Chapter 8 DOMINIC
DOMINIC
Sixteen Years Ago
The night bit with a chill so sharp it felt like the air itself could shatter. December’s breath wrapped the remote village in an icy silence, tucking every soul indoors, every animal, every sound, every trace of life vanished beneath the cold. Only one cottage dared to glow in the dark.
From the outside, it was nothing but a forgotten husk: warped wood, sagging roof, years of weather carved into its frame. But inside, warmth lived not from the weak fire, but from the laughter of a young mother and her eight-year-old boy sharing dinner.
Dry bread. Again.
If luck had smiled on them, maybe a bit of cheese or chicken would have found its way to their plates. But it didn’t matter, not to them. They had something better. Each other.
Love that filled the cracks in the walls, the silences between words, the hunger in their bellies. The woman had taught her son to cherish the little things—to be kind, to give, even when he had nothing to give. And he did.
He’d often save his crust of bread for his friend at the park, a boy with bruises on his arms and sadness buried too deep for an eight-year-old to understand. That boy had no mother. No warm home. No dry bread. Dominic knew he was lucky.
“Do you want to go on an adventure tomorrow, Nikki?” The woman’s eyes shimmered as they caught the flickering candlelight. “The waterfall I told you about. We can hike there.”
Nikki’s eyes sparkled with childlike wonder. He nodded eagerly.
“I’ve saved a little extra,” she whispered like it was a sacred secret. “We can buy chocolate.” Chocolate.
He’d never tasted it. He’d only heard about it from other kids at school. More than anything, he just wanted to spend tomorrow with his mother.
But a knock on the door shattered their quiet world. The woman’s smile faltered, just slightly. She brushed Nikki’s hand.
“Stay here, baby. I’ll see who it is.”
He nodded, chewing more slowly now. Something about that knock didn’t feel right. It was too late for guests. Too cold for strangers.
And when she opened the door… the cold rushed in.
Voices. Low. Male. Angry.
He strained to hear, but all he caught were harsh syllables, his mother’s voice turning sharp, foreign.
Moments later, she was shoved back into the kitchen, her breath caught in a gasp as a tall man held her by the neck, forcing her into the chair across from Nikki.
Two more followed, dressed in black, their movements too calm and practiced. Emotionless.
The woman’s eyes flicked to her son. Her fear was hidden behind a trembling smile. “Don’t be scared, Nikki. Everything’s going to be okay.”
But it wouldn’t be. He knew it.
The man in front—taller than the others, a scar splitting his brow tilted his head as he stared at the boy. Cold, brown eyes. Empty.
“So this is your son, Freya?”
“Don’t you dare go near him,” she hissed. Her voice was steel and fire. A mother’s fury.
The man didn’t flinch. He stepped forward and grabbed Nikki’s face, rough and cold, turning it side to side like he was inspecting a piece of meat. Nikki tensed, shrinking under the man’s grip.
“How old are you, boy?”
His voice was a flat hum, void of warmth.
“Eight,” Nikki whispered, barely audible. The man grunted, nodding like the number meant something.
“Don’t touch him,” Freya cried, panic cracking her voice. “You promised. You said you’d leave us alone.”
“That promise expired,” the man sneered. “The boss wants him.”
Her scream split the air. “NO!”
Nikki sobbed, heart pounding. Who was the boss? Why did they want him? Why was his mother so scared?
“Please,” he choked, “let us go…”
The man leaned in close. “Look at me, boy. It’ll be better for you.’’
Nikki couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as he tried to be brave—tried to protect his mother the way she always protected him.
“I love you, Nikki,” Freya said softly.
It was the last thing she ever said. The gunshot was louder than anything he’d ever heard. His ears rang. His scream didn’t sound like his own. Just a raw, broken noise as her body slumped over the table, blood spilling like ink over paper.
No.
No. No. No.
He tried to run to her, but arms yanked him back.
“We are your family now,” the man said, his voice like ice.
They dragged him out as he kicked and screamed, his small fists useless.
He screamed her name until his throat bled.
One of the men lit the match. The house caught fire before the jeep engine even started.
And just like that, his home, his mother, his childhood—all turned to ash behind him.
He banged on the glass of the jeep, over and over, blood mixing with tears. But no one heard.
No one came. Tomorrow never came, nor did the chocolate.
Only darkness.
—
Present Day
I was wrong about this girl.
Athena King wasn’t supposed to be a problem.
She was supposed to be easy to snatch out of her pretty little bubble without so much as a sound, but the second my hand clamped over her mouth in that garden, she fought like her life depended on it.
She screamed into my palm, bit down hard enough to draw blood, even with a knife pressed to her throat. She didn’t beg, as I expected.
She fought harder than most men I’ve killed. She would’ve blown my cover if I hadn’t been prepared. One quick jab with the needle and she crumpled against me, limp as a doll. I lifted her easily, and she smelled like soft vanilla in my arms.
Alec was waiting in the car across the road, bored as usual, scrolling through his phone. His brow lifted when he saw her unconscious in my arms.
“Didn’t you say the girl wouldn’t be a problem?” he smirked.
Anyone else would’ve eaten dirt for that comment, but Alec’s my right hand and my only friend, so I said nothing.
“She wasn’t supposed to be,” I muttered, throwing her into the backseat. I followed her with my eyes, watching as her body settled, chest rising slowly and steadily. She looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
“She’s pretty,” Alec commented, flipping on the ignition. “For a King.”
“Drive.”
He did, but not before laughing under his breath.
“This is going to be fun.”
I didn’t answer. My head was pounding from the way the night twisted out of my hands. We should’ve been long gone. But no, she had to fight, and now everything was behind schedule. Still… a small part of me wasn’t angry about it.
“She’s a firecracker,” Alec said, glancing at her reflection in the rearview. “But you could’ve taken her weeks ago. Why now?”
I didn’t answer right away. Yes, I could have taken her that first night.
I watched her at the party—drunk, draped over Mason Rivera like a scarf he didn’t deserve.
Her smile was painted on, her eyes too tired for a twenty-year-old with the world at her feet.
She was vulnerable and alone. Perfect for my plan.
But I didn’t do shit. Not because I couldn’t, but because I wanted to watch. I needed to see the cracks in the golden girl before I shattered her.
So I waited and watched. For a year.
This girl was the key to destroying Maddox King.
A plan I was quite enjoying. She became…
interesting. Not because she’s beautiful—though she is.
Not because she’s rich, spoiled or part of the King legacy.
No, she intrigued me because she was pretending.
Smiling when she wanted to scream. Giving when she wanted to run.
Holding onto a fake life like it could save her. And tonight? That mask slipped.
When she came to the garden, I expected curiosity and maybe fear.
Not her fucking straddling me, grinding down, voice breathy, chasing her release like a drug. The way her voice cracked when she whimpered. The heat in her eyes as she rubbed against me. The tremble in her thighs when she came undone. It all plays in my head on repeat.
She made me forget for a second why I was there. Who I was. Who she was.
I can still feel her, pressed against me, desperate and wild. The little princess is not as innocent as I thought. She’s not what she pretends to be.
And I hate that it excites me. I hate how her stupid red hair smells like something pure. I hate her warm eyes and the way they try to strip the armor I’ve spent years building. I hate that I feel her even now, like an ache beneath my skin.
My phone rings. Again. Alec glances at me.
“Your father?”
I nod once.
“You’re going to have to answer eventually.”
But I won’t, not now. I have bigger problems. She’s five foot five, wrapped in zip ties, and lying unconscious in the backseat of my brand new car.