Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DOM
The phone rings three times before he picks up.
"Yeah."
"It's me."
Long pause.
"Didn't think I'd hear from you again."
"Things change."
"They do." Marcus' voice is rough, careful. He knows better than to ask questions on an open line.
"You need something?"
"Yeah, new IDs, the works."
"How many?"
"Two. Complete sets. Clean. One female and one male."
Another pause. I can hear him thinking, how many days he’ll need and the cost. Marcus has been doing this for fifteen years, forging documents, new identities, the kind of work that makes people vanish when they need to.
We met seven years ago in Albuquerque. A situation that required bloodshed and discretion in equal measure.
I provided the first. Marcus understood the second.
He's never asked me what I do. I've never asked him, and that's why this works.
"Timeline?" he asks.
"One week."
"Fuck, Dom. You could have given me more time."
"I know, but it’s urgent."
"It's gonna cost."
"I have it."
He's quiet again. I can picture him in whatever safe house he's using now, probably Vegas, maybe Reno. Somewhere with enough transient population that no one can pick him out of a crowd.
"You in trouble?" he asks finally.
"Does it matter?"
"No. Just curious."
"We need to disappear," I say. "Completely."
"We?"
"Me and someone else."
"Someone you trust?"
I glance back at Roxy. She's organizing her photography equipment, methodical and focused. Her hair falls across her face as she works, and I feel that familiar pull in my chest. The certainty.
"Yeah," I say. "Someone I trust."
"Okay." Marcus exhales. "Send me over pictures today that I can use of you both. You know the drill, and use the encrypted message site, details are the same. Then meet in one week. I'll text you the location. Bring cash. And Dom?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't fuck this up. If someone is hot on your tracks, I need to know now."
"We're careful."
"Careful and being traced are two different things."
"I’m aware."
He hangs up and I lower the phone and stare out at the desert. One week. That gives us time to move money, set up the false trails, and prepare. By the time we meet Marcus, everything else needs to be in motion.
Roxy appears beside me, coffee in hand. She passes me the cup without a word and I take it, the warmth grounding.
"Did you get hold of him?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"He'll do it?"
"He'll do it."
She nods, so trusting. No questions about who Marcus is or how I know him. She understands that my past exists in shadows, the same as hers. We don't need to excavate every detail to know we're the same.
"What do you need from me?" she asks.
"Your dark web accounts. All of them. We need to burn them."
"I’ve already started."
Of course she has. Roxy's smart, smarter than most people give her credit for. She knows how digital trails work, how law enforcement traces transactions and communications. She's been selling art on the dark web for years without getting caught. She knows how to move.
"Good," I say. "We'll finish that tonight. Then we move the money."
"How much do you have?"
"Enough."
She doesn't push. Just sips her coffee and watches the horizon with me.
"We should ditch the van, so my contact can collect it," I say. "Before we cross into California."
"Good idea."
Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight stiffness in her shoulders. The van is her home, it has been for three years. Leaving it behind means leaving behind the last piece of her old life.
I set the coffee down and pull her against me, my hand sliding to the back of her neck. She leans into the touch, her body relaxing.
"New van," I murmur against her hair. "New everything. We'll make it ours."
"Sounds good."
"You okay?"
"Yeah." She turns in my arms, looking up at me. "I'm with you. That's all that matters."
I kiss her, enjoying how she melts at my touch. She's mine. We're doing this. And in one week, we'll be out of here.
By midnight, we're in a motel outside Lemstow. Luckily it takes cash and doesn't ask for ID. Roxy's laptop glows in the darkness as she systematically destroys her digital presence.
I love watching her work. She's methodical, deleting accounts, wiping servers, severing connections to buyers and platforms. Years of work disappearing with each keystroke.
"You're sure you’re okay with this?" I ask.
"I'm sure."
"You can't go back."
"I don't want to go back." She glances at me, her face illuminated by the screen. "This is forward, Dom. This is us."
I move behind her, my hands on her shoulders. She leans back against me, still typing.
"How much longer?" I ask.
"An hour. Maybe two."
"I need to move money."
"Go ahead."
I pull out my phone and get to work.
The money I've accumulated over the years exists in fragments, cash in safe deposit boxes, one being in California which I can collect when we get there, then there are cryptocurrency wallets, offshore accounts set up through intermediaries who don't ask questions.
