Chapter 5

5

I n a daze, I follow Caleb into his room, then come to a halt to gawk.

Scratch room. He has an entire suite in the Rockford mansion. The masculine, black leather furniture in the front room looks soft and inviting, the seating arranged in a semicircle around the sleek glass coffee table. A mounted flat-screen TV dominates one wall, while bookshelves filled with records line another.

Off to the left, dark-lacquered French doors open into an office, and I drool with envy when I spot the polished, mahogany desk inside. His pheromones permeate the suite, thick and all-consuming. Caleb spends his private time here, and no other scent intrudes on the space, so no lover .

The snick of a lock engaging comes from behind me, the sound echoing in the silence.

I jump, only then realizing I followed Caleb here without question, something that both terrifies and comforts me at the same time. As a reporter, I always have questions.

As I spin to face him, pain shoots up from my bare feet. "Nice place you have here."

Caleb ignores the compliment as he stalks forward, and the intensity of his expression sends me limping backward on instinct.

With no effort at all, he catches me and takes my bag from my grasp. Tossing it onto the couch, he grips my waist and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

I yelp as I splay my hands over his back before my face slams into it. "Hey! What are you doing?"

The firm muscles under my palms ripple as he turns and carries me toward an open doorway to the right. "You're injured."

"No shit!" I pound a fist on his muscular ass. "You dragged me barefoot across my glass-covered apartment and through an alley with who-knows-what on the ground!"

Bright light flares to life, revealing an elegant bathroom. Pristine white marble and sparkling, chrome fixtures spin around me as Caleb lifts me off his shoulder and sets me on a granite countertop.

Before I can catch my balance, strong hands grip my ankles and lift them, unbalancing me further, and I fall back against the mirrored wall with a thud. Brow furrowed, Caleb gauges how much damage I incurred during our hasty escape.

With a grunt, he releases me. "Don't move."

As he strides away, I lift my legs onto the counter and tentatively touch the bottoms of my feet, checking for glass or other debris. A sharp hiss escapes me when I brush something that shifts beneath my fingers.

"Stop touching it." Caleb returns with a stack of towels and a first aid kit perched on top.

His hand splays over my chest, and he pushes me backward to lie down while he takes over.

My heart pounds as Caleb tends to my wounds. It's a surreal change from the cold, calculating man who intended to kill me, or the cruelly erotic man who filmed me with plans to use it for blackmail.

This tender side of him unnerves me. How many people have seen this version of Caleb?

After several minutes, he sets the tweezers aside and turns on the tap. The breath hisses from between my lips when he gently washes and then dries my feet.

Unable to stay still, I prop myself up on my elbows. "Why did you bring me here?"

He doesn't look up from applying antiseptic cream and a gauze pad over the cut. "Someone just tried to kill you."

"Didn't you break into my apartment with the same intent?" I shoot back.

He doesn't respond, instead focusing on bandaging my wounds.

As he works, I take in his bare, muscular arms and the way his undershirt clings to his well-defined chest and cinches in at his narrow waist. I linger on his pants, the memory of his zipper lowering echoing in my ears, and I shiver despite the warmth in the room.

Caleb leans over, catching my chin none-too-gently between his fingers. "Who wants you dead?"

I meet his dark-brown eyes. "Besides you?"

An hour ago, Caleb had been ready to end me without hesitation. But here he is, treating my injuries. The world around me is falling apart again. Dare I rely on someone who was sent to assassinate me?

"Yes." His thumb sweeps over my bottom lip. "Besides me. "

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, I drop mine. "I don't know."

He jerks my chin higher, and a hiss escapes me, not entirely from pain. "Never lie to me."

"I don't know." My pulse races, my breaths coming quicker. "But I've received some anonymous death threats."

His lips twitch with amusement. "Because of your gossip column?"

My chin lifts. " You came to kill me because of my gossip column."

"Yes, but I know my reason for taking you out." He shakes his head in disbelief. "But why would anyone else? Your stories are harmless."

Annoyance prickles through me. "And yet, here we are."

His amusement vanishes. "The death threat, Oliver."

"They're sent to my personal blog, not DynastyDish ." When he stares at me without recognition, I huff. "You could track down my real name and address, but you can't even dig up that I write for multiple news sites?"

His eyes flick to me. "You're cute when you're indignant. Now, spit it out."

My lips thin into a mutinous line before I give in. " I post actual news articles on the site I run, like the one about the apartment complex your family tore down."

His head tilts to the side. "That was posted on DynastyDish ."

"I pitch all my stories to my editor first. But she always rejects my serious pieces." I turn my head, and he releases my chin. "They only ran that one because it had the Rockford name in it. And instead of their news page, they published it to DynastyDish with a sensational headline . Did you even read the article that put me in your sights?"

"No." He shrugs. "It annoyed me how often you mixed up me and my brother, even when we weren't pretending to be each other."

"Not me," I assure him. "I always know when it's you."

"So, you have another place where you publish articles?" When he pauses for confirmation, I nod. "And it would be called…?"

" VanishingVoice. " I give him a wry smile. "Think I should post myself on it?"

"Hmm." He reaches for the hem of my shirt, and I lift my arms without being told.

The cool air of the bathroom raises goose bumps on my skin, and I yelp when he pushes me back down on the cold countertop. "What's happening right now?"

He yanks open the front of my pants. "You landed pretty hard when I tackled you. And there was a lot of glass."

I reach to catch my waistband. "I'm not hurt."

