3. Dominic

CHAPTER 3

Dominic

“ D on’t make me regret telling you this,” Joshua says to me over the phone.

Instead of replying, I hang up the call. He worries too much. One day, he’s going to be crushed by the weight of responsibilities he needlessly carries every day. And I’ll be right there on the sidelines watching it happen.

After ending the call, I turn on the ignition of my car. And then I’m following the dark-haired woman who just skipped out of the FBI building. What Joshua doesn’t know is that I’m already here.

For three days, I’ve lurked in the shadows, tracking her routine like clockwork. Each movement, each smile, pulls me deeper into an obsession I can’t justify.

And while I’ve been doing my best to stay away from her, it’s only a matter of time before the thread of control snaps. I already have a plan in mind, but the execution is a little less clear. Plus, there’s still a part of me that thinks I should walk away from her and just forget everything.

It’s like Pandora’s box. And unfortunately, like the woman herself in the Greek myths, I can’t seem to contain my curiosity when it comes to her.

Especially not after all I’ve been able to glean from surveilling her the past few days. It’s not much. She arrives at the office by eight every morning, with a jumbo-sized cup of coffee. I watched her for three days and her routine didn’t change. She left her house, then stopped at the coffee shop by her office building before heading in to work.

She doesn’t leave the building all day, not even to get lunch like some of her co-workers tend to do. She gets off work anytime between 8 p.m. and 10 p.m. like today. Always alone. She then calls for a cab to take her home. Like clockwork.

Oh, and she’s always smiling. I think that’s what irks me the most about her. The constant smile on her face. It’s like she’s putting in an effort to project to the world that she’s happy, which raises red flags.

No one’s that happy all the time. Least of all her. Which is how I’m sure she’s hiding something. Her attitude toward life is a defense mechanism. I would know. While I tend to shut out the rest of the world, it looks like she went about it the opposite way.

One more thing I’ve been able to glean about her character? She has no concept of personal safety.

I grit my teeth as she turns the corner to an empty street without any street lamps. It’s dark, with the only source of light coming from the full moon above. There’s no movement anywhere nearby, no shops, no houses. Only a dark alleyway. As soon as she walks in, I lose sight of her.

“Is she fucking kidding me right now?” I ask no one in particular.

I turn off the ignition and park before stepping out. As soon as I do, I hear a shriek followed by the sound of her voice. Against my better judgment, I stalk over to the scene, and of course I find her surrounded by three other men.

They’re bulky men. One of them is bald and they’re all heavily tattooed. I’m guessing petty thugs. Right now, they’re sizing her up like she’s their next meal. To her credit, she doesn’t look all that scared. She reaches into her bag and waves a badge in their faces.

“I’m FBI, assholes! Leave me the fuck alone or you’ll regret it,” she threatens, her green eyes narrowed.

I pause for a moment and just stare.

She looks different now—fire in her eyes, jaw set like steel. Gone is the sunny facade, replaced by something raw, untamed. It’s magnetic.

She looks fierce. Fierce enough to take down every single one of those men. Iridescent is the word that comes to mind as I stare at her. Something in my chest unclenches at the sight. That look on her face is more honest than anything she’s projected in the last three days.

I decide there and then that I’m going to see this through to the end.

But first, I might have to save her from the questionable situation she’s practically walked right in to. Although from the look on her face, I don’t think she needs saving. The idiots exchange a look before advancing on her.

“Wrong choice, dickheads.”

“Shut up, bitch!” one of the men hisses.

She throws the bag on her shoulder to the ground before fisting her hands. As soon as the first man is within reach, she crouches and kicks his knee with her leg. He groans before moving to touch the wounded area, and then she punches him in the face.

Damn.

“There’s more where that came,” she states, getting to her feet once again. “And stop calling women bitches, son of a bitch.”

I smirk at that. The expression on her face is taunting. She wants them to come for her. Interesting. Another one advances. She tries to get him in the shoulder but he swerves to the side and lands a punch of his own to her stomach. A punch that knocks the breath out of her. She bends over with a short gasp.

I wince slightly. That must have hurt like hell.

But then I watch her lift her head, her expression becoming even more fierce.

“Bastard,” she spits. “You are so going to pay for that.”

It’s becoming increasingly clear that she’s unlike any other woman I’ve ever encountered. The man in front of her tries to throw another punch, but she’s faster. Fast enough to raise her knee to his balls. He groans, dropping to the ground immediately. My lips curve in amusement.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” she screams, glaring at the last guy.

Something in the air tenses and my eyes narrow at how still he is. He just watched her take down his two friends and did nothing. He seems more menacing than them. I don’t think she can tell, though. She continues her taunting, practically begging him to come at her. And then, suddenly, she grows quiet.

I catch sight of something glinting. A knife?

