Chapter 32
TOMMY
The beast inside me has withdrawn to his cave, satisfied with his acquisition, but his absence creates an empty void.
That’s what I deserve for such a hollow victory.
Danika gave herself to me, yet I can’t stop myself from asking whether she did it to appease me or out of obligation.
Either way, she didn’t do it out of sheer desire.
I wanted her to want me so badly that I let myself pretend that’s what was happening, but now the doubts are eating at me, and once a thought like that starts feasting on my conscience, it’s as unstoppable as a horde of locusts.
How can I trust my interpretation of the situation when my compulsion for her warps my perception? How could she possibly know what she truly wants when she’s been manipulated at every turn? And worst of all, how can I ever expect to keep her if she never wanted to be with me in the first place?
My turbulent thoughts haunt me as I wash her body clean of my presence.
All afternoon, doubts stare daggers at me while I work in my office.
Anger rakes its scaly talons under my skin as I cook dinner.
Shame clots in my lungs while we watch TV, making my chest burn with every breath.
And throughout it all, Danika smiles as though she’s trying to reassure me that everything’s fine when I know it’s not. More than anything, I hate that I can’t figure out the problem. If I can’t figure it out, I can’t fix it.
We’re crawling into bed at the end of the day when I reach the end of my threshold because I know I’m agitated enough that I’ll endlessly check my guns, arm the alarm, and ensure every object in the apartment is set at a right angle if I can’t get a resolution.
My compulsions will own me, and she’ll know.
As embarrassing as it is to force the issue and ask her why she rejected me, I’d rather do that than let her see me as a slave to myself.
“You couldn’t even look at me.” The words tumble from my lips as though they’d been pressed against a door, waiting for the handle to turn. It's not how I planned to broach the subject, but at least it’s done.
Danika’s brows furrow. “You mean earlier … in the living room?”
“No, at the wedding. After the Russians attacked. You turned your back on me.”
The addition of a frown turns her confusion to remorse. “I turned my back on them. I couldn’t bear to see them.” She scoots closer in the bed and takes my hand in hers. “I swear, Tommy, it had nothing to do with you.”
She lifts her lips to connect with mine, and I kiss her back because fuck do I want to believe her.
I considered that it was simply the trauma of seeing two men get shot that had upset her.
Of course, I considered that. I’m an overthinker.
I’ve conjured every possible scenario I could come up with over the past ten hours and debated the merits of each.
I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than that. She was practically catatonic.
But if not me, then what?
“You’d tell me if you were upset with me?” I ask, hating the vulnerability inherent in the question.
“I promise,” she says without hesitation. “You’re my husband now, Tommy. We’re a team.”
It doesn’t fully erase the residue of my fears, but I can hardly ask more of her. It will have to do for now.
I place a kiss on her forehead and pull her body against mine beneath the covers. “Let’s get some sleep.” A part of me would love to reassure myself of our connection by slipping my cock deep inside her, but I know she’s already going to be sore. I don’t want to make it worse.
The cathartic feel of her skin on mine keeps my compulsions at bay enough for me to resist the pull.
I want to stay with her more than I need to perform my routine, and I relish that feeling.
The peace and contentment that comes when my mind and body are not at war with one another for once.
It’s enough to ease me into a deep sleep, which leaves me especially disoriented when a piercing cry yanks me awake in the night.
It's Danika. She’s having a nightmare again like she did the first night—the night we spent handcuffed together. I pull away so that I can see her better just as she whimpers, her beautiful face scrunching in agony.
“Don’t look at me. Please, don’t look at me.”
For a heartbeat’s time, I think she’s talking to me but then realize it’s the dream. She’s talking in her sleep.
“Dani, baby. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” I give her arm a little shake.
Her eyes pop open, meet my wide stare across from her, and she screams—a bloodcurdling, heart-wrenching scream of terror—then scuttles away from me so frantically she falls off the damn bed.
“Jesus, Dani. Are you okay? It’s just me, baby.”
She slowly rights herself and looks around in confusion. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I freaked out, didn’t I?” She crawls back into bed and takes a deep, harrowing breath.
