Chapter Thirty-Seven
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
DOMINIC
God, my head feels like somebody drilled a hole in the side of it and stuffed it full of rocks. I don’t know how much whiskey I drank last night, but it’s enough to wish for death this morning.
Or afternoon.
Hell, I don’t know what time it is. All I know is it’s too bright to be awake.
Anchoring a pillow over my head, I drape my forearms across it and block out the world until the phone rings again.
Why the hell didn’t I just turn the damn thing off?
Because then you couldn’t see her text, dickhead.
I admit it. I’ve seen all five of them. Read them. Reread them. Analyzed them like a damn chick. Everything short of answering them. I can’t. Not until I get my shit together and figure out what I’m going to do about Violet.
And Rubio.
And Rosten .
And Luciano.
“Fuck,” I groan into the pillow. “I wish they’d all just die.”
After the third time my phone rings, I’m pissed. Throwing the pillow across the room, I roll back across the mattress, hitting the answer button without bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Stop fucking calling me!” I’m about to hang up when a familiar voice catches my ear.
“McCallum, wait. This is about Alexandra.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Brent.”
Ah, yes. My Bound Fate spy. “Why are you calling me so early?”
“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”
I rub at the new headache forming between my eyes. “Your point?”
“I would’ve called you earlier, but I had to wait for Noah to leave. He has enough problems with Rosten, and if he overheard, he’d do something drastic and ruin his career.”
On hearing that fucker’s name I sit up, the rocks rattling around in my skull calming to a dull roar. “What about Rosten?” Shit in my head starts untangling. “You said this is about Alexandra.”
“It is.” The line goes silent for a moment. “Look, I want you to promise you’ll think of Alexandra’s future before you go flying off the handle.”
“Just say it,” I bite out between clenched teeth.
He lets out a labored breath. “I got to the studio early on Friday because Noah likes to run lines on set before the crew shows up. I arrived before him and found a Bound Fate script just lying around. You know how Rosten is about stuff getting leaked.”
“Get to the point. ”
“Right. So, I swung by reception, grabbed a keycard, and went up to his office. Susan wasn’t in yet because like I said, it was early. But I heard voices.”
I close my eyes and grip the sheet. Not because of the bright light, or the headaches, or the rocks in my head. But because of the impending storm I know is coming.
“I heard Isabella and Sebastian’s lines, and not the tame ones. The ones that make me walk off set. I was about to go in when the door opened. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught eavesdropping, so I hid around the corner, but…” He pauses, almost as if he’s battling with himself to say the words I know are coming. “It was Alexandra.”
“She works for him.” The words are hollow, even to my own ears.
“She was crying, Dominic. And before she left, Rosten…” He hedges, a tense silence passing between us. Then he says the three words that knock the air out of my chest. “He touched her.”
“He did what?” My voice is dead calm, but the grip on the sheet is merciless.
“She looked catatonic, man. Like no one was home. Then she just walked away. Noah never made it to the set because he got food—”
I disconnect the call. Although my chest feels like a dull knife is digging into it, I don’t yell. I don’t smash empty whiskey bottles against the wall. I’m calm as I take a shower. I’m calm as I get dressed. I’m calm as I drive to Burbank. I’m calm as I go through the checkpoint and metal detector at Silverline. And I’m calm as I make my way toward the main executive building.
But the minute I notice a shadow trailing behind me and catch a glimpse of a familiar face in the glass door, all hell breaks loose.
I spin around, catching her by the arm before she can run away. Although she struggles, I knock her off balance, and she tumbles against the side of the building. Before she can get her bearings, I pin my forearm against her throat. “What the hell is wrong with you, DeLuca?”
Excessive? Don’t care.
My “give a fuck” well has run dry.
“Why are you at Silverline Studios?” she croaks, her black nails clawing at my arm.
“Does it matter?”
Her face is turning a little red, so I lighten up the pressure. Seizing the opportunity, she digs her nails into my arm so hard she draws blood.
“Fuck!” I yell, dropping my hold. “You crazy bitch! How did you even get in here?”
“My best friend gave me an access pass so I could be on set Monday,” she hisses, staring me dead in the face like she didn’t just turn rabid. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here today.”
“She’s in love with you, you know,” she says, ignoring me. “She’s never let anyone this close to her, and you’re going to break her, aren’t you?” She pokes her bony finger into my chest. “Well, I’m not going to let you. I’ll ruin you first, McCallum.”
I don’t need this shit right now.
“Is that right?” A quiet storm builds in my voice as it drops low. Every step I take forces her back against the wall again. I can feel everything I’ve worked for slipping away as the kid with blood on his hands who defied Luciano Ricci gains strength. “Try it and see what happens. You have no idea what I’m capable of or the reach I have, lady. One word from me, and you’ll take a swan dive off the Colorado Street Bridge.”
Violet’s face blanches. “Oh my God. That was you.” Her expression shifts from indignation to fear. “You did kill that photographer.”
Shit. Now I have to take care of this problem, too.
“I didn’t say that. However, people get what they deserve.” Bracing my palm by her head, I lean in close. “You go poking around in other people’s business, don’t be surprised if they poke back.”
