Chapter Twenty

It's been a few of days since everything happened with Savannah, and tonight is reserved only for Arlo and me. It's date night, and the excitement of spending some quality, uninterrupted time with him feels like a breath of fresh air during the recent stress. He has been working very late recently, then leaving early in the mornings. It's as if I've hardly seen him at all.

The driver pulls up to a lavished spot in the heart of New York City, and as the car comes to a stop, the door opens. I step out onto the pavement, my black, tall red-bottom heels clicking against the ground. My tight, black mini dress clings to my curves, and I adjust it with a quick, discreet tug down my thighs.

I make my way towards the entrance, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the polished pavement. My fingers, freshly styled, ruffle through my curly hair, letting it cascade down my back in playful waves. I tuck my clutch bag securely under my arm, ensuring everything is perfectly in place.

The doorman greets me with a warm smile as I enter the opulent restaurant. The interior is a work of elegance—gleaming chandeliers, rich, velvet drapes, and a hint of soft jazz in the air. My eyes scan the huge room, spotting Arlo at a corner table, tucked away from everyone. He's dressed in a sharp suit, his presence sending a thrill through me.

I make my way over to him, my heels making a soft, confident patter on the marble floor. As I approach, he senses me, his gaze flicking to mine, and he rises from his seat.

His enigmatic eyes rake over my body, a dark intensity developing in them, clearly captivated by the sight of me. As I draw closer, his arm wraps around my lower back with a possessive yank, flushing me close to his body. His gaze, however, lingers unapologetically on my tits, a smouldering heat in his eyes.

"Fuck, you look beautiful. You dressed so pretty for me," he breathes out before his eyes lock onto mine.

A soft, satisfied smile tugs at my lips and I gently cradle his face in my hands, guiding him down to my waiting lips. When our mouths finally meet, it's a heated, urgent connection. He growls softly as his hand drifts to my ass, squeezing it with a firm grip.

When we finally part, I keep a firm hold of his hand, our fingers intertwined, and we slide into our seats opposite one another, unwilling to break the contact.

"How was your day?" I ask, settling into my chair, my eyes still locked on his.

"Same shit," he responds with a hint of frustration, though his eyes remain pinned on me, as if trying to undress me with his stare.

I smirk, shifting my gaze to the drink resting on the table. "You ordered me a drink?"

He nods almost mindlessly, his eyes brimming with an aroused focus. As I enjoy the sweet cocktail, Arlo's doesn't take his eyes away, making me feel like I am the only person in the room.

"This place is incredible," I remark, taking in the luxurious surroundings and letting my fingertips graze over the rim of the glass. "You really know how to spoil me."

He smirks, his lips curling into a predatory grin. "You deserve it. But I'd like nothing more to spoil you in another way."

He leans in slightly, his thumb tracing the pattern of his initial on my palm. "I've missed you, I've missed all of you," he confesses with a growl.

I tilt my head, meeting his gaze with a smile, then I look away.

"What's wrong?" he asks as if he senses something hidden.

I shake my head softly, my eyes holding his. "Not tonight, baby."

He tries to work me out before he eventually nods, releasing a deep breath. The conversation flows naturally from there, combined with laughter and our back-and-forth banter. We enjoy our meal, enjoying each dish and drink.

"You went to see my mom?" he asks, his fork poised above a juicy piece of steak.

"I did," I reply.

His eyes flick up from his plate, searching mine. "How did it go?"

I offer a small, reserved nod and glance away, "Yeah, okay."

He takes a measured bite of steak as he observes me carefully.

"Didn't you two get along when I was… ‘dead'?" he finally inquires after all this time.

I blink blankly at him, silently thinking of all that time he was gone, leaving me to deal with everything and she didn't support me once.

"No," I admit, and his expression remains unchanged—calm yet detached.

"Why?"

"I don't know. She wasn't too keen on getting to know me, especially once I gained access to the business and your assets."

His brows lift slightly, and he dabs at his mouth with a napkin, clearly processing my words.

