Chapter 26 #2
If he went missing after delivering that court order, she would be the police’s first suspect.
And although my legal team—the same firm that represented three Fortune 500 CEOs and a governor—could easily get her out of a murder case within forty-eight hours.
I could not let Teyonah deal with hours of interrogation, short jail cell time, separation from her kids, and mind-numbing anxiety all because of my actions.
Scott sounded like he was about to cry. “T-teyonah?”
“Give me a fucking minute, Scott!” She had her dress in order now, or as close as it would get. She tugged the top part a little like she could pull the past erotic minutes out of the fabric and leave it on the floor.
Still sneering, I shoved my cock in my boxer briefs, yanked up my pants, and buttoned the top.
The room smelled like heat, adrenaline, and sex.
“Teyonah? Teyonah?” Scott whimpered and then slumped against the door. “I’m serious. . .I. . .need your h-help. . .I feel like. . .I’m dying.”
Good. Then, let me help you get to death faster.
Too pissed and deliriously horny, I headed to the desk.
The hypodermic needle lay exactly where I had left it, and it was still full.
I’ll just put him to sleep for a few more hours. He can even lay by the damn door, while I fuck her. I don’t care.
Once at the desk, my fingers closed around the needle.
On the other side of the door, keys jingled.
He really is a narcissist.
The piece of shit bastard was just going to burst in here whether I wanted him in my place or not.
Come on then, Scott. Get your medicine.
When I turned, Teyonah was watching me in fear and shaking her head. “No. No. Put that down.”
I raised the needle between us. “He just needs a little more. I’m sorry. I should have upped the dosage.”
“I said no. Put it down. You might kill him.”
I arched a brow. “Would it really be that bad if he died?”
“Yes.” She looked terrified now—like she saw me not just as her cure, but as her disease. “Killing him is not the answer.”
“I think it is.”
“Then, think about J and Oliver. I don’t want them to learn about death. It’s not time for them to grieve for their father.”
That hit me deep in the chest, sharp and echoing like a scalpel striking bone. The memory of my parents’ deaths wasn’t just a scar—it was an open fracture, a wound that had never fully set.
Their absence had splintered me, left jagged edges where comfort should have been, and carved out a silence no medicine could fill.
I had learned how grief doesn’t fade; it mutates.
It becomes the weight in your ribs when you try to breathe too deeply.
It becomes the dark reminder in every celebration, whispering, someone is missing.
Although I would always step in to support J and Oliver—wrap myself around them as a shield, patch them up with whatever strength I could muster—the thought of them ever having to carry that kind of grief hollowed me out.
Shit.
I hated Scott, but I didn’t want J and Oliver standing in my shoes, blinking through the same lonely haze, forced to find a way forward when the ground itself had caved in.
The burden of grief was too heavy.
Too merciless.
It stripped a person down to bone, left them walking but never truly alive again. And I would bear it a thousand times alone before I let Oliver or J touch it once this year.
The keys scraped against the lock.
The metal jangled and twisted.
Her chest heaved. “Please, Dominic. Don’t.”
The click of tumblers falling came next.
Then, the door swung inward.
Scott filled the frame, pale and slick with sweat, eyes glassy, body swaying like he might vomit right there.
Something was off.
Way off.
Scott shouldn’t have been standing, not after that dose I’d given him. His pupils were blown, his skin clammy. His chest rose too fast, breaths shallow and uneven.
The sedative should’ve slowed everything down, not sped it up.
My jaw clenched as I took him in, my mind automatically cataloging symptoms.
Tremors.
Tachycardia—his heart was sprinting when it should’ve been crawling.
Overstimulation mixed with sedation.
His nervous system was caught in a tug-of-war.
Too much adrenaline in his bloodstream.
What the hell did you take before I sedated you?
But his eyes—even glassy and unfocused—tracked me with too much precision when I moved. Like a drunk pretending to be drunker than he is. Like someone gathering ammunition.
No. I don’t think he’s that far gone. . .there’s some manipulation too. . .but I can help him get there.
I stepped forward with the needle.
Teyonah rushed forward, shoving him out of the apartment and making sure I couldn’t get to him. “Come on, Scott. I’ll show you where the Tylenol is. And by the way, you can’t just enter the tenant’s residence! That’s against the law. You should know that.”
“Hold on. I’ll help.” I rushed forward.
“No! I’ve got it!” She slammed the door shut between us.
I stopped and gripped the needle hard.
Damn it.
I could have shoved through the door, moved Teyonah out the way, driven that needle in Scott’s arm, and made the problem disappear. Instead I felt her—Teyonah’s voice, the way it cracked on that one syllable—like an order I’d learned to obey without thinking.
But, I didn’t want her to see the man I could be when nothing held me back. I didn’t want her to watch me become the kind of monster that would make her regret trusting me.
I’m not your husband. I’m better. I listen. I obey.
So I gripped the syringe until my knuckles hurt and let the heat of it remind me of restraint. I was slowly learning that obedience was another kind of devotion, less loud than violence, but truer.
I could hear her terrified voice, firm and fast outside the door, quickly forcing Scott up the stairs while he wheezed and coughed.
My fingers still tingled with the phantom heat of her skin.
Plus, I could feel the exact shape of her hip bone where my hand had dug in, the specific texture of that spot on her neck where sweat pooled in the hollow of her collarbone.
My tongue still carried the salty-sweet taste of her.
Even now, standing alone and furious, my body mapped her like a topography it had memorized in minutes and would crave for years.
The needle burned in my palm.
My pulse pounded through the barrel.
I’ll listen to you now, but you didn’t save him, Teyonah. You just delayed his demise.