22. Dominic

TWENTY-TWO

DOMINIC

Twisting my head, I look over the back of the couch. Wilfred's dirt-smeared face tilts to me, and he smirks. "A dead boy walking and his whore."

His eyes crease at the corners before his attention returns to Camryn's breasts.

Fury turns my vision red. I guide Camryn off my lap before slowly rising to my feet and turning to face him.

"Cover your tits," I order Camryn, my voice deadly calm.

Wilfred shifts the toothpick left to right with his tongue, a toothy smile spreading across his lips when his eyes meet mine.

I'm going to kill him slowly for seeing her naked and covered in my release. No one sees her without clothes on and lives to tell the tale.

Not anymore.

Wilfred gestures impatiently with the gun. "You, darlin', over there."

My hand flies out, and I grip her wrist before she can move, giving her a warning look. I refuse to let Wilfred separate us.

Her wrist feels so small in my hand, and the tears that cling to her wispy lashes churn my gut. I always thought I knew the meaning of rage, but seeing her tremble with fear rouses something inside me. Something that makes her face pale.

"Let go of the girl unless you want her to die." Wilfred aims the shotgun at Camryn, and it takes everything in me to uncurl my fingers from around her bony wrist.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" His voice drips with humor.

With a final tear-filled glance in my direction, that makes me want to rip the old man's heart from his chest, she rounds the tattered couch until Wilfred stops jostling his gun.

She's by his side with her head bent and her arms crossed over her chest for modesty. I grit my jaw when her soft sniffles cut through the tense silence. How fucking dare he frighten her like this.

"There's a good girl," he drawls, pulling her into his side and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Wasn't so hard, was it, darlin'?"

"Don't you fucking dare touch her!"

He levels those dull eyes on me again, flicking the toothpick. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, and then he drops his eyes to my flaccid dick.

Acid burns my esophagus the longer he lets his gaze linger. Camryn sniffles again.

"Did you kids think you could come in here and do what? Fuck on my couch? Seek a thrill?"

"Let her go," I warn.

A spark of something…malicious flashes in his eyes. Wilfred enjoys inflicting fear. It's there, in his cold chuckle when he strokes his fingers through Camryn's matted hair. "She's pretty."

Gritting my teeth, I remain quiet.

If that deadly weapon weren't aimed straight at me, I'd scale this couch and bash his face in. The only thing that keeps me tethered to the ground is the thought of what he might do to Camryn if he shoots me. If he touches her, I'll torture him until he begs for death. Even then, I'll drag it out.

"I'll tell you what, darlin'," he says to her, tipping her chin up with his grimy fingers, and I almost lose my shit there and then. "If you drop to your knees and suck my dick, I'll let you and your friend go. We'll forget this whole thing ever happened. How's that?"

"Don't listen to him, Camryn," I bite out, fisting my hands.

She swallows audibly, flicking her glassy eyes between his. I eye the gun, the couch, him.

My body vibrates with rage. I'm biting down so hard that my jaw will ache for weeks.

"You can walk out of here, and no one gets hurt."

A growl reverberates through my chest when he guides her hands away from her chest and reaches out to palm a breast.

Fuck this.

No one touches what's mine.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he flicks his gaze up to mine and spits out the toothpick. The sight of her pale breast in his grimy hand blackens my vision.

"A perfect handful," he taunts, squeezing.

"I'm going to kill you," I breathe so quietly and viciously that Camryn retreats into herself.

"I'm the one with the weapon here, boy," he replies, pinching her nipple.

She flinches, whimpering with pain. I make for the couch but come to a sudden stop when he puts the gun to the underside of her chin.

"Take one more step, and I pull the trigger."

My body freezes with dread.

Wilfred's sickening smile grows. He knows he's got me by the balls, judging by the manic glint in his eyes.

"If you want her to live, I suggest you rein that anger in, boy. I'm not done yet."

"I swear to God, if you touch her, I will chop off your fucking hands."

Chuckling, he steps closer to her and makes a show of kneading her breasts. I look away, unable to control the putrid disgust that floods my veins. I hate feeling this fucking powerless. Hate how I can't act on my instincts. He can taunt me now, but I will peel his skin off his body, remove his eyeballs, and cut out his tongue?—

My attention snaps back when Camryn chokes on a whimper that saws through my ribs.

"So smooth," he says with a perverted smile as he trails his filthy fingers over her pussy. "I bet she's tight."

This time, when she whimpers, I explode into action, launching myself over the back of the couch and tackling Wilfred to the ground. A shot goes off, but I'm blinded by rage and the need to destroy. I lay into him with my fist while clutching his denim overalls. Punch after punch. I'm seething. Hell-bent on beating him to a bloody pulp. My arm aches, and my bloody knuckles sting. I don't stop.

"Dominic!" Camryn tears me off him, palming my sweaty cheeks with her trembling hands. Her stricken eyes fly over my face, and I want nothing more than to ease the worry I see in her blue orbs, but I can barely catch my breath. "We need to leave."