"I know she can be difficult, Wren. But…" he begins.

I cut him off gently, squeezing his hand. "I'll continue to try for you," I say. "Just like you do for me. It's how this works."

He gives a small, grateful nod, his understanding clear although he doesn't seem totally convinced. We both know deep down the difficulties that come with his mom. Although I'm on to Carmella, if I'm wrong, I will keep me promise and try harder for him. It's only right.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes locking onto mine with a dark glint, and he pulls on my hand.

"You look stunning, but you'd look even better sitting on my cock," he says with a head gesture.

I can't help but giggle, the sound escaping freely as I rise from my seat. With a confident stride, I move around the table, feeling his intense gaze on my figure the entire way. When I reach him, I settle onto his thigh, not caring who sees.

His big hand sweeps down my back, fingers lightly grazing my skin before settling possessively on my ass.

"See? Fucking beautiful," he growls, his dark eyes gliding down the front of me.

We linger for another hour, chatting about everything and nothing, cherishing some normality. As the evening gets later, Arlo's hand finds mine, and with a tug, he pulls me towards the exit.

"Come on. The night is far from fucking over," he says with a sudden intensity pouring out of him.

I follow him eagerly, my tall heels clicking against the pavement as I try to keep up with his long legs. As we approach his sleek, black matte Mustang, he opens the door for me. I slip inside, and he rounds the front of the car, sliding into the driver's seat.

With the beastly engine roaring to life, he glances over at me, his eyes sparkling with darkness.

"Ready for the next part of our night?"

I look at him confused, wondering what he is up to, but I know him all too well. He has something devious up his sleeve. Of course, a night with him could never be normal.

I glance through the tinted, rain-splattered window of Arlo's Mustang as we pull up in a strange area. As he cuts the engine, I stare at a distant, dark silhouette of a massive building that looms, foreboding and unfamiliar. The place looks abandoned.

"What are we doing here, Arlo?" I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from the harrowing structure.

"There's only one person on this planet who can fucking train you right, beautiful, and that's me," he declares. His tone is steady, and the words hang heavy in the air, making me whip my head around to face him.

I stare into his expressionless dark eyes, now suddenly half-hidden behind a balaclava, the sight of it sending an electrifying thrill through me and my palms grow clammy as unease builds inside me.

"Training? Why would I need training?" I question with a lifted brow in defiance.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as they trace the length of my body with a greedy gleam. He shifts in his seat, turning to face me fully, his tattooed arm casually draped over the steering wheel.

"Everyone needs fucking training," he states firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "You're not invincible yet, slut. If anyone's gonna to do it, it's me."

The bluntness of his words, paired with the dangerous edge in his tone, sends a shiver down my spine. The weight of what he's saying settles in, a blend of fear and dark arousal coiling within me as I try to figure out what's about to happen.

I swallow hard, but then a small smirk creeps across my lips as I face forward, avoiding his gaze. I side-eye him, watching as he reaches into the back seat, grabbing something. When he sits back, I see him holding another black balaclava.

Without warning, he leans over, roughly shoving it onto my head and pulling it over my face. I stare at him with wide eyes, trying to process what he's doing as he takes in my appearance. His gaze flickers down, and I watch in confusion as he straps a bulletproof vest over his tight black shirt, moving calmly.

"Arlo," I say, my tone now laced with uncertainty, "I'm only in my heels and this mini dress. Can't we do this another night?"

I feel way out of my depth, knowing I might not be able to outmanoeuvre him dressed like this.

He inhales deeply, his eyes focused on the straps he's fastening, still refusing to look at me. "Rule one: Don't wear the shit you wear if you can't understand that threats can happen at any time of the day, no matter what the fuck you're wearing."

Finally, he lifts his eyes to mine, wicked and sharp. "You need to learn how to fucking defend yourself in whatever you're wearing if you want to continue dressing like a little whore for me."

