Chapter 24
Emily didn’t leave the house for a week.
She was stiff and sore the first few days—aftereffects of the stun gun, Alec suspected.
Ibuprofen and warm baths helped, but her muscles twitched at odd moments, as though they hadn’t forgotten the jolt.
Sometimes her fingers trembled when she reached for a glass.
The aftereffects no one ever mentioned on TV crime shows were unnerving.
But the real reason she hid out in Alec’s house were the visible marks on her body impossible to ignore.
Long sleeves in the Florida heat were intolerable, but the burn on her neck—red, irritated, twin prong marks that resembled a vampire bite—felt like a brand.
She kept it covered and wore hoodies with the AC cranked up so she didn’t have to look at the reminder of her time as a captive.
More importantly, so Alec didn’t have to.
When he did, he got quiet.
Even with Enzo dead and Benny facing a lifetime in prison, anger flashed in Alec’s eyes. He contained it, but it was simmering, and unmistakable.
He was careful with her. Twice a day, he tended her burns and bruises with the special ointment Dev’s doctor recommended during his house call.
She hadn’t felt it necessary, but Alec and Dev insisted, and the compounded concoction—vitamin E, lanolin, and several other things she’d already forgotten.
Alec’s care had something to do with it too.
His fingers skimmed her skin—efficient, almost clinical.
Then he’d brush a soft kiss to her temple.
She never told him what those seconds under the stun gun felt like.
Not just the searing pain but the way her body seized, muscles out of her control.
The collapse when her limbs betrayed her, buckling like a puppet with its strings cut.
And beneath the ache, something deeper: the terror of being helpless, of having her autonomy ripped away, her ability to fight—even pointlessly—stolen.
He never asked. Never pushed.
And when the nightmares came, he held her.
She’d wake gasping, heart pounding, memories of Enzo’s knife at her throat and slicing through her clothes, being forced onto the stage, and the untold numbers of faceless buyers watching safely behind a computer screen.
In her nightmares, Alec didn’t get to her in time.
She’d scream, thrash, reach for an escape that wasn’t there—until he’d pull her against him and whisper assurances, until the terror ebbed.
Some nights, she wasn’t sure she believed him when he said she was safe.
During the day, she cooked. Elaborate meals that filled the apartment with warmth and spice. Alec would come home, drop his keys, inhale, then groan in bliss.
“You’re spoiling me. If I eat like this every night, I’ll get fat and have to find a new line of work.”
She stirred the sauce, smiling. “That sounds perfect.”
“The fat part?”
“A new line of work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Then I wouldn’t have to worry.”
“You don’t. We don’t take chances.”
She set the spoon down and turned. “Storming a warehouse full of armed criminals isn’t taking chances? Not that I’m not grateful.”
He pulled her into his arms. “We outnumbered and outgunned them. Which is why you’re here and they’re either dead or behind bars. Those situations are rare. Don’t worry. Not about that.”
But she would—worry was a habit she could never break. She whispered, “okay,” even though they both knew it wasn’t true.
When his stomach growled, he laughed and released her. “I’m starving. How long until dinner?”
“It’s ready now.”
“I’ll set the table,” he said, already moving.
It was domestic. Simple. And strangely perfect.
***
By the end of the second week, the bruises had faded. The burn on her neck would take longer, but the pain was gone. She resumed her classes. Her body felt like hers again. Her mind—mostly. At least the nightmares had stopped.
Alec was back at work full time. He checked in often—texts, calls, dropping by between tasks—but she was alone for long stretches. He didn’t want her returning to her crack-of-dawn shifts just yet—if ever—and she certainly wasn’t working for Regina again.
She wandered his house, read half a dozen books, sat on his balcony, stared out at the fountain, and had far too much time to think.
He was sweet, tender, kissed her often, held her close every night, but nothing more.
Was he giving her space to heal? Or quietly pulling away?
The confusion lingered—surfacing in the quiet moments, tugging at her until she had to do something about it.
At the start of week three, the doctor dropped by for a follow-up house call and declared her fit—ready to return to her usual activities.
All activities.
She was on Alec’s second-floor balcony, plotting her seduction, when she heard him calling her name. Abandoning her plans for the moment, she slipped into the bedroom just as he walked in from the hall.
He held a garment bag in one hand, a sleek white shoebox in the other. Manolo Blahnik across the lid in elegant script.
Emily’s lips parted. Her idea of “designer” came from the clearance rack at T.J. Maxx.
“What’s this?” she asked, breath catching despite her best effort at casual.
“Dev’s hosting his annual charity night,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made her knees unreliable. “I’m working security for part of it, but I thought you’d like to come.”
He unzipped the garment bag, black silk spilling out.
“Cari is on the board of the Women’s and Children’s Shelter. She runs the fundraiser. Dev
shakes down his friends for money, and everyone gets to dress up. It’s formal.”
“And you knew I’d have nothing to wear,” she whispered as he lifted out a short dress—low-backed, revealing, very Devil’s Pointe, but elegant. Very Alec.
“There are shoes in the box,” he added.
“Manolos,” she whispered, more than a little awestruck. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never worn shoes that cost more than rent.”
He set the box and garment bag on the bed and pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t say anything except yes.”
Emily looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes. I’d love to go with you. It’ll be good to get out and actually be human again.”
“There’ll be games to raise money—kinky ones, naturally. You don’t have to participate—” he assured her. “Technically, that’s against policy, but I think Dev would make an exception.”
“I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves.”
He brushed his knuckled along her cheek. “Then we’ll find something that suits you. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”
“I can be ready in half, but I’ll take the full one.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “Thank you, Knight. As usual, you’ve thought of everything.”
“Not quite.” His eyes warmed with a faint, wicked gleam.
“There’s a thong in the garment bag, but given the cut of that dress, you won’t be able to wear a bra.
The dom in me couldn’t resist.” He bent and touched his lips lightly to hers—barely a kiss, more of a promise—then turned toward the hallway.
“I’ll use the guest room shower. This one’s all yours. ”
As he walked out, she could’ve sworn she heard him whistle. It had been a long time since she’d seen him in such a carefree mood.
The weight of her parents’ deaths and Ethan’s had hung over them for nearly a decade. Maybe it was time for both of them to breathe easy again. To look forward.
Maybe tonight was the beginning.