls off.”
Savannah swallowed hard. “I think I’d like that,” she said. Obviously, she didn’t really condone violence, but right now, the thought of hurting the horrible people who did these felt extremely cathartic.
“For a moment, I was worried that you did this,” she admitted quietly.
“Me?” Blake said, taken aback. He grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes. “Savannah, I get that you don’t know who to trust, but all I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is to keep you safe.”
She felt a chill running down her spine. All he’d ever wanted? He’d only known her a couple of days. Why did he seem to care about protecting her so much?
Gathering a few other clothes, she hesitated for a moment before going into the bathroom and picking up her light-up Minnie Mouse toothbrush. It was childish, she knew, but it was one of the few things that made her feel safe in this uncertain world.
When she came out of the bathroom, Blake was staring at the grafitti on the wall. “Baby bitch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know, Savvy, you don’t need to be ashamed of who you are. Not for one second. I hope you don’t take this jerk’s words to heart.”
“Of course not,” said Savannah bravely. “I’m proud of who I am.”
Even if I am just a teensy little bit embarrassed about it at the same time.
She awkwardly pushed Mr. Whiskers into her duffel bag. She couldn’t help but notice that Blake hadn’t chided her once for packing all this juvenile stuff. She had never met a real-life Daddy Dom before, and so far, he was kinda living up to the name.
"Let's go, little one." Blake's tone was firm but gentle, and she could see the steely resolve in his piercing blue eyes. He extended his hand to her, and she took it without hesitation, allowing him to guide her through the wreckage of her home.
Her heart ached as she closed the door behind her, leaving the shattered remnants of her life in West Garfield Park. But as she stepped out into the uncertain darkness with Blake, Savannah felt something else stir within her—a newfound determination to reclaim her sense of safety and control.
Finally, she had something she’d never had before. She had a Daddy Dom by her side.