The reality of what he's saying sinks in—this isn't just about playing dress-up; this is about survival, about being prepared for anything, anytime, no matter what. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize how serious he is. The gravity of the situation finally hits me that he wants me to shoot at him, but the excitement of knowing he might do unholy things to me as soon as he gets the chance makes it all even more thrilling.

I can tell with his demeanor. Arlo loves to chase me. To put me in crazy situations. He loves that undeniable pulse-racing pleasure of catching me when I am at the height of my fear, and then taking what he wants. The way he looks at me now, dark eyes glittering with hunger and control, tells me everything. He's setting it up, and I'm the prey he's about to hunt.

"But what if I accidentally kill you?" I ask, being absolutely truthful because the thought fucking terrifies me.

His eyes search mine before he gives a small shoulder shrug, "Then you fucking kill me. I want you to hit me at least once, preferably in this vest and if you can make it back to this car without me, then you win."

I blink blankly at him, "You want me to do what?"

He calmly raises his chin toward the structure in the distance, "Get out of the fucking car. Go into that building and try to kill me, Wren. I won't tell you again." he orders.

I nod knowing it would be weak of me to back out. This is a test. His test and I am willing to play just to prove a point if that's what he wants. Adrenaline spikes through me as I reach for the door handle and the cold, night air hits me as I step out, the sound of rain splattering against the ground and my bare skin adding to the tense surroundings.

My heels tap against the pavement until I stand staring the abandoned building, my heart racing. I hear a distant rumble of thunder just as Arlo steps out behind me, his aura intimidating.

Without a word, he brings something in front of me, and I tear my gaze away to glance down. My heart skips a beat when I see him offering me my gun, held securely in his leather-gloved hand. I inhale deeply, steadying myself, and take it from him, the cold metal preparing me as I cock it back, ready for whatever is about to happen.

In an instant, his hand shoots up, grasping my throat with a firm, possessive grip, pulling me back against his solid chest. I elevate my chin as he dips his head down. "The day you can outrun your husband will be the day I stop doing this. The more you're scared of me, the more you get my cock hard," he growls, and my eyes flutter closed, my breathing picking up as his words sink in, each one tightening the knot of fear and desire in my gut.

"Now run for me, slut," he commands with a menacing whisper that wraps around me like a vice. "Run so fucking fast, then fight for your life. Get that little cunt soaked and ready for me, so when I finally get my hands on you, I can feast on every fucking drop of your fear."

His grasp on my throat loosens just enough for me to break free, but the searing imprint of his hand lingers. Just as I'm about to sprint, he delivers a sharp smack to my ass, the force jolting me forward as he snarls, "Tick fucking tock."

With those words from the past resonating in my mind, combined with the sting on my skin, they send me into motion, my pulse pounding as I take off, knowing he's right behind me, ready to chase me down.

The closer I get to the building, the heavier the rain seems to fall, soaking through my little clothing and drenching my skin. The cold bites into me, but I push forward, my heels splashing against the wet ground as I bolt toward the only visible entrance—a rusted door hanging on its hinges.

I reach it, my hand gripping the handle, but before I yank the door open, I throw a glance over my shoulder and my breath gets lodged in my throat when I see that Arlo is no longer standing by the car. Panic twists in my stomach as I scan the area, but the rain obscures my vision, and he's nowhere to be seen.

Swallowing my fear, I pull on the handle, the door creaking loudly as I force it open. Without hesitation, I slip inside the broken-down structure, the darkness swallowing me whole as I step into the unknown, every sense on high alert. Inside, the air feels thicker, almost overwhelming, and each breath I take is heavy with the scent of decay and rust.

I move with purpose through the empty halls, my grip on the gun firm and aimed steady. My heels softly click against the concrete floor, and I begin to balance on my tiptoes to be less detectable. Every so often, lightning flickers, revealing brief glimpses of the huge area—abandoned furniture, broken windows, and the hint of movement in the corners of my vision.

