Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ANGEL
It’s a loaded offer. Tempting but also dangerous.
“It’s not a happy story,” I admit, pulling away from his hold.
Dominic lets me go without protest, and flops back in his chair, leaving one leg dangling over the side. “I’m not a happy guy.”
His rough voice scrapes over my skin like sandpaper, but instead of turning away, I find myself arching toward it. I’m like Icarus flying toward the sun—knowing I’ll incinerate yet still craving the burn.
I don’t want to open up. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want this pathetic flutter in my stomach, and I sure as hell don’t want this infuriating ache between my legs. But the more I’m near Dominic, the less I can deny either.
And that terrifies me.
For a man whose entire life is based on exposing secrets, Dominic has kept his own cards close to his chest. And while the last thing I want to do is open up a portal and dive into the abyss, I don’t know if I’ll get an opportunity like this again. So, against my better judgment, I sit back down.
“There’s not much to tell. I grew up poor, just like you said. Left a shitty group home when I was sixteen.”
He stares at me, not a flicker of emotion on his face. “What about your parents?”
“Don’t have any.” I stare down at my hands. “I mean, obviously they exist, but not in my memory. I can’t even picture their faces. From what I was told, they weren’t worth knowing. Not that it matters. They didn’t want me, so I don’t want them. Case closed.”
“Were the people who ran the group home abusive?”
I shrug. “They were indifferent, and I was just… there .”
“Invisible.”
I glance up to where Dominic stares at me in strained silence. All of a sudden, I feel bare. Raw. Like he’s reached within and turned me inside out.
“Do you ever feel like you’re trapped in a place you don’t belong?” I ask, quietly. “Like no matter how loud you scream no one can hear you. Like if you could just spread your wings and fly, maybe you’d be okay. But you can’t—”
“Because your wings are clipped.”
My eyes snap to where Dominic stares off into the distance. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
A shadow falls across his face that looks a lot like regret. But that can’t be right. Dominic McCallum doesn’t have regrets. He’s incapable of sorrow or guilt or basic human compassion.
Isn’t he?
“Lucky guess.” He tips the bottle back again.
I contemplate ending this game of show and tell right now. Sure, I want the tit for tat Dominic promised, but I’d rather not spill more truth all over the blood I’ve already shed .
But I should’ve known when Dominic McCallum smells blood, he doesn’t back down.
Tipping his head back, he runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. “I’m guessing life on the streets wasn’t all wine and roses.”
“Shockingly, there’s not a lot of opportunity out there for a sixteen-year-old runaway.”
Well, none that are legal, anyway.
I cringe thinking of the dirty alleys I slept in and the garbage I ate just to survive. Always on guard and always on the move, solitude was my only friend until I met Violet. Until the seductive siren call of Hollywood drew us in and then spit us out.
I shake my head. “Eventually, all of us end up at the same place.” I quickly avert my eyes. “I think that’s when I became a true actress. Just to escape from reality, I’d check out and someone else would take over. That’s when Jade Saxton was born.”
“So Last First Kiss —”
I glare up at him. “Was a small supporting role that I earned standing on my own two feet, not lying on my back. My life hasn’t been easy, but dreams come with a price.”
I’m not an idealist. I don’t expect comfort from the man responsible for tearing those dreams to shreds and then tossing them in the air like confetti. But I sure as hell don’t expect a condescending smack in the face, either.
Dominic swings his legs off the chair and leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he hooks a finger under my chin. “And thanks to me, you’re still paying it, right?”
As I suspected, this was nothing but a ploy to chip away at my armor while his remains a thick wall of fortified granite. And like an idiot, I fell for it.
I should be furious. I should punch his face until it’s not so damn pretty. Until I can look at it without this stupid flutter and ache and want. Because the only thing I should desire is to unleash twelve months of pent-up anger.
Instead, what am I doing? Leaning into his touch. Remembering the feel of his lips on my skin. Wishing for more from a man I hate.
His grip tightens, and my breath quickens.
Kiss me.
“Angel,” he groans, his eyes dropping to where his thumb traces my bottom lip. The distance between us erases until all that remains is a breath.
I close my eyes and count the seconds. Hating this. Wanting this.
Dominic’s nose dips into my hair, and I take a shuddering breath. “You’re drunk,” I mumble.
“Yeah, but you’re sober,” he whispers in my ear before pulling back. “So I’m not taking advantage of you. If you want me to stop, just get up and leave. But if you don’t”—standing, he swings his leg over my lounger and straddles it, his hand reachingfor the button on my shorts—“just enjoy what I probably won’t remember in the morning.”
His twisted logic makes it so easy to justify. If he doesn’t remember, and I never speak of it, then technically, it never happened. While I rationalize a bad decision, Dominic takes my silence as confirmation and has not only undone the button on my shorts but has also pulled down the zipper and shoved his hand inside.