Her voice shakes as she lifts her chin. “You got what you wanted. Leave her alone.”
“No. Now go away before I call security.”
“This isn’t over, McCallum,” she warns, backing away. “You can’t just threaten me and walk away.”
I flip my middle finger over my shoulder as I walk toward the glass door. “I just did.”
The minute the elevator door opens, I feel it. That stirring in my blood. The kick in my pulse. The rush in my ears. It’s bloodlust and it’s hungry.
Since it’s Saturday, Rosten’s door is wide open. Naturally, I accept the invitation, barreling in with guns blazing.
He’s standing by the wall of glass, staring out over his kingdom with his back to me. “Dominic. What can I do for you?”
Darkness beckons me. It’s where I belong. The moment a man in an Italian suit led me to a black SUV, I sold my soul to it. Served it. Bent to it. I did its bidding and never looked back.
Except one time a pair of sad green eyes brought me into the light. One time I sewed an angel’s wings back on and set her free.
I’ll be damned if I’ll let it all be for nothing.
I charge toward him, crashing both of us against the glass. Grabbing his tie, I wind it around my fist. “You can tell me what the hell you think you’re doing to Alexandra.”
“I’m making her a star,” he croaks.
“I meant your little private sessions, you sick fuck. How long have they been going on?”
His face starts to turn purple, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish. While the visual amuses me, I need the fucker to talk, so I loosen my grip.
“Alexandra needs special training.” He coughs as he tugs on his collar. “A firm hand, if you will.”
Letting out an inhuman roar, I pull my arm back and punch him in the face, his nose exploding into red rivulets.
His hands fly to his face. “You son of a—”
I grab him by the throat and drive my knee into his gut, cutting him off. Pulling my gun from behind my jacket, I slam him against the glass again while shoving the barrel under his chin. “Tell me I’m a son of a bitch now, you cocksucker.”
“How did you get that through the metal detector?”
“I used to fuck one of the guards. Nice girl. Bad lay. Next question.”
Even with a bullet ready to blow his head off, he smirks. “This was a costly mistake. We had a deal.”
I shove the gun deeper into his throat. “Fuck your deal. I agreed to get Alexandra to sign your contract, not suck your dick.”
“But she’s so good at it.”
“Motherfucker!” I drive my knee into his gut again and again. Eventually, the only thing keeping him upright is my hand around his throat .
“You also realize,” he wheezes, “this nullifies our agreement about your mother.”
“My mother is—”
“Being supported by your whore. I know. How many times have I told you, McCallum? I own Wyatt Everly and every son of a bitch in that hospital. I don’t care if Alexandra buys the whole damn wing. My word is God.” He smiles again, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Poor Brenda. How will she ever fare on the streets?”
I swear to fuck, I almost pull the trigger. One bullet and it’d be over.
One problem solved.
But that leaves the others. I’d be behind bars, leaving Rubio and Luciano to run free. Angel would learn the truth, and I wouldn’t be there to take her someplace safe this time.
Releasing my hold from his throat, I pull my gun back and drive my fist into his ribs. “I’ll handle my mother.”
He lets out a rattled laugh. “Like you handle things for Luciano?”
I still, my finger curled around the trigger. He can’t know. The odds are impossible. Luciano is too calculated. Too careful. Too premeditated to risk knowledge buried under blood oaths and death.
Rosten’s nostrils flare as he stands, straightening his blood-stained suit jacket. “I told you, boy. I run this town. No one takes a shit without me knowing it. You won’t do a damn thing but tuck your limp dick between your legs and go back to your piece of shit gossip rag.”
I raise my gun, pointing it right between his eyes. “And if I don’t?”
He walks forward, standing right in front of the barrel, daring me to pull the trigger. “I’ll finish what Freddy Wiseman started.”
I don’t see Angel on Sunday.
Even though she sent five more texts and three more voicemails, I ignored them all. My mind was too muddled to deal with questions I couldn’t answer. After leaving Silverline, I took care of a few loose strings then went back home, got on my Harley, and drove.
I had no destination. I just needed an open road and the roar of the engine to clear my head. To plan. To figure out how to check off the rest of my boxes.
Now here I am pacing the inside of the garage elevator at the Romanov mansion at eleven-thirty on Monday night. She’s not going to like what I have to say, but there’s no other option. I got her into this mess, and I’ll get her out of it.
I did it once. I can do it again.
It took every ounce of restraint I had in me to let her step foot on that studio lot today, but one call to Brent set my nerves at ease. He promised to be her shadow, and since I didn’t get a call all day, I assume that bastard kept his hands to himself.
As soon as the elevator doors open, Angel runs straight into me and buries her face in my chest. “Thank God, you’re here. I don’t know what to do. She didn’t even say goodbye. That’s not like her. I know I told her to leave, but all her stuff is still here, so I called the bar, but no one’s seen her. I called the apartment. Nothing.” She looks up at me, those earthy green eyes frantic as they search mine for an answer. “Why wouldn’t she say goodbye?”
“What are you talking about?”
Her shoulders sag, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent than ever. “Violet’s missing.”