9. Dusty
DUSTY
The abandoned warehouse reeks of rust and stale cigarette smoke.
I step through the broken doorway, my heels clicking against cracked concrete—the expensive shoes Damian bought me now covered in grime.
Elias stands under a flickering bare bulb, his sneer already in place.
Lena huddles against the wall behind him, eyes darting between us like a trapped animal.
Mack's absence screams louder than words.
"Where's Mack?"
Elias taps his badge, that familiar gesture that used to make my stomach drop. "Complications. You know how it is."
My chest tightens, but fear doesn't flood through me like it used to. Something harder has taken its place—something sharp and bright and burning.
"You kill him?"
"Does it matter?" He crowds into my space, breathing his nicotine stench across my face. "You got what I asked for, or are you here to waste my time?"
Lena's knuckles are white against the wall. She won't meet my eyes.
I force myself not to flinch, not to shrink back like the terrified street rat I used to be. Damian's protection wraps around me like armor, even though he doesn't know I'm here. Even though I left him sleeping peacefully in our bed with nothing but a coward's note.
"I have it."
"Yeah?" Elias extends his palm, fingers drumming expectant rhythm. "Let's see this golden ticket then."
I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around cool metal. The USB drive catches the light as I pull it free—small, innocuous, worth millions to the right buyer. Worth everything to Damian.
"Damian's entire security architecture. Root access to everything." The lie slides off my tongue smooth as buttercream frosting. I step closer, holding it between us. "You get this, you destroy him."
"Smart girl. Finally learned your?—"
I flip the drive in my palm. The hidden blade springs free with a soft click, and I drive it upward toward his ribs, putting every ounce of strength into the strike.
His hand catches my wrist mid-thrust. The blade stops inches from his chest.
"Fuck—"
He twists hard. Pain explodes through my arm. The knife clatters to concrete, skittering into shadows.
"You stupid little bitch." His laughter bounces off metal walls, sharp and vicious. He yanks me closer, fingers digging bruises into my skin. "Did you really think—" Another laugh, genuinely delighted. "Did you actually think you could take me down with a fucking toy knife?"
"Let me go?—"
"Oh, I'm gonna let you go, sweetheart. After I make a few calls." He releases me with a shove that sends me stumbling backward. "Your rich boyfriend's about to have a very bad week. Drug trafficking. Money laundering. Maybe some kiddie porn on his servers if I'm feeling creative."
"You can't?—"
"Can't?" He pulls out his phone, tapping the screen with nicotine-stained fingers. "Watch me. By tomorrow morning, Damian Kensington's gonna be front-page news. And not the good kind."
Lena's quiet sob cuts through the warehouse.
"You're gonna watch everything he built burn down around him." Elias grins, cold eyes gleaming with malice. "And when he's rotting in a cell wondering how his perfect life fell apart, you're gonna remember this moment. Remember that you did this to him."
My pulse hammers against my throat. The knife lies useless in the dark.
"All because you got stupid ideas about playing hero."
The stress crashes through me like a tidal wave. Heat floods my chest, that familiar heaviness building behind my nipples. No. Not now. Not here.
But my body doesn't listen. Wetness spreads across the silk blouse, dark stains blooming outward.
Elias's gaze drops. His sneer transforms into something worse—calculating greed.
"Well, well." He steps closer, circling like a predator. "What do we have here? Knocked up already? Or is your body just that fucked up?"
"Stay away from me."
"You know, I just got a brilliant idea." He taps his badge again, slower this time.
"Damian's tech was gonna net me a couple million.
But you?" Another circle. "High-class escort service.
Rich perverts pay premium prices for freaks like you.
Lactating, pretty face, desperate background. You'll make me a fortune."
My stomach lurches.
"They'll line up around the block once I spread the word about your party trick."
"You're insane?—"
"Insane's making money off damaged goods? Nah, sweetheart. That's just good business." He lunges forward, grabbing my shoulder.
I twist hard, slamming my knee upward. It connects with his thigh instead of his groin—too low, not enough force. But he grunts, fingers loosening.
"Bitch—"
A metallic clang echoes through the warehouse. Lena swings a rusted pipe, catching Elias across the shoulders. He staggers sideways.
"Run, Dusty!"
Elias recovers fast, spinning on Lena with predator speed. His fist catches her jaw. She crumples.
"You want in on this?" He kicks the pipe away, advancing on her prone form. "Fine. Two girls bring in more cash anyway."
Rage burns through my fear. I throw myself at his back, fingers clawing for his eyes, his face, anything vulnerable. He's solid muscle under his rumpled suit—immovable, terrifying.
He reaches back, grabbing a fistful of my honey-blonde hair. He yanks me forward, slamming me face-first against the concrete wall.
"Both you bitches are gonna learn." His voice comes from somewhere distant, muffled through the ringing in my ears. "I always win."
His fist pulls back, knuckles lined up with my face. Everything slows—the flickering bulb overhead, Lena's quiet whimper, the way he prepares to hit my face.
Sirens pierce the night.
Elias freezes mid-swing. Red and blue lights strobe through the broken windows, painting the warehouse walls in violent color.
"Shit—"
Car doors slam. Boots pound against concrete.
