“Gigi, baby.” He soothed me, untying my wrists and cradling me in his arms. He kissed my cheek, my forehead. “My girl,” he whispered in my ear as I sank against his hot, glistening chest. “My Gigi.”
“Dom.” I sank against him, completely limp and spent. He picked me up and carried me into the bathroom where he sat on the edge of the tub. I felt dazed as he turned on the tub faucet and reached for a washcloth. When he started washing me, tenderly moving the warm cloth along my body, I brought my hand to his wrist.
“I want it,” I murmured, burying my head into his chest. “I want it on me.”
“Shh.” He kissed my hair, continuing his warm bathing, taking good care of me. “I want you clean and comfortable so you can get some sleep.”
I whined a bit in protest, liking the way it felt as he cared for me, the warm swish of the cloth, but regretting the loss. I could feel his chuckle deep in his chest. “I’ll give you more come, baby. Don’t worry.”
He toweled me dry, and I let him hold me and do it without even trying to lift a finger. I felt so warm and limp and tended to, like he loved me completely. He carried me back to the bed, pulled away the comforter and settled me on the pillows. “You need to sleep now.” He put the covers back over me and dressed again in his discarded jeans and T-shirt.
Sleep pulled heavy at my eyelids, my limbs sinking into the bed. But I missed him. I didn’t want our time together to end.
“I’ll stay until you’re asleep,” he assured me, kissing me again on the forehead.
I nodded into my pillow and fell asleep that very second.
* * *
§
* * *
Late afternoon the next day, I closed up Homeward Bound for the first time on my own. I was pleased that Lynn trusted me enough to do it, so I’d taken extra time to do everything right. When I finally locked the door at seven o’clock, I headed to my car, checked my phone and saw I had a text.
* * *
Dom: Be careful driving.
* * *
Gigi: Don’t worry, I had the best driving teacher around
* * *
That night I was actually going to drive myself home. I’d had a few more lessons from Dom plus our family’s caretaker had given me a couple and I’d finally gotten myself my very own driver’s license. I felt proud and pleased and independent. Until I saw the car parked next to mine in the lot.
Brock was sitting there waiting for me. He opened the passenger door. “Climb in,” he said with what I’m sure was intended to be a charming smile. “I want to talk to you.”
“No thanks.” I walked quickly to my car, wishing there were more people in the parking lot. Or any people. But the store had been closed for over an hour and we were completely alone. I got to the driver’s door, but he sprang at me like a cobra and grabbed my wrists, hard.
“Brock, you’re hurting me.” As he pushed me into the car I looked up terrified into his bloodshot eyes. Alcohol reeked from every pore and stank hot and rank from his breath.
He bent down and sniffed my hair, then looked at me with rage. “I can smell him on you.”
“What are you talking about?” I twisted, panic starting to beat in my chest.
“I’ve known you since you were 14,” he whined, slipping into a wheedling voice. “You were supposed to be saving yourself for me.” Then he turned angry again. “Not giving yourself to him like a fucking whore.” Spit splattered my face as he yelled at me and he hurt me, pinching my wrist so hard it felt like he might snap it in two.
“Fuck off, Brock!” I yelled as loud as I could. I’d never taken a self-defense class in my life, but I guess I’d seen enough movies to know what to do. I brought my knee up as hard and sharp right into his balls. He let go and backed away, doubling over and cupping his hands over his groin as he cried out in pain.
“Stay away from me,” I screamed at him as I managed to get into my car—thank God for auto-unlock, I didn’t think I could fumble with a key just then—and I sped away, shaking. I’d known Brock was trouble. I’d seen it coming and Colt hadn’t listened. I should have told Dom about it.
I got home, headed up to my room and called my father. It went to voicemail, and I didn’t want to worry him too much so I just said to call me when he had the chance. Then I did it. I called Dom. His went to voicemail, too. He was working, as always, but I was sure he’d check his messages soon. I kept it short, but he knew me well enough that he’d understand. I told him Brock had scared me and I needed him. I took a shower to soothe my nerves and wrapped up in a thick cotton robe. I felt so drowsy I could barely keep my eyes open. Deciding I’d take a nap, I set my phone on silent, nestled in and fell asleep.