Now she’s the one who’s still. Her face grows pale with terror. She doesn’t move as he walks toward her, brandishing the weapon in his hand with intent.

“Not so loud now, huh, sweetheart?” the man says.

His friends are on their feet now, too, and I can practically taste the bloodlust in the air. They’re going to kill her.

“Come on, move,” I whisper under my breath. “Do something.”

When it becomes clear she’s too panicked to move, I start approaching them. My jaw tightens when the one with the knife slices her arm. She gasps and stumbles backward before lowering herself to the ground. Her eyes are empty. The fire in them is gone. That more than anything pisses me the fuck off.

They don’t notice my approach. None of them sees me until it’s too late. I jam an elbow into the neck of the one closest to me, making sure to hit a pressure point hard enough to knock him out. That draws the attention of the other two. The next one goes down just as fast with a punch to his face.

“Who the hell are you?” the one with the knife sneers at me.

I cock my head to the side without giving him the satisfaction of a reply. He rushes at me, but it’s pretty easy to disarm him. The knife clatters to the ground and I have him in a headlock in about ten seconds. I consider snapping his neck but I can’t exactly kill someone in front of her. Although I doubt she’d notice in the state that she’s currently in.

He struggles in my hold, but I don’t let go.

“If I find you again,” I whisper lowly in his ear, “you’re dead.”

And then I’m tightening my grip around his neck, hard enough to suffocate him until he passes out as well. Once he does, I let him fall to the ground. A part of me still wants to kill all three of them but I have no interest in dealing with the headache that will come with cleaning up their bodies.

Plus, I have more pressing issues. My gaze slowly slides over to the woman crouched on the ground, staring at nothing. Her eyes are blank, her face expressionless. She looks almost catatonic. I take slow, careful steps toward her before lowering myself down in front of her.

“Hey,” I say, staring into ocean-green eyes. “Can you hear me?”

I frown when she barely shows any response. It’s like she’s locked in her head. My gaze moves down to her arm where blood slowly seeps out from where that bastard slashed her. I check it out, glad to see that the cut’s not too deep, and I carefully apply pressure to stop her from losing any more blood. Then I lift my other hand to her face. My fingers glide over her jaw, throat, and other pressure points. She shudders when I squeeze the back of her neck. That seems to snap her out of it. She blinks, slowly coming out of the daze she was in.

“Wh-who are you?” she asks, eyes wide with confusion.

And then she’s looking down at her arm, as well.

“Oh, God. Oh no, no, no, no, no,” she repeats, shaking her head. I arch an eyebrow when her breathing quickens.

“Hey, hey, breathe. You’re fine,” I offer comfortingly, trying to make my voice soft.

“I-I hate the sight of blood,” she murmurs. And then she passes out in my arms.

Wonderful. This day just keeps getting better and better.

I sigh, standing and lifting her into my arms. Her head automatically rests against my chest and I breathe in her floral scent mixed with the smell of her blood.

Earlier, when she took on the three men, she seemed larger than life. Right now, though, she feels small in my arms, fragile enough to break.

“You just might be more trouble than you’re worth, Flowers,” I murmur gently, carrying her to my car.

I stand beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Her hair is spread out on the pillow like a dark cloud. She’s been out for about two hours, and I’ve spent those two hours questioning every single decision that’s led me to this point. It all started when I was asked to look for her. And then she refused to be found. Every single day spent wondering where she was.

Now that she’s right her in front of me, I have no clue what the fuck to do with her.

She stirs a couple of minutes later. I watch as her eyelids slowly flutter open. She’s visibly disoriented, trying to come to terms with her environment. And then she notices me. I expect her to scream in surprise or at least display some measure of shock.

She does none of those things. Instead, she sits up against the headboard after observing me for a couple of seconds.

“Hi,” she says once she’s done.

I arch an amused eyebrow. “Hey. Are you okay?”

She nods, rubbing her forehead. “Yeah, I think so. I just feel a little dizzy.”

“You passed out,” I inform her.

“Ah. I see,” she says flippantly.

My eyebrows rise even further. “Do you know where you are?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah. Those three dickwipes cornered me in that alley. I was teaching them a lesson until one of them cut me with a knife. And then you showed up and kicked their asses without breaking a sweat. That was pretty cool, by the way.”

So she remembers everything despite being in that shell-shocked state? Interesting.

“Yeah,” I say in agreement, “and then I brought you here. To my house. Cleaned up your wound, bandaged it.”

She looks down at her arm as if just remembering that she was wounded. As I said, her wound has been wrapped around in a bandage. She didn’t flinch when I sewed it up and cleaned it with antiseptic. I could have taken her to the hospital, but that would have drawn too much attention.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

We both fall silent for a couple of moments before I ask, “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” she returns almost immediately.

A little too defensive. Still, I answer, “Dominic.”

“Madelyn,” she murmurs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Why did you go into that alley?”

