Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
B ecca’s head was swirling, spinning out of control, as if the world had just tilted on its axis.
Oh. My. God.
What the hell was that?
She could still feel his hands on her skin, the lingering heat of their bodies crashing together. And now? Now there was nothing but silence and the faint echo of her own heart pounding. It felt like she’d lost a piece of herself in that moment, something vital and wild, something she wasn’t sure she could ever get back. What must he think of her now?
Embarrassed, she refused to meet his gaze. She couldn’t. Her body screamed at her to look—look at him, at this man who had just wrecked her—but she didn’t trust herself. The shame and confusion knotted in her chest too tightly. She needed space, needed air.
Without a word, she slid off the countertop, disentangling herself from his grip. Her body felt foreign, exposed, vulnerable. Her dress, once clinging to her skin, had fallen in the chaos, discarded like everything else. She could still feel the imprint of his hands all over her—rough, urgent, unapologetic. It was too much. She bent down, fumbling for the fabric, hastily buttoning it, though her hands trembled.
“You okay?” His voice was gentle, concerned.
Her throat tightened. She stole a glance at him and regretted it. He stood there, naked, glistening in the dim light like some kind of god. His chest, his abs, everything about him was carved from stone—perfect and infuriatingly calm.
Damn him. How could he look like that when she felt so broken?
“Yeah, I think so,” she croaked, even though her throat felt like it was closing in on itself.
“Becca—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” she cut him off, her voice sharper than she intended. She could feel her control slipping, unraveling at the edges. She didn’t want to explain what had happened—she couldn’t.
Dom’s brow furrowed, surprise flickering in his eyes. But then he nodded, swallowing whatever he had been about to say. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
It wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t know what she wanted, but talking about it? Talking would make it real. How could she possibly explain what had just happened? How could she make him understand the storm raging inside her? That it wasn’t just about him—it was everything. The fear, the grief, the overwhelming sense that she was spiraling into something she couldn’t control.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the buttons of her dress, the silence stretching between them like a chasm she didn’t know how to cross.
“It’s a lot,” she finally whispered, her voice brittle.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Her gaze flicked up to meet his, and what she saw scared her even more than her own loss of control. Desire, confusion… tenderness. God, no. That wasn’t part of the plan. It couldn’t be.
Oh, boy.
“Do you want me to stay?”
She flinched at the question, her heart lurching. After everything that had just happened, how could she kick him out? Yet, she needed to be alone. Needed to process what had happened, revel in the deliciousness of her reckless abandon, hold on to those moments and play them on repeat until she’d made some sense out of it.
Until then, she couldn’t face him.
“No,” she whispered. “I’ve got an early start.”
He gave a simple nod, like he’d been expecting that answer. Was she that predictable? “That’s okay,” he said. “I have to pack anyway. Heading out around noon tomorrow.”
He would have stayed if she’d wanted him to, she knew that. Something tingled inside her, fluttering around her chest, but she shoved it down. There was no room for that right now.
“Where are you going?” It felt safer to talk about that. Something, anything, other than the whirlwind inside her.
“Back to Colombia.” His tone darkened, and he didn’t need to say more. She knew what it meant—another shipment, more danger. He was stepping back into the fire, where men like him lived.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Shit. That sounded too much like she cared, like she couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt.
His lips quirked. “I always am.”
She nodded, turning away to hide her flaming cheeks.
“Becca?”
She froze. “Yeah.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her stomach dropped, and her heart clenched. Oh, no. Here it comes. The part where he tells her it was a mistake. Or that he’s married. Or has a girlfriend. She braced herself for the excuses, the same ones she’d heard a dozen times before, already shrinking away from the blow.
“What?”
“Turn around.”
Reluctantly, she did, watching as he bent to pull up his jeans, fastening the zipper with deliberate slowness. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. Thank goodness. It was too hard to look at him naked. Too raw. Her mind kept replaying what had just happened, her body still buzzing from the way he had touched her, held her, the way he had wrecked her. “What did you want to tell me?”
Dom hesitated, his gaze searching hers for something. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his jaw ticking like he was trying to figure out the right words. Finally, he spoke. “I’m not who you think I am.”
Her stomach twisted. Oh, God. Here we go.
“You’re married, aren’t you? I knew it. There had to be something.” She threw it out there, hoping to get it over with, to cut through the tension.
“No,” he shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “You’re safe on that front. It’s my job I lied about.”
“What?” Becca stared at him, the words not quite sinking in. His job? “You can’t get much worse than a drug-smuggling mercenary.”
Dom snorted, but there was no humor in it. “That depends on how you look at it.”
“Dom, you’re worrying me. What is it?”
He exhaled sharply, his jaw popping again. Whatever he was about to say, it was hard for him to get out. She could see that.
“I’m still in the Marine Corps,” he finally said, his voice low, almost ashamed. “I never left. I’m undercover.”
She blinked, the weight of his words taking a moment to register. Undercover… still in the Marines?
“You didn’t go AWOL?”
He shook his head. “I was recruited by someone in Suarez’s organization. They were poaching soldiers to use as mercs, so I went undercover to find out what was going on. Once I was inside, the DEA got wind of it and asked me to feed them intel on his drug trafficking network.”
"Alberto Suarez?" She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. He was as infamous as Pablo Escobar in these parts.
"The one and only," Dom admitted.
"Didn’t he get caught? I remember reading about it a couple of months ago." Then it clicked, and her eyes widened. "Wait a minute, was that you?"
"Indirectly. My intel is what got him busted. He walked right into a DEA sting operation."
Becca gripped the counter as the pieces fell into place. "And now you're undercover in Alek Markov's organization?"
Dom nodded.
"Oh, shit."
She ran a hand through her hair. All this time, she’d thought he was a violent gun for hire, a mercenary working for her boss, when really, he was... a good guy?
Somehow, the bad guy had been easier to accept.
"Are you going to bust him too? For smuggling guns to Colombia?"
Dom's chest rose as he exhaled. "I'm going to try. But right now, we don’t have much. Markov doesn’t put his name on anything official. He uses dummy corporations for all his illegal transactions. On paper, he’s squeaky clean." He studied her, his gaze intense. "That’s why I need your help."
Her stomach dropped. "My help?"
"Yeah. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you can get into his study and look for evidence of the arms deal with the Colombians, we might have something. Documents, emails, anything that ties him to the deal."
Becca shook her head before he’d even finished. "I handle his legitimate business. I don’t have access to any of that stuff. Besides, Alek wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around in his office or on his laptop."
"You're probably right, but I’m out of options, Becca. The deal’s happening in a few days, and I’ve got nothing. If Markov isn’t at the handover himself—and he won’t be—there’s no proof he was involved."
"What about Ramirez?" she asked, her mind jumping to the one man she would gladly see locked away forever. She was convinced he'd had his wife killed.
"Ramirez’s name is all over this. We can arrest him and put him away for a hundred years based on what we already have, but he’s small fry compared to Markov."
Becca turned and stepped out onto the patio. The night was still and warm, but it did nothing to soothe her growing unease. In the distance, the waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. "I'm sorry, Dom. I wish I could help you, but I can’t."
She heard him follow her outside. His arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her into his chest. "I’m sorry. Forget I asked. It’s too dangerous." He kissed the back of her neck, his lips soft against her skin. "I just spent the night warning you not to investigate your friend’s death, and here I am asking you to spy on your boss."
She could feel his heart beating steadily against her back.
"It’s not that," she said quietly, stepping out of his embrace. This time, she couldn’t let him hold her together.
"What is it, then?"
Becca turned to face him, her voice barely a whisper. "I can’t help you dig up dirt on Alek—because he’s my father."