The next thing I knew I heard angry voices downstairs. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. It was nearly one a.m. How had I slept so long? And missed so many calls?
I wrapped the robe around me tight and rushed down the stairs. It sounded like a fight. Both Colt and Dom were there, but it was the sight of Brock that I’d never be able to forget. He lay on the floor at the base of the stairs in a pool of blood with a knife sticking out of his chest. So much blood. The puddle grew right before my eyes as Brock lay motionless and his blood spread out and out.
I screamed like I never had before, blood-curdling, terrified.
“Gigi!” Colt and Dom both jolted. Neither had seen me come down the stairs. Was Brock dead? What had happened?
Dom’s face twisted in fury and pain. “Don’t look at this,” he yelled at me. “I don’t want you to have to see this.”
Colt sprang up by my side and hugged me.
“What’s happening?” I asked, shaking violently.
“He’s right. You should head back upstairs.” Colt tried to turn me around but I stood, stubborn, looking at Dom for answers. He looked up at me, chest heaving.
“What happened?” I asked again, feeling like I was going to throw up.
Colt answered. “Brock broke in and that man just saved your life.”
“What?” I felt the tears on my cheeks but didn’t realize I’d started crying.
“Go upstairs,” Dom urged me, as serious as I’d ever seen him.
“You’re safe now.” Colt hugged me. “Can you head back into your room for twenty minutes Gigi? I need to sort this.”
In shock, I let Colt lead me up the stairs. He left me there and I headed straight to my bathroom where I threw up. Shaking violently, I sat on the cold tile floor. Was Brock lying there dead in the hallway? Had Dom killed him with that knife? And if he had, what would happen to Dom now?
8
Dom
The minute I listened to Gigi’s voicemail, I knew I had to get to her. She sounded so vulnerable, so shaken and frightened. I’d never heard that in her voice before and I never wanted to again. Problem was, the 2am Club was slammed, packed with some celebrity’s private party. I didn’t even check my voicemail until 11:30. Once I did, I couldn’t break away for another hour. Even leaving my shift two hours early might have cost me my job. I didn’t care. I’d find out tomorrow. The more I called Gigi’s number and it went straight to voicemail, the more I knew something bad was happening.
I made it over to her house in about half the time it should have taken me. Right away I spotted the car outside her house parked in the bushes. The fucking Maserati. I knew who drove that car and I swore I’d wring his fucking neck if he so much as touched a hair on her head.
The smashed window told me everything I needed to know. He was in the house with intent to harm, and somehow the alarm wasn’t going off. Fucker must have figured out how to disable it. I’m not sure my feet actually touched ground I was moving so fast and I caught him, thank God I caught him, crouching at the base of the stairs with a goddamned carving knife in his hands.
It would have been an easy takedown. I had a clear shot and I knew how to jump him from behind and get him in a lock so tight he’d black out. I’d done it before to diffuse violent situations. But suddenly another gu
y came out of nowhere. In the darkness of the hallway, at first I didn’t know if he was after me or after Brock, but then he stepped under a light and I saw it was Colt.
“Knife,” I called out, trying to warn him, but not before Colt had already stepped in too close. Brock lunged at him and nearly got him right across the neck, but I managed to smack his arm down so it just grazed his shoulder. I caught Brock’s wrist and held it tight, but insanity gave him purpose, strength and drive. He punched me hard with his other hand, kicked and went in to bite me Tyson-style. I had to knock this kid out. I got a mean uppercut in that caught him square in the jaw. He spun around like a ragdoll, just like I’d wanted him to. But then, as if in slow motion, I saw him trip on the stairs and wildly tumble to the floor, landing heavy with a thud and an unnatural keening cry.
Then I saw the blood. Blood pumping out of him, dumping out onto the wooden hallway.
“Fuck…fuckers,” he spluttered weakly, but he didn’t move.