4. Damian
DAMIAN
Sweat cools on our skin as I cradle Dusty's trembling body against my chest, her honey-blonde hair spread across my bicep like spun silk. My hand traces lazy circles on her lower back, feeling the delicate ridge of her spine beneath porcelain skin still flushed from our coupling.
"Where did you find the guts to rob me, little girl?"
She stiffens, and I feel her pulse quicken against my ribs. Those wide hazel eyes dart away, fixing on the wolf tattoo wrapped around my forearm instead of meeting my gaze.
"I didn't have a choice." Her voice comes out small, broken. "My parents... they were always too busy chasing their next high to notice if I ate or not. By the time I turned fifteen, I was more ghost than daughter."
My jaw clenches. The protective rage that surges through me is immediate, visceral. I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me.
"Go on, baby."
"I was so hungry one day that I tried stealing bread from a corner store." A bitter laugh escapes her lips. "The owner caught me, turned me in. I thought... I thought maybe foster care would be better than starving."
Her fingers curl against my chest, nails digging in slightly.
"That's when I met him. This cop. He showed up at the station, told the shop owner he'd 'handle it personally.' Everyone thought he was being merciful." She swallows hard. "He wasn't."
Ice floods my veins. "What did he do?"
"He said I owed him for keeping me out of the system.
That I had to work off my debt." Her breathing becomes shallow, panicked.
"He found other kids like me—throwaways nobody would miss.
We became his crew. We steal, we hustle, we do whatever it takes to meet quota.
Usually around three grand a month, each. "
"And if you don't meet it?"
"He gets creative with consequences." Her voice drops to barely a whisper.
"But that's not the worst part. We can't run.
He made it clear from day one—if any of us try to disappear, he'll frame us.
Plant evidence. Make us look like monsters who committed...
" She chokes on the words. "Crimes bad enough for death sentences.
He has the badge, the connections, the authority.
Who'd believe street rats over a decorated officer? "
My hand fists in her hair, not rough enough to hurt but firm enough to anchor her. The wolf in me howls for blood, for vengeance, for the chance to tear apart anyone who'd dare exploit this fragile creature in my arms.
"Tonight's quota?—"
"I'm short. So short." Tears spill down her cheeks, dampening my chest. "The others got away with jewelry, electronics. I got caught before I could grab anything. He's going to be so angry when I show up empty-handed, and I?—"
"You're not going back to him."
She laughs, the sound hollow and haunting. "You don't understand. He'll hunt me down. He'll destroy me. He'll?—"
"No." I capture her face between my palms, forcing her to hold my gaze. "You're mine now, little girl. And I protect what's mine."
"Give me his name."
She flinches at the steel in my voice, her fingers splaying protectively across my chest as if she can hold back the storm building inside me.
"I can't."
"You can and you will." I shift her in my arms, positioning her so there's nowhere for those haunted hazel eyes to hide. "Who is he?"
"You don't know what he's capable of." Panic bleeds into her words, makes them sharp and frantic.
"He's not just some dirty cop—he has files on everyone.
Pictures, documents, evidence he's manufactured over years.
One phone call and he can make you disappear into the system.
Plant drugs in your house, weapons in your car, put you at crime scenes you've never been to. "
"I'm not afraid of some corrupt?—"
"You should be!" She pushes against my chest, sitting up despite my grip.
Her hair cascades around her shoulders like a waterfall of honey, catching the dim light.
"He's ruined people with more money and power than God.
CEOs, judges, politicians—anyone who got in his way or tried to expose him.
They all ended up destroyed, discredited, or dead. "
My thumb traces the curve of her jaw, feeling the tension thrumming beneath porcelain skin. "You think I can't handle one dirty cop?"
"I think you don't understand how deep his connections go." Her voice breaks. "Please, just... just let it be. I'll figure something out, I'll?—"
"No."
"Damian—"
"Tell me his name, baby."
"I won't let you throw your life away for me." Tears streak down her cheeks, dripping onto my chest. "I'm not worth it. I'm just some street rat who tried to rob you, who?—"
"Stop." The command in my voice makes her snap her mouth shut. "You're going to tell me eventually. But not tonight."
Relief and disappointment war across her delicate features. She sinks back against me, her body trembling like a wounded bird.