"He touched you."

Her fingers pause on my scruff. "I'm okay."

"He fucking touched you."

"Dom…" She presses her soft lips to mine, her shaky breaths skating over my mouth. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Can we please just leave?"

"Fuck," I growl, nipping at her bottom lip and fisting her hair. "It matters. No one touches you. I'm going to cut off his fucking hands for thinking he could—" I fall silent when I glance to the side, seeing the bloody floor.

Where did he go?

My grip on Camryn stiffens, and I whip my head from left and right, scanning the room. "What the hell?" I climb to my feet, clutching her to me protectively. She's still naked except for her dirty tank top that's halfway down her stomach. I help her pull it up to cover her breasts, my eyes skating across the room to ensure we're alone.

With a final glance around, I quickly zip up my pants, walk over to the couch, and swipe up her shorts from the floor.

"Put them on," I demand, striding up to her.

When she's buttoning them up, I palm her cheek. "I need you to stay here."

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

Outside, a crow caws.

I wish I could wipe the fear from her eyes and replace it with a look reserved only for me.

"No," she says, shaking her head almost fervently. "We need to leave."

I caress her damp cheeks. "Listen to me. He's still here. If we leave now, he'll come after us. Maybe not today, but tomorrow or the week after." Those big eyes stare at me, so I jostle her. "We can't let him get away."

"What are you saying?"

My jaw tightens, fingers twitching against her tear-streaked cheeks as I lean in and rest my forehead against hers. "We kill him."

A sharp inhale racks her body.

Before she can open her mouth to reply, my lips meet hers—no tongue, just a hard press and a haunted groan. She drives me murderous. "He has to die."

I tear myself away and stride out of the room.

"Dom," she calls after me, but I ignore her pleading voice.

I need a weapon.

Entering the kitchen farther down the hall, I tear open a kitchen drawer and root through its contents. All I can find is a blunt knife, so I lift it out before slamming the door shut and spinning around.

Flies buzz around the dirty pots stacked high in the sink, and the light outside barely penetrates the cloudy windows. A bouquet of wilted wildflowers sits on the kitchen table. The inside of the clear vase is murky with dried, green algae.

When I slowly cross the room, the floorboards creak beneath my weight. I tighten my grip on the knife's handle and pause in the doorway.

A trail of blood leads the way to the staircase.

Trust the fucker to hide upstairs.

I enter the hallway with measured steps. My neck prickles as I pass a row of framed, faded photographs. Beady eyes follow me, suspended in time, and I suppress a shiver. One or two picture frames must have fallen to the floor, because shards of glass break underfoot.

"I'm coming for you, you fucker," I call out as I ascend the worn stairs, keeping my back to the wall. The wallpaper has peeled in places as if torn away. A loud creak accompanies every step. I pause, wincing.

The house is eerily quiet.

I break out in a cold sweat as I reach the top and peer around the corner.

It's even darker up here.

Streaks of sunshine filter through the moth-eaten lace curtains, highlighting the dust motes that swirl in an eternal dance. Across the hall, cobwebs cling to an antique, cracked mirror. I look away from my distorted reflection and step onto the landing with the knife clutched tightly in my hand.

"Come out and face me, you dirty old man." I place one step in front of the other, my heart pounding almost painfully.

A sound to my right makes me pause, and I crane my neck to peer into the dark room. "I didn't take you for a coward."

"Dominic," a female voice whispers from inside.

I come to a halt, my heart ceasing to beat as fresh terror rears up inside me. I inch closer, the weapon white knuckled in my hand.

"I've waited for you, Dominic." The female voice slides over my senses like a sensuous threat.

I stare at the gaping doorway with my heart in my throat. The darkness inside bleeds from the room like tendrils of dark ink, a sea of black.

Silence. Suffocating silence.

"Dominic!"

I stumble back, my spine crashing against the wall behind me.

Pictures fall to the floor, but I'm caught in all that black, unable to look away as it comes for me, seeping from the room like a river of dread.

Feminine laughter echoes from inside, and then I see her.

Her skirts drift on an imaginary breeze as the darkness reveals her long dress and regal, pale features. "I've waited for you, Dominic."

Pulled forward, my feet become unglued.

The woman's eyes darken, and her lips slowly spread into a victorious smile. She inches back, disappearing into the shadows.

I'm at the threshold, my shoulder brushing up against the doorframe, when a sharp blow to my head knocks me to my knees.

Blood trickles down my nape as I raise a hand to my neck, swaying on the spot. Peering down at my crimson fingers, I release a surprised chuckle.

Beside me, Wilfred crouches down and places another toothpick between his yellow teeth. "Sleep tight, princess." He stands back up and whacks me with the gun's handle. I tip forward, my vision blackening.

His tight grip on my hair is the last thing I'm aware of before my cheek meets the floor.

Blackness descends, and with it, sweet oblivion.