It's not a fortune, but it's enough. Enough to pay Marcus. Enough to start over.
I begin the transfers. Bitcoin to Monero. Monero to cash through a broker in Singapore. Cash withdrawals scheduled across three states, only small amounts, nothing that triggers alerts. I route some through old accounts I haven't touched in years, making it look like I'm still active in Arizona.
False trails.
I buy a plane ticket from Phoenix to Miami using a burner credit card. Book a hotel in Tampa. Rent a car in Orlando. All digital breadcrumbs pointing east while we head west.
Roxy finishes before I do and she closes her laptop and stretches, her spine cracking.
"Done?" I ask.
"Done. Everything's gone."
"How do you feel?"
"Free," she says with a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world has been lifted off her shoulders.
I pull her onto my lap, her legs straddling mine. She's warm and solid, and I need to feel her. Need to ground myself in this moment before we step into the next phase.
"One week," I say.
"One week."
"You ready for our new life?"
"Yes." Her hands frame my face. "Are you?"
"Yes."
I kiss her and it quickly deepens, turning hungry. Like we're running out of time and this might be the last moment we have as ourselves. My hands slide under her shirt, finding bare skin. She gasps against my mouth and grinds down against me. I'm already hard, already aching for her.
"I need you," I say, my voice rough. "Right now."
"You always have me."
I stand, lifting her with me. She wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her to the bed. The laptop glows beside us, but I don't care. Nothing matters except this. Except her.
I drop her on the mattress and she bounces once, her eyes dark and wanting. I pull her shirt over her head and she arches up to help me. No bra. Just her perfect tits and flushed skin and the way she's looking at me like she needs this as much as I do.
"You're mine," I say, my hands on her thighs, spreading them. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Dom. Only yours."
I lean down and bite her neck, hard enough to leave a mark. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair.
"Everyone's going to see these," I growl against her skin, moving to her collarbone, her shoulder. "They're going to know exactly who you belong to."
"Yes…fuck, yes…"
I suck another bruise into the curve of her breast, then another on her ribs. Marking her with my touch. Making sure there's no question of who she belongs to. She's pulling at my shirt and I let her strip it off me. Her nails drag down my chest, my stomach, and I hiss at the sting.
"You want to mark me too?" I ask.
"I really do."
"Do it."
She sits up and bites my shoulder. Hard. I groan, my cock throbbing in my jeans. She moves to my neck, sucking a bruise there, then another. Her teeth scrape my skin and I feel like I'm going to lose my mind.
"I love you being possessive, baby."
"Mmmm, I want everyone to know you're mine too," she breathes. "I want them to see and know you're taken."
"Fuck, you’re so perfect."
I push her back down and yank her shorts off. No underwear and she's already wet, already ready for me. I slide two fingers inside her and she arches off the bed with a moan.
"So fucking wet," I say, pumping my fingers. "You like this? Like knowing we're about to kill our names? Start a new life?"
"Yessss…"
"Like knowing this might be the last time we fuck as Dom and Roxy?"
"Don't…don't say that..."
"Why not? It's true." I curl my fingers and she gasps. "Next week we're James and Roxy Brennan. Different people. Different lives."
"Same us," she pants. "Still..fuck…still yours…"
"Damn right you are, my little whore and partner for life."
I pull my fingers out and she whimpers at the loss. I bring them to her mouth.
"Suck."
She opens immediately, taking my fingers in, her tongue swirling around them. The sight of it, her lips wrapped around my fingers, tasting herself, makes me throb.
"Good girl," I murmur, pulling them free. "Now open wider."
She does, and I slide three fingers in this time. She gags slightly but doesn't pull away. Just looks up at me with those big brown eyes, trusting, wanting and completely mine.
I pull my fingers out and undo my jeans with my other hand. My cock springs free and she reaches for it immediately.
"Not yet," I say, catching her wrist. "I want to feel you first."
Opening her legs wide, I line myself up and push inside in one hard thrust. She cries out, her back arching, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets.
"Fuck, Dom…"
"Say my name again."
"Dom, oh shit…."
