Chapter 3

Chloe

I plop down on the couch after the long day, my feet aching. It's been such a rough day.

Laying my head back against the cushions, I sigh, and my attention is immediately brought to the subtle throb in my finger.

Looking down at it, I remember just who put the bandage there.

"Dominick Shaw. I was really hoping I could avoid him."

Being an awkward middle schooler and then an equally dorky high school student when I'd occasionally see him when he was on leave didn't give him a particularly glowing impression of me, I'm sure.

The cherry on top of the uncomfortable sundae is, of course, how handsome he's become.

Keeping an eye on you.

I stifle a shudder. They're always so charming—until they aren't. I can't make that mistake again.

Still…

"How weird was it that he stopped everything to help me? What kind of business owner does that?" I turn over onto my stomach, grabbing a pillow. "It was just a cut."

My stomach flutters with intrigue, and I have to literally shake it off.

"No. No. You are not doing this." Sobering memories of being screamed at for buying a dress Ethan deemed too revealing choke me. "It's too dangerous."

Abruptly, I'm pulled from my thoughts when my phone rings. Who'd be calling me so late?

Picking it up, I see it's Gran and fall back again with a sigh. She always stays up too late.

"Hey, you."

"Dearest!" Even through the cragginess of age, her excitement bleeds through the line. "How is being back home?"

"Oh, fine. Anthony says hi."

"That troublemaker. How is my boy?"

I smile, loving that despite everything, she still thinks of him as the naughty kid from when he and Dominick first started hanging out.

"He's fine. Got me a job at the club he helps manage. But how are you? Feeling better?"

"Oh, these old bones aren't going anywhere soon. What's this about a club?"

"Uh…" I grimace, imagining the outfit I have to wear. "Just this club that one of the Shaw brothers owns."

"Shaw brothers? Those boys he's known for however long?"

I giggle at the obvious surprise in her voice. "Yes, Gran. Those boys. They're doing pretty well for themselves, actually. Hildale Port business moguls."

"Well, I'll be. You're single again, aren't you?"

"Gran!"

We both laugh, but I'm quickly frowning as I think about where she is. It's a nice place, top care, and there are so many worse facilities. How am I going to keep her there?

"Well, I'm just saying. Anyway, I think the meds are finally kicking in. I'm going to fall asleep to bad TV."

"I love you, Gran. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Don't stay up too late."

"What are you, my mother?" Laughter fills the quiet once more. "Love you, precious. Talk soon."

I hang up, tossing the phone on the coffee table.

"Ugh, what am I going to do?"

Tears prickle, but the exhaustion keeps my body from being able to start full-blown sobbing like I want.

Ethan's money helped me pay for her care, and while there isn't a single part of me that wants another penny from him, my morals can't pay the bills. Servers only make so much, and it's hardly the same income as the owner of a private security firm.

Who was helping to launder drug money.

"Dammit." I bury my face in my hands. "Maybe I should tell Anthony."

But nausea crawls up my throat at the thought. I can't pull my brother into all this. He'll start asking questions, and inevitably, that'll lead to talking about Ethan.

No. That is an absolute no-go.

Stress has stolen the readiness to pass out, and I decide that I may as well take a shower. Wash off the bar smell and relax, so I snag my phone on my way to the tiny excuse for a shower.

Padding to the bathroom in my worn socks, I reach past the flimsy curtain to crank on the hot water.

It'll take a good five minutes before it's hot and running totally clear. As I pull off my hoodie that's been acting as my only jacket, I notice the light above the mirror flicker.

"Please don't go out again." I strip off my tee and pants, shivering. "Damn faulty wiring."

Eventually, steam fills the shower, and I pull off the sports bra—my only bra—and underwear. Stepping into the water, I sigh as the heat melts into me.

Water runs over me, easing some of the strain of working the bar. I'll hand it to Yasmin, she's an excellent worker, and she knows more than her fair share about mixing drinks and getting good tips.

I'm not used to dealing with so many drunk people at once, and man, was I ready to go home by the end of the shift.

Even after a week, I still don't feel comfortable flirting with customers or schmoozing them for better tips.

My finger stings as the water seeps into the bandage, and I peel it off. The cut is clean and already beginning to scab over.

I run my finger over it gently.

"Dominick."

Images of broad shoulders and styled brown locks fill my mind. The way his hazel eyes locked onto mine and wouldn't let go.

"God, he was huge." I lean my head against the shower wall. "Where is your brain right now?"

But it was no use. I was already thinking of what it might feel like to feel those strong hands roam other places. To have Dominick tower over me with that massive frame and take all my worries away.

What would he taste like? Would those lips be as soft as they looked?

"Shit."

Arousal pooled, and I reeled as the familiar thoughts swam, making me dizzy. I'd left this crush behind me.

Why is it resurfacing now?

Anxiety yanked me out of the moment. What if Ethan tracked me down?

"No. It can't happen. It's too dangerous. Ethan would kill Dominick. No matter how big he is. Guns are more powerful."

The creeping doubt worsened.