I gasp, throwing my head back as his finger slides in between my folds. “Fuck,” he groans. “Soaking wet, just like I imagined.”
His slow, torturous strokes are going to be the death of me. I know I’ll hate myself for this tomorrow, but right now, I don’t care. Moaning, I grab the back of the lounge chair, anchoring myself as I shift my hips, trying to force more.
“Greedy girl,” he growls, his hand diving deeper. He dips the tip of his index finger in my opening then pulls it out. “How bad do you want it?”
I hold my breath, both anxious and fearful of what he’s going to do to me. The wild look in his eyes is animalistic and primitive. Almost as if his goal is to break me. As his finger sinks into me, I close my eyes, moaning his name as a wave of heat consumes me.
Then a bright light flashes, and both the heat and his finger disappear. I blink just as Dominic swears and shifts back onto his chair, his fists clenched on his thighs. A wall slams over his face, and whatever moment existed between us is now gone.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face.
Sorry? That’s it? That’s all he has to say?
My face burns with shame as I button my shorts. Things are so awkward I don’t know what to say or where to look. So, I concentrate on the hand covering his mouth.
I can’t take my eyes off it.
“What’s that?” I blurt out, pointing at the tattoo on top of his hand.
“Nothing.” But the sharp catch in his voice says otherwise.
Ignoring him, I tug on his wrist. “Let me see it.” Cradling his palm in mine, I run a finger across faded lines and foreign script. A jolt of electricity sizzles through me as grainy images flash through my mind. I trace the inked cross, swirling the tip of my finger around the words I don’t understand. “What does this mean?”
“Nothing anymore.”
He doesn’t offer any further explanation, and I don’t ask. Maybe Violet was right. Dominic has made a living out of playing people. Why would I be any different? Ever since he blew into my life, my brain feels like a giant puzzle with missing pieces .
“Angel, you okay?”
On edge, I drop his hand. “I’m fine.” We’ve gone around in circles since I walked out here, so I pull the trigger and go for a direct hit. “Why do you know so much about the Romanov murders?”
His face hardens. “Why do you ask so many questions?”
“Why do you keep deflecting?”
“I’m in the business of uncovering hidden truths, aren’t I?” he slurs, the whiskey hitting him harder. “What’s more hidden than an unsolved murder and a missing kid? Besides, detective work is a hobby of mine.”
I give him a side-eyed glance. “You carry around a picture of her. I’d say that’s more than a hobby.”
“Angel, I—” Dominic flinches as another quick succession of flashes goes off just over the green wall. His jaw clenches, his anger palpable. “Fucking parasites,” he grumbles under his breath while rising to his feet. He’s still drunk, but the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins dilutes the alcohol, making him more coherent.
Paparazzi.
I arch an eyebrow. “Aren’t you one of those fucking parasites?”
Grumbling out an unintelligible response, he wraps a hand around my upper arm and drags me to my feet. “Inside, now .”
I want to protest, but his voice takes on that commanding tone that causes me to lose control of my common sense. As soon as we’re back inside, Dominic slams the glass door and closes the vertical blinds, the scowl sinking deeper into his chiseled features.
“I forgot how relentless those assholes can be.”
For the first time since putting this whole ruse in motion, he looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and days-worth of stubble surround the lines around his mouth. And it’s not just the alcohol; it’s as if he hasn’t rested in months.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, barely saying two words to me as he shows me to the guest room. I risk a quick glance up at him, noticing some of the earlier tension has faded from his face. I shouldn’t say anything. I promised myself I wouldn’t. But this is eating away at me.
“Dominic, what happened out there—”
“Can’t happen again.”
I blink. “What?”
He leans against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest, a distant look in his eyes. “Until that million-dollar check is cashed and cleared, we can’t give anyone a reason to question you. Besides, this is a temporary business arrangement, nothing more.”
There.
Right there is the man I built Dominic McCallum up to be in my head. The asshole behind the computer. The monster wielding a pen in one hand and a sword in the other, but at the end of the day, they’re both the same.
“Right,” I say flatly. “Nothing more.”
He nods, his dark hair falling over his forehead. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, Alexandra Romanov .”
My stomach roils at the way that sounds.
Dominic slips away without another word, which is just as well. My mind is already preoccupied with what tomorrow will bring.
More paparazzi. More questions. More lies.
By the time I finally drift off to sleep, it’s anything but restful.
Pennies.
I smell pennies.
Lowering my arm, I blink, staring at the floor and adjusting my blurry eyes to the darkness. I’m not alone. A pair of dark boots shuffle as they move toward me.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four steps. Five steps.
The scent of pennies grows stronger the closer the boots come. When they’re right in front of me, they stop, and I stare, knowing my choices will end in consequences.
“It’s time to go, little one. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life . ”
A strangled gasp tears from my throat as I sit straight up in bed.