Pressing one hand against the mirror, he bends over me, the lights behind his head casting his face in shadows. "I saved your life today."

My heart races, my eyes sweeping down his body. "After you came to take it."

"But I saved it, yes?"

Licking my lips, I nod.

He leans closer, his mouth a breath from kissing me. "Do you know what that means?"

A needy whine escapes me, and I shake my head.

"You belong to me until you return the favor." He cups my jaw. "Now, let go, Oliver."

The rumbled order curls my toes in reaction, and I drop my palms to the press against the countertop, leaving me at this Alpha's mercy.

Cold granite chills my bare skin as Caleb peels off my pants, his touch unexpectedly gentle.

The lights in this opulent bathroom shine down on me, much brighter than those in my apartment, exposing every flaw in my body .

My hands lift to cover myself, but a stern stare from Caleb stops me in my tracks. The mixture of shame and submission sends a shiver down my spine, and I squirm on the chilly surface.

"Stay still." Caleb's callous-roughened palms slide over me as he checks for any other injuries.

His touch sends tingles through my body, and my dick hardens, the ache in my balls intensifying after the earlier interruption back at my place.

Caleb smirks at my growing arousal but says nothing as he continues his inspection.

"You have some bruising, but no other cuts." His hand grazes up my thigh, dipping toward the crease where leg meets hip, before he steps back. "Don't move, and no touching yourself while I'm gone."

With a frustrated groan, I watch him leave, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I try my best to stay still, but with every second that ticks by, the silence of the bathroom grows heavier, my thoughts shifting from my aching dick to worry about my apartment.

Gunshots aren't uncommon in my neighborhood, so it's hard to say if anyone called the cops or if they just went on with their lives, pretending not to hear anything .

If Caleb hadn't been there to save me, would I be dead now?

A tight sensation bands around my ribs as I imagine my body lying undiscovered for days, my death unnoticed until my rent was overdue.

The thought sends a shiver through me, and my breathing quickens. The bathroom closes in, the lights too bright, the countertop cold beneath my bare skin. My chest heaves, my frantic gasps echoing off the tiles.

"Oliver?" Caleb appears above me, assessing the situation. "You're panicking. Try to take deep breaths."

I open my mouth to deny it, but the air wheezes from my lungs.

Motions efficient, Caleb lifts me into an upright position and moves my shaking limbs, dressing me in a pair of silky green pajamas. Then he gathers me in his arms and turns, carrying me toward the door.

I cling to him, gripping the fabric of his shirt, struggling to ground myself in the strength of his body.

Caleb carries me back to the front room and settles onto the couch with me cradled in his lap.

A rumble rises from his chest, his pheromones surrounding me, calming me as he strokes my back. "Is it finally settling in?"

"I could have died tonight," I whisper against his throat, vulnerable in a way I haven't allowed myself to feel in years.

Caleb's hand pauses on my back, and then he resumes his soothing pets down my spine. "It's good to see you're not completely crazy and do feel fear."

At the hint of a smile in his voice, I straighten in his lap, my fingers gripping his shirt. "It's not so much dying… it's realizing no one would have noticed."

Pity flickers across his face.

Unable to handle that, I slip from the cradle of Caleb's arms to sit beside him instead, the warmth of his body dissipating as I put some distance between us.

"What about the death threats?" Caleb asks, breaking the silence.

Grabbing my satchel, I unzip it and pull out my laptop, the folder I grabbed slipping out in the process. I shove it back into the pocket and set it on the coffee table before opening my computer.

The screen flickers to life, and I navigate to my blog, pulling up the disturbing emails I saved .

Anxiety bubbles inside me as I open the first one. When I started receiving these, I thought I was being trolled, but now I realize I shouldn't have ignored them. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body, and I focus on keeping my breaths steady.

Caleb takes the laptop, skimming through the dozen or so threats.

"I tried blocking them, but they used different email addresses." I rub my damp palms on my thighs. "I should call the cops and report the shooting. They'll investigate this now that I've been attacked."

Caleb opens more messages. "No."

"But insurance will require a police statement before they'll pay for the repairs." My anxiety gives way to frustration.

He closes the computer and sets it on his far side, out of my reach. "Don't worry about any of that."

"Look, my savings can't cover paying for repairs out of pocket." Shame warms my cheeks to admit that while surrounded by such luxury. "And winter's coming soon. I can't live there with the slider broken."

Caleb's jaw hardens. "You're not going back to your apartment until we have answers."

My muscles tense at his words. The idea of abandoning my home, the only place I'd ever shared with Dylan, is unbearable. I've held on to that shitty living space for one reason only, and I won't give up on it now.

I stand, my foot protesting with a spike of pain.

Caleb catches my hand, stopping me. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I appreciate you patching me up, and I promise I'll leave your name out when I file the police report," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "But I need to go home."

"Your life belongs to me now, Oliver," Caleb reminds me, his words sending a terrifying thrill through me.

Every fiber of my being wants to give in. I've spent so long struggling to take care of myself that I yearn to let someone else take control. But it's difficult to stop fighting.

Caleb's hold on my wrist tightens. "Don't forget, I have the video of you masturbating. You don't want the entire world to see you like that, do you?"

The reminder of the blackmail material brings with it a sense of relief so intense it leaves my legs shaking. I have no choice but to obey him, and that knowledge eases the burden I've carried since my parents died .

With a gentle tug, Caleb draws me back onto his lap. "You'll be a good, obedient boy, right, Oliver? Just for me?"

A whine escapes as I melt against him, burying my nose in my assassin's neck.