I'm not just running anymore; I'm hunting too. I know Arlo is in here, somewhere in this maze of darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to attack, I can feel his overpowering energy, but I won't make it fucking easy for him. I'm no helpless damsel; I'm fierce, capable, and armed.

Lightning flares again, and I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure darting past an open doorway. I swing the gun in that direction, muscles tensed, ready to pull the trigger, but the light fades, plunging the room back into darkness, and the figure vanishes as if it were never there.

I hear the faintest echo of footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming from somewhere nearby. My heart races, and I raise the gun higher, my finger hovering over the trigger.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the room, and I catch a sign of him—or at least, I think I do. A tall, ominous figure lurks just a few feet away. I hold my breath, but don't hesitate. I fire, the gunshot echoing through the building like a crack of thunder. He bolts behind a pillar, the bullet whizzing past him, missing by mere inches. A growl of frustration escapes me as I maintain my aim, heading in that direction.

Suddenly, a noise behind me makes me spin around, my eyes darting around. I keep moving forward, but before I can get too far, he's there. He grabs me from behind, his hand clamping over my mouth brutally.

His grip on my wrist is strong, trying to force the gun from my hand. I refuse to give in and with a surge of strength, I slam my heel down on his foot. He grunts, his hold weakening, probably more than he'd like to admit. I seize the opportunity, wrenching free from his grasp. I sprint toward a set of metal stairs leading to a second floor.

In my frantic rush, I kick off my heels, the sound of them clattering down the stairs as I climb them. I hear his heavy footsteps behind me, growing closer and with a surge of adrenaline, I spin around, lifting my gun and firing another shot. The bullet strikes him squarely in the chest, but it's absorbed by his bulletproof vest. He staggers back a step, his hand clutching the metal banister to steady himself.

For a split second, we both freeze, our eyes locking behind the balaclavas. The bullet lodged into his vest is an insane reminder of the deadly game we're playing, but also the trust we have in one another.

He straightens up, his expression hidden but the frustration clear. When his eyes flash with something sinister, he charges forward with alarming speed.

Instinctively, I fire again, the bullet embedding in his chest and forcing him back. He lets out a groan but doesn't hesitate, he continues forward. I try to let off another bullet, but my gun clicks, the mag empty.

"Bastard!" I hiss under my breath, dropping the useless weapon.

Turning sharply, I sprint up the metal stairs, the sound of his footsteps growing louder behind me. I cross a metal platform that's shaky and unstable. At the edge, I glance around, searching desperately for an escape. Arlo's form comes into view, moving quickly toward me and without a second thought, I hop over the railing, grabbing hold of it to break my fall, and then leap down to the bottom floor.

I land awkwardly, a sharp, searing pain shooting through my ankle as I land into a crouch. I yank the balaclava from my head and toss it aside, breathing heavily.

When I look up, I notice Arlo's silhouette against the lightning-streaked sky as he stares down at me. I rise slowly, holding his gaze, and then defiantly hook a finger at him, inviting him to follow. I taunt with a smirk and his eyes shifts before he leaps over the railing effortlessly.

As soon as his feet hit the floor with a loud thud, I bolt, wincing with every step due to the pain in my ankle. The sound of his pursuit fades, but I dare to slow down. I glance back to check if he's still behind me, but when I don't see him, I relax slightly, catching my breath. Reaching the door, I push it open with a grin, the rain immediately soaking my flushed skin as I step out into the storm.

I tilt my head back, letting it pound down me, cherishing the brief moment of relief. Just as I prepare to race back to the car, the heat of his presence engulfs me. Before I can react, his arm wraps around my middle from behind, his other hand pressing a fabric-soaked cloth over my mouth and nose. The sharp, chemical smell invades my senses, sending me into a daze as I struggle weakly against him.

"Nice try, baby," he growls viciously against my ear, his breath hot and taunting. "But I couldn't go without eating your wet pussy tonight. I'm fucking starving."

His words slur into a low, menacing rumble as my vision blurs. My eyes close heavily, and the world around me fades to black.