"NYPD! Hands where we can see them!"
Elias drops me. I collapse against the wall, legs refusing to hold my weight. He straightens his rumpled jacket, arranging his face into something resembling authority.
"Officer Thorne, badge number 4782." His voice shifts—professional, controlled, every inch the decorated cop. "Appreciate the backup. Just apprehended two suspects in an ongoing theft investigation."
Four uniformed officers spread through the warehouse, weapons drawn. Their flashlight beams cut through shadows, landing on Lena's crumpled form, the scattered knife, my milk-stained blouse.
"These girls jumped me when I tried to bring them in." Elias gestures at us like we're evidence, not people. "Street trash running a burglary ring. Been tracking them for months."
The lead officer—a gray-haired sergeant with tired eyes—doesn't lower his weapon.
"That right?"
"Check my credentials." Elias taps his badge, that familiar gesture radiating confidence. "My colleagues know my record. Fifteen years on the force. Commendations for?—"
"Officer Thorne." The sergeant's voice cuts sharp. "Put your hands behind your head."
Elias blinks. "What?"
"You're under arrest."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Genuine shock cracks through his mask. "I'm a cop. These bitches are criminals. I just told you?—"
"We heard what you told us." Another officer moves behind Elias, cuffs ready. "Heard a lot of things tonight, actually."
"You can't—I have proof—" Elias spins toward me, toward Lena, searching for some angle that makes sense. "They attacked me! Check the goddamn knife!"
Footsteps echo from the warehouse entrance. Damian walks through the broken doorway, his 6'4" frame commanding instant attention. He wears a three-piece suit like armor, slate-gray eyes cold as winter steel.
My breath catches. Relief and shame war inside my chest.
"Evening, officers." Damian's voice carries absolute authority. "Thank you for the rapid response."
"Mr. Kensington." The sergeant nods respectfully. "We got everything you called in."
Elias's face twists. "What the fuck is this?"
Damian pulls out his phone, tapping the screen with precise movements.
"Security precaution. My girlfriend wears a necklace with embedded surveillance technology.
" He glances at me, something unreadable flickering across his features.
"Camera. Microphone. GPS tracking. Real-time upload to encrypted servers. "
The elegant pendant around my neck suddenly feels heavy. I touch it with trembling fingers—the beautiful gift I thought was just jewelry.
"We have crystal-clear footage and audio of your past conversations with my girlfriend.
" Damian turns the phone toward the sergeant.
"Officer Thorne threatening civilians. Assault.
Conspiracy to commit fraud. Attempted trafficking.
" Each word lands precise as a blade. "And that's just tonight's entertainment. "
"You son of a bitch—" Elias lunges forward.
Two officers grab him, slamming him against the wall. The cuffs click into place.
"I've also forwarded evidence of his previous crimes to Internal Affairs.
" Damian slides the phone into his pocket, movements unhurried.
"Bank records showing payments from known criminals.
Communications detailing his extortion operation.
Witness testimonies from other victims he's been blackmailing. "
"You can't prove any of that?—"
"Actually, I can prove all of it." Damian finally looks at Elias, and the contempt in his gaze could freeze blood. "You picked the wrong little girl to threaten."
Elias twists in the officers' grip, veins bulging in his neck as they drag him toward the exit. His cold eyes bore into Damian with pure hatred.
"This isn't over, Kensington. I've got friends—connections you can't touch?—"
"Your friends rolled on you three hours ago." Damian doesn't even blink. "Immunity deals are surprisingly persuasive."
The warehouse door slams shut behind them. Sirens fade into the Brooklyn night.
Silence crashes down around us.
I can't look at Damian. My gaze fixes on the cracked concrete, on the dried bloodstains and rust. Lena groans somewhere behind me, and paramedics rush to help her.
"Dusty."
His voice wraps around me—steady, commanding, impossible to ignore. I force my eyes upward, past his expensive suit, past the wolf tattoo I know hides beneath pristine fabric, until I meet those slate-gray eyes.
"I'm sorry." The words tumble out broken and desperate. "I thought—I was trying to protect you, and I just made everything worse, and I'm so stupid?—"
"Come here."
I stumble forward on shaking legs. He catches me before I fall, pulling me against his broad chest. His familiar scent surrounds me—sandalwood and power and safety.
"I'm sorry," I whisper again into his suit jacket. Fresh tears soak the expensive fabric. "I should've trusted you. Should've told you everything from the beginning instead of?—"
"You should have." His hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading through my disheveled hair. "But I understand why you didn't, little girl."
The endearment breaks something inside me. I sob harder, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in a tilting world.
"I forgive you." He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "But you still have to face consequences for your actions."
My stomach drops. "What kind of consequences?"
"We'll discuss that at home." His thumb traces my jawline, gentle despite the steel in his voice. "Where you should have stayed tonight instead of playing vigilante."
"I wasn't?—"
"Home, Augusta." He guides me toward the exit, one possessive hand on the small of my back. "Now."
The warehouse falls away behind us. I catch Lena's eyes as we pass—she nods once, something like respect flickering across her bruised face.
Damian opens the car door. I slide into the leather seat, pulse hammering against my throat.
Whatever punishment waits, I'll accept it.
Because I'm daddy's.