I pull out and slam back in. She's so tight, so wet, so perfect around me. I can feel every inch of her, the way she clenches and flutters.
"Again."
"Dommm…please…" she whimpers, like she is on the verge of crying.
I set a brutal pace, fast, hard and desperate. The bed frame slams against the wall with each thrust, but I don't care. Let them hear. Let everyone know.
My hand finds her throat, squeezing her as a reminder of who she belongs to.
"You're mine," I say. "No one else gets you like this. No one else gets to see you fall apart."
"Only you."
"That's right. Only me."
I squeeze her throat slightly, just enough pressure to make her gasp. Her eyes go wide and feral and I feel her clench around me.
"You like that?"
"Yes."
"Want more?"
"Yes, please…"
I squeeze a little harder, just enough to restrict her air flow. To make her feel owned.
She comes with a scream, her whole body convulsing, but I don't stop. I keep fucking her through it, chasing my own release. Her big tits bounce with every thrust, her body glistening in a sheen of sweat. Fucking stunning.
"One more," I demand. "Give me one more."
"I can't, Dom…"
"You can. You will."
I release her throat and slide my hand down to her clit. She's oversensitive, whimpering with each circle of my thumb, but I don't let up.
"Dom, it's too much!"
"You can take it, good little sluts always take it."
She's shaking, her nails digging into my back hard enough to draw blood. I feel the sting and it drives me higher.
"That's it," I growl. "Mark me, make me bleed. Show me you want this as much as I do."
Her nails drag down my spine and I groan. The pain mixes with pleasure until I can't tell them apart.
"Cum for me," I say. "Right now. Cum on my cock."
She does and I watch as her second orgasm hits her like a wave as she shouts out my name.
The sound of it, it’s so loud and primal that it pushes me over the edge.
I cum hard, groaning just as loud as I spill inside her, my hips jerking with each pulse.
I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and sex.
"Mine," I whisper against her throat. "You're mine. Always mine. No matter what names we use or where we go. You're mine."
"Yours," she breathes. "Always yours."
I collapse beside her, pulling her against me. My hand finds her throat again, resting there possessively. She doesn't move and settles her head on my chest, her breathing evening out. We lie there in the shitty room, tangled together, both of us marked and owners of each other’s souls.
And nothing, not even law enforcement will take her away from me.
I’m not sure how long it takes, but Roxy falls asleep first, her body going soft and heavy against mine. I stare at the ceiling, my hand still on her throat, feeling her pulse under my palm.
One week until we meet Marcus in Reno.
One week until we pick up the documents that will make us James and Roxy Brennan.
One week until we become official ghosts.
I run through the checklist in my mind one more time.
Money moved. Cryptocurrency converted and routed through Singapore. Cash withdrawals scheduled across Arizona, Nevada, California. Small amounts. Nothing that triggers alerts.
False trails laid. Digital breadcrumbs pointing to Florida. Plane tickets. Hotel reservations. Car rentals. All purchased with burner cards that will lead nowhere.
Accounts burned. Roxy's dark web presence erased. My old contacts severed. No loose ends.
Van is ready to ditch, and I have a guy ready to collect it to sell on my behalf. An old contact. We'll leave it in a long-term parking lot in Bakersfield for him to pick up. Buy a second hand car from a private seller in cash that’s nondescript. A Honda or Toyota. Something that blends in.
Appearances are changing. Roxy's already dyed her hair dark brown. I'll buzz mine short tomorrow. Different enough that the descriptions circulating won't match.
Documents are in progress. Marcus will have them ready in a week. Passports, driver's licenses, social security cards, birth certificates. Complete sets. Clean backgrounds. Employment history. Tax records. Everything we need to be real.
The machinery is working and everything is in motion.
I pull Roxy closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. The hickeys I left on her neck are already darkening. Tomorrow they'll be purple and obvious. Everyone will see them and know she's claimed.
Good.
I want them to see. I wish I could stamp my name in her neck so people know she is claimed.
My hand tightens on her throat again, but not squeezing, just holding.
In one week, Dom and Roxy will be dead, but James and Roxy Brennan will be free. And whoever tries to stop us will have to go through me first.
I close my eyes and let myself drift, the weight of her in my arms settling me.
We're going to make it.
We're going to disappear.
And we're going to be free.