“Yeah, and that’s the second time. What’s this about, Dani?” I try to use a soothing voice, though I really want to demand an explanation.
“It’s just a bad dream I used to have. I quit having it years ago, but Biba coming after me seems to have brought it back to the surface. I’m really sorry if I scared you.”
“What’s it about?”
“I can never really remember. I just wake feeling creeped out.” She snuggles closer as if signaling she’s ready to go back to sleep, but I have one more question I need to ask.
“You said, ‘Don’t look at me.’ That ring any bells?”
Her entire body shivers.
“No idea.” Desolation carves the warmth out of her voice. Sweet, innocent Danika is lying to my face, and I have no idea why.
The following morning, I can’t outrun my worries, no matter how hard I push myself.
My own personal storm clouds hover overhead as I exit the home gym and head to the kitchen.
Danika is cheerfully making breakfast, so I try not to be an ass, but the number of unsolvable problems mounting up against me has me feeling irritable.
I know the day is thoroughly doomed, however, when it’s not even eight and Renzo’s name appears on my phone screen.
I knew he’d get word about the wedding when we had to call in a cleanup crew to help with the bodies.
I knew he’d be pissy about it even though he already knew I was committed to her, which is why I didn’t give him a heads-up.
I wasn’t asking permission, so why give myself the headache?
Except I didn’t anticipate a bloodbath at my wedding.
After the day passed and I never heard from him, I figured he was going to give me a break for once.
I know it was delusional of me to be so optimistic, but I’ve already got too much shit on my plate to worry about him.
But now he’s calling, and it’s not even eight in the morning.
Renzo never calls this early. Something’s up.
“Yeah.” I brace for the worst.
“Were you ever planning on calling me, or were you hoping Biba would do you a favor and take me out?”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I demand, my hackles fully raised.
“It means I need to fucking know when we’re on the brink of war. You marry his daughter, kill two of his men, and you don’t think I need to know about that shit?”
“You telling me no one told you yesterday?”
“No, Tommy. They told me. But it should have been you to fucking tell me. It was your wedding, and you’re my brother.
You should have had the balls to pick up the phone.
” He’s beyond pissed, and it’s hard not to follow suit.
He’s attacking me without asking a single fucking question or even trying to give me the benefit of the doubt.
“And the fact that it was my goddamn wedding day, and I had a traumatized bride on my hands, does that mean anything to you?” I shoot back at him.
My pulse pounds in my eardrums, counting off the beats of his silence.
“Look,” he says in a more resigned tone, “we could argue about this all day, but it’s not the reason I called.”
“If you didn’t call to bitch me out, then why are we talking?”
A weary exhale crosses the line. “Biba retaliated last night. Explosives went off on Pier 49. Two men are missing, and three were taken to the hospital. Leadership is meeting in ten to plan our response, and I think you need to join us since you’re at the center of it.”
Fucking Christ.
Every bit of wind deflates from my sails. I knew Biba would be upset, but I didn’t think he’d act so quickly, nor did I expect him to escalate things to that degree.
I run my hand through my sweaty hair. “Jesus, yeah. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Bring Sante. He’s a part of this as much as you are.”
“Got it.”
The line goes dead. I suck in a deep breath to get my bearings. Danika is white as a ghost, standing motionless as she watches me.
“What’s happened?” she asks in a tiny voice.
“Biba happened. I’ve gotta go.”
“Please, don’t go,” she begs, eyes full of worry.
“Don’t have time for this, Danika. You remember how to use the gun?”
“Yes.” She sounds reluctant, but I’m not sure if it’s her memory that’s an issue or her fears.
“I’m having a guy come stand guard outside the door. Do not leave the apartment. Do not open the door for him or anyone. I’m going to tell lobby security to turn off access to the forty-second floor via the elevator. I will text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”
She nods with unsteady, jerking movements.
“Give me your lips, little thief. Show me you’re listening.” I wait for her to rise on her toes and bring her lips to mine, then kiss her back with weeks of pent-up passion. “It’s just a meeting with our team. Everything’s going to be fine, understand?”
She nods, but her fear saturates the air. There’s nothing more I can do, so I head out to face whatever comes next.