"Will you..." Her words come out barely audible. "Will you help me? Please? I don't know what else to do, and I'm so scared, and?—"
I silence her with a finger against those soft lips.
"You don't have to ask for help, little girl.
" My hand slides down to rest possessively on her lower abdomen, right where my seed might already be taking root.
"The moment I touched you, the moment you welcomed me into this fertile body, you became mine.
Mine to protect. Mine to care for. Mine to keep. "
A sob catches in her throat. "Daddy..."
Heat rushes through me at that word, at the trust and surrender wrapped up in those two syllables. My grip tightens on her hip.
"I love it when you call me that." My voice drops to a growl. "Don't ever stop."
"I won't, daddy."
"Good girl." I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in her scent—vanilla and fear and something uniquely hers. "Now listen to me very carefully. This cop, whoever he is, he's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet."
She stiffens. "But?—"
"I promise you, baby. I will protect you. I will take care of you. And I will make sure no one ever hurts you again."
I brush a strand of honey-blonde hair from her damp forehead, watching the way moonlight plays across her porcelain features. She's still trembling, small aftershocks of fear and adrenaline rippling through her petite frame.
"If you were free from him—completely free—what would you want?"
She blinks up at me, confusion clouding those doe-like hazel eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Your dream, little girl. If you could do anything, be anyone, without looking over your shoulder." My thumb traces circles on her hip bone. "What would it be?"
A wistful expression transforms her face, softening the hard edges survival has carved into her. She nibbles her lower lip—that nervous habit that makes me want to bite it myself.
"I want to become a pastry chef."
"A baker?"
"No." Urgency creeps into her voice. "Not just baking.
I want my own shop, like the one I saw in Brooklyn Heights.
There's this woman who runs it—she's always so poised, so elegant.
She wears these pristine white clothes, and she handles everything like it's precious.
Like each croissant, each tart matters."
Her fingers curl against my chest as she paints the picture with words.
"No one yells at her. No one tells her what to do or takes what she's made. She's entirely her own." A sigh escapes those soft lips. "She looked so... peaceful. Like she built something beautiful that no one could steal."
Pride surges through me at the ambition hidden beneath all that fear. This girl doesn't just want safety—she wants creation, independence, something that's hers alone.
"I figured as much."
She frowns. "What?"
"The mess you made on my kitchen counter earlier." I arch an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. "Crumbs everywhere, chocolate icing spilled across the marble. I thought maybe a raccoon broke in before I realized it was just thieves with terrible cleanup skills."
Color floods her cheeks, turning them the most delicious shade of pink. "That wasn't me!"
"No?"
"It was—it was my friends! They got distracted looking through your pantry." She squirms against me, indignation making her voice rise. "I told them not to touch anything in the kitchen, but they never listen, and?—"
Her stomach interrupts with a growl so loud it echoes through the quiet bedroom.
The lie dies on her lips. Those hazel eyes go wide with mortification.
"You were saying, baby?"
"I might have... tasted a few things." Her voice drops to barely a whisper. "Your chocolate cake was so nice. So as the fried chicken and mashed potatoes." Another growl from her stomach punctuates the confession.
Laughter rumbles through my chest before I can stop it. The sound startles her, those wide hazel eyes darting up to meet mine with something close to panic.
"Since you and your little crew already helped yourselves to my kitchen, might as well make sure you eat properly." I reach for my phone on the nightstand. "What do you want?"
"I... what?"
"Food, little girl. I'm ordering delivery." My fingers hover over the screen. "Chinese? Italian? Thai?"
Her stomach answers before she can, growling loud enough to make her cheeks flush that delicious pink again.
"You don't have to?—"
"I wasn't asking for permission." I pull up my usual delivery app. "Pick something or I'll order everything."
She nibbles that bottom lip, gaze dropping to study my wolf tattoo like it holds the secrets of the universe. Her fingers trace the inked pine trees absently.
"Maybe... pizza?"
"Pizza it is." I scroll through options. "Toppings?"
"Whatever you want is fine."
"Wrong answer." I tilt her chin up. "Tell daddy exactly what you want on your pizza, baby."
The way she shivers at that word makes my cock twitch against her thigh.
"Mushrooms and peppers?"