Chapter 10
TEN
MADS
He's such a sweet little thing, isn't he?
I think this even as my body still clenches, the deep, aching tremors rolling through me like aftershocks. My skin is raw and electric. Every nerve ending still sings from everything he just did.
Poor Donny. Absolutely wrecked now. We made it back to our bedroom, where he lavished me with aftercare—first in the shower, then here in bed.
He was tender, worshipful, like I was a breakable little doll instead of the feral creature he just spent the last hour trying to tame.
He kissed my forehead, murmured sweet things in his delicious Irish brogue, and held me close as if to make sure I wouldn't disappear.
Then, as soon as we climbed into bed? He was out like a light. Snoring within ninety seconds.
It couldn't have gone any better if I'd planned it myself.
Because I did plan it.
Mostly.
The violet wand, the exquisitely agonizing pain, the way he broke me apart and stitched me back together with every sadistic, deliciously vicious touch—oh, that part was all him.
But getting him to that point? Unlocking the beast inside him, the one he's been pretending doesn't exist? That was all me.
I stay a few minutes longer, just to be sure. His snores have settled into that deep, heavy rhythm. No stirring. No twitching. He's spent. Worn down to the bone. Perfect.
I slide out of bed, ignoring the soreness that lingers between my thighs. My muscles scream in protest, but I revel in it. Every ache is proof that he let go. Proof that I made him let go.
Padding toward the closet, I pull on black leggings and a black sweatshirt. Can't have anything that stands out. I need to move like a shadow.
And, alright, yes, I'd been starving for a good, proper Domhnall fuck. Not that he's ever taken us like that before. Well, not since the dungeon anyway.
I smirk to myself, stretching my arms overhead. He could only unleash like that with me. Only me. No doubt he'd be worried that would scare perfect little Sleeping Beauty away. Sweet, delicate Anna, who thinks she knows him.
She doesn't. She can't.
She'll never be able to handle him. Not the way I can.
It's why they should both give up the ghost and let me take over.
I pop out of the closet after slipping into my black tennis shoes, but then pause at the foot of the bed to admire him.
My big, beautiful, dangerous man, sprawled out, one arm slung across the sheets where I used to be.
His mouth is parted slightly, his breathing deep and steady.
The moonlight spilling through the window casts silver over his sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. He looks almost peaceful. Almost tame.
I sigh happily. What a big, big boy he is. And so very good with his toys.
I shake myself out of it. Fuck. Can't get distracted now.
Never know how much time I've got before twinkle toes wakes up—and I don't mean Donny. Anna's a goddamn buzzkill. And I've got things to do. Don't any of them realize?
No, naturally not. That's the whole point.
Still, every day is so stifling, so dull, while I'm the only one actually doing something to protect their dumb asses.
They all walk around in their carefully controlled lives, oblivious and content to pretend everything is fine, while I'm the only one looking out for the real threats lurking in the dark.
It's occasionally infuriating.
I slip soundlessly down the hall, slinking through the shadows down the stairs and into the kitchen. At the back of the pantry, tucked away in a box of crackers no one has ever touched, I retrieve my secret pair of keys and my second phone.
A quick jog over to Donny's office, a smooth login with the backend access he doesn't know I have, and a few keystrokes later, and certain bits of the house security are disabled for several hours.
I shouldn't be long.
Then I'm back through the kitchen, climbing out the window, and slipping into the night, where I truly belong.
Dallas at night is a glittering, filthy thing. Neon signs buzz like flies over rotting meat. The city hums with secrets, and here I am, slipping through the cracks, one more ghost in the dark.
I take the long way to the bunker because I'm not a fucking idiot.
Never the same route twice. I take a few turns through some forgotten alleyways, cut through a shitty 24-hour laundromat that smells like mildew, then I glide down a hidden stairwell in the back of a closed-down bodega where the air is thick with dust.
The lock scans my palm. A soft beep. Then the heavy metal door groans open, sealing behind me like the mouth of a beast swallowing its prey.
Inside, it's quiet. The hum of the servers fills the silence, their constant whirring like a mechanical heartbeat. The air is stale and cold. There are no windows, no warmth, and no connection to the outside world—exactly how I designed it.
Six monitors glow in the darkness, casting long shadows against concrete walls. The racks of server lights glow at me like a thousand unblinking eyes. Watching. Waiting.
This is my sanctuary. My church.
And tonight, it might tell me exactly how fucked I am.
I settle into the chair and crack my knuckles. Time to check if any of the monsters I used to work for have figured out that my father has disappeared, his empire crumbling to dust.
I boot up the system and dive in.
Darknet markets. Encrypted forums. Private auction sites where human lives, weapons, organs, and worse are traded like baseball cards.
These were my playgrounds once upon a time.
I built firewalls for these freaks, installed untraceable networks, and designed bidding platforms so they could spend millions on horrors most people wouldn't dare whisper about.
And Daddy dearest? He was the man behind the curtain, only very occasionally coming out when necessary to make deals with men who killed without blinking.
Usually, I was the face, and he was the puppet master pulling the strings.
Working with oligarchs. Cartel heads. War criminals.
He moved product—guns, bodies, data. Whatever made money. Whatever fed the machine.
Now he's disappeared. Permanently. We made sure of it.
And I need to know if anyone's sniffing around to find out why—or worse, looking for his lovely assistant.
My fingers fly over the keys, muscle memory kicking in. I slip past layers of encryption, then ghost into the back end of a chat room that barely exists. And there it is.
A thread.
Not just any thread.
Fuck.
Someone's looking for him.
My stomach tightens, breath catching.
The message is coded, but I know the language.
Where is the Librarian?
My father's old alias.
Shit.
I click on the thread, scrolling past a handful of replies. There's speculation. Some think he's lying low. Others think he's been arrested. One suggests he double-crossed the wrong people and got himself killed.
Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a prize.
But they don't know. Not for sure. Yet.
I recognize most of the dark web usernames and can guess the rest. There are a couple of inquiries from some Mexican and Venezuelan cartels that my father did business with.
I'm surprised I don't see the Russians poking around.
Kozlov always hated my father. The Turkish and Italian gangs are also nosing around.
I exhale, forcing my shoulders to relax. I'm still in the clear. For now. But this means I need to watch my back more than ever.
Just as I'm about to close out, a private message pops up. My heart stutters. No one should know I'm here.
UNKNOWN: M, is that you?
A slow, creeping dread slides down my spine.
I type nothing. My hands hover over the keyboard.
UNKNOWN: If you're reading this, you're already in trouble.
The bunker suddenly feels smaller. The walls press in, the glow of the monitors casting eerie light over the room, making the shadows stretch long and mean.
My pulse pounds. My stomach churns. My fingers twitch over the keys, then curl into a fist. I don't breathe. I don't blink.
I think about Domhnall. About the life I have here. About his hands on me, grounding me, his voice rumbling against my skin in the dark.
I have something now. Something real. Something I want.
But if this message means what I think it does, if someone has found my scent, I might have to burn it all down.
I might have to run.
And that? That thought is the only thing that truly terrifies me.