"He'd said the same thing as Ethan. He was so…so bossy!"

I sighed, turning off the shower and stepping out to dry off with my threadbare towel.

"You definitely have a type." Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I roll them at myself. "Yeah, not doing that again. It almost got you killed once."

It's like I can still see Ethan's eyes find me in the shadows as I overhear his conversation, the fury and downright evil glare threatening my life as sure as any gun to the head. I'd finally started to push back against all his controlling behavior.

Hell, my friends had been hounding me about it for months, reminding me over and over that someone constantly "checking in" and having a say in every little thing I did or said or wore wasn't normal.

I'd gone to his office to leave a note that I'd left. Yeah, breaking up via a letter is a shit move, but I was…scared he might actually do something to keep me around.

I had no idea how right I was.

Before I know it, I'm on the bathroom floor, wrapped in my towel and hyperventilating as I remember the terrifying men I'd seen him with.

"I said push the money, not make my shipment take longer."

"You know I have no problem moving it, Zachriah. I just want a better fucking cut. Your drugs would rot if I wasn't able to get the money circulating for you."

I gasp.

"The fuck was that, Noble?"

"You got a fucking spy out there?"

Desperately, I try to suck in a lungful of the humid air, counting down five things I can see, four I can hear, three I can smell, two I can touch, and one I can taste.

By the time I finish, I'm somewhat calm. At least enough to leave the room and remember to grab my phone to charge it.

I leave the steamy expanse, a rush of cool temperature hits me in the face, and I hurry for my bedroom. Changing into a pair of sweats and a tank, I crawl under my covers, pulling them close.

The weight of my comforter and knit blanket over the top ground me. Gran made this . I run my fingers back and forth over the soft ridges of the cover.

Plugging in my phone, I find a calming "sleep music" station on YouTube that will last the eight hours of sleep I hope to get. Probably not.

I can't wake up to silence in the middle of the night, and I know I'm more than likely to wake up, nightmares and all.

The soothing sounds of a thunderstorm with a soft background tune fill the room, and after counting through a few more senses, I finally fall asleep.

Dominick is here. Somehow, we're in the club at the bar. He's hoisted me up onto the slick, cool surface, pulling my jeans down my legs as his kisses move from my mouth to my chest and stomach.

"Holy shit, what are you doing? We shouldn't be here."

"Shh."

He puts a finger to my lips, silencing my words but not my moans as his hands roam over my bare legs until they come to the hem of my panties.

I'm already so wet for him, arousal gathering as I scissor my legs around his exploring fingers. He finds me, and everything crashes into a blazing inferno of lust.

Damn, I want him. I want him more than I've wanted anyone before, and the feeling of him touching me, knowing we're right out in public on the bar top, is wickedly hot.

"Dominick!"

I buck as he probes deeper, his other hand coming up to my breast and shoving the fabric away to pinch my nipple.

"Yes, pretty girl, come for me."

I do, and it's my first orgasm in such a long time, even considering Ethan's efforts. He doesn't stop, either, working me right back up to the edge.

Then, I'm pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles of his thick torso. His abs are a fucking sight, like something out of an action flick.

Thor is put to shame by the muscles stacked on Dominick's frame, and then his pants are off.

Fuuuuck .

Well-endowed scarcely covers it, but I don't have time to process what I'm actually seeing before he's inside me, and I crash over that edge he's brought me to.

"Oh, Dominick. Please!"

"Yes, baby girl. That's it."

I'm ready to tumble through another orgasm, my eyes screwed up tight, when the horrible sound of a gunshot cuts through my lust-filled haze.

I know what's coming.

Opening my eyes, I see a hazy vision of Dominick, blood oozing down his face.

"No!"

Ethan is suddenly there, pushing Dominick to the floor as he laughs.

"You can't get away from me, Chloe." His eyes go a strange, impossible combination of black and bloodshot. "You'll never get away from me."

I try to run, flinging myself off the bar and dashing toward the door with the glowing exit sign.

I barely move. Each step brings me no closer to escape, and the world tunnels, stretching the door so far away it looks like I have to run miles.

Ethan's face appears inches from mine. "Boo!"

He raises a knife, cackling maniacally as it glints from an unseen light source. Ethan brings it down.

He's going to kill me.

I wake up just before the blade sinks in, images of my personal slasher movie still playing in my mind. The thunderstorm sounds are still playing in the background.

Checking the time, I do the math and determine that I made it about four hours before I had a nightmare. Not bad, but not great.

It's a while before I can finally slow my breathing, and even as I realize it was just a dream, my mind is reeling from the visuals.

I've never had a guest in my nightmares before, and I really didn't like how the director of that little horror decided to use him.

"Dammit, Chloe. You have to pull yourself together." I take a sip of the water I have on my nightstand. "Don't get attached, don't get attached. Just stay clear of anyone. Stay clear. Stay clear. Stay clear."

As I repeat my familiar mantra, unconsciousness pulls at the corners once more. I don't know if I'll be able to stave off another nightmare. Honestly, it's unlikely.

But I have a shift tomorrow, and I need to try to get as