She blinks. “What?”

“The alley. Why did you walk in there knowing you were unarmed and without any means of protection?”

“My fists were protection enough. At least until that feckless dick decided to play dirty,” she says, her green eyes growing fierce.

And then the look disappears. I feel an odd hollowness at the sight.

“Don’t do that again,” I tell her.

“If I don’t have to I won’t.”

“You didn’t have to walk into that alley tonight, did you?”

Her lips thin. “I was trying to take a shortcut. And why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

I study her for a beat. I don’t spend a lot of my time socializing with other people, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the direction this conversation was meant to go.

“Aren’t you scared?” I question.

“What do you mean?”

I cross my hands over my chest as I stare down at her. She is quite unlike literally anyone I’ve ever met.

“Some stranger in an alley carries you home and puts you in his bed. Most people would be terrified—blood still fresh on their skin, trapped in a stranger’s home. But you? You’re unshaken. Like this is normal for you. Why?”

“Have I been kidnapped?” she asks.

I pause. “No.”

She waves a hand in front of her. “Well, then there you have it.”

“You’re not scared I’m going to hurt you?”

Ocean-green eyes meet mine, but there’s no spark. I need the spark.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“I could,” I answer honestly.

“Oh, well, you already had a front row seat to what my fists are capable of.”

I almost— almost —crack a smile at that.

“You’re right, though. Most people would be terrified. But I don’t know, I just don’t feel scared. That’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“Certifiably insane,” I agree.

She shrugs. “I’ve heard worse. Anyway, I should probably go. Thanks again for saving me.”

I watch as she climbs out of bed only to stumble and fall back into it. “How are you feeling?”

“A little lightheaded.”

“Why? You didn’t lose that much blood,” I state. “You should be okay.”

“It’s probably because I haven’t eaten all day,” she explains.

My eyes narrow. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I had two donuts,” she offers enthusiastically.

For the love of…

“Get up,” I order. “Slowly, this time.”

She does, gently rising to her feet until she’s standing in front of me. There’s, like, a foot of space between us. Her floral scent surrounds me again. Her hair falls over her shoulders in waves. She’s about 5’7”, which is about a couple inches shorter than me. She comes up to my shoulders. She pulls her brown duffle coat tighter around her body, looking around my room awkwardly.

That I even brought her in here in the first place is something I’ve been trying and failing to wrap my head around.

“Now what?” she asks.

“Now, I’m going to cook you something to eat. And you’re going to eat.”

She smiles, looking up at me. “You know, you’re pretty bossy. Which is a shame considering your good looks.”

Jesus, does this woman say everything that’s on her mind?

Since I don’t have any reply to that, I simply walk off in the direction of my kitchen. I hear her footsteps following behind me.

“Do you live here alone?” she asks. When I don’t reply, she continues. “It’s a pretty big space for one person. I’m guessing you’re rich. Which is so not fair considering how you look. God definitely has favorites.”

I arch an eyebrow when her rambling comes to an end. She’s looking at me from the other side of the island.

“What would you like to eat?”

She shrugs. “I eat anything.”

“And yet somehow you don’t actually eat. ”

She grins. “Yeah, that’s pretty accurate.”

I make a low noise of acknowledgment before pulling out the ingredients to make mac and cheese. It’s pretty simple and quick. She watches as I turn on the stovetop and put on a pot of water, staying silent while I add the macaroni and some salt to the boiling water. That takes five minutes. Five minutes of silence until she speaks again. I don’t think she’s good at silence.

“So, question, why were you in that alleyway tonight? It just seems weird that you happened to be there at that time.”

“Oh, so now you choose to be suspicious?” I ask, while preparing the cheese sauce.

“It’s not suspicion. I’m just curious. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or fate.”

My eyes meet hers with a frown. “Why does it have to be either? I don’t believe in coincidences or fate. How about things just happen and there’s no reason or method to it?”

“Isn’t that what a coincidence is?”

“No, coincidences suggest a link between two events or two things that have no connection to each other but it happens anyway. The existence of a coincidence itself gives a particular reason to a situation.”

She pauses, taking that in. “I think my frontal lobe just developed. Wow, that’s deep.”

My lips twitch.

“Damn, that was almost a smile,” she says gently, and I realize she’s studying me.

My jaw tightens and I look away from her, suddenly remembering why I don’t like having people in my space. Why I don’t like people, period.

“Why don’t you like knives?” I ask abruptly.

She falls still, then says under her breath, “What?”

“Knives. Earlier in the alleyway, you freaked out when that bastard brought out a knife.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn’t freak out. He cut me and I passed out because of the blood. I’m squeamish.”

This time, I really do let the corners of my lips tip up. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried to gaslight me before. It’s definitely intriguing.

She’s such a dirty little liar. It makes me want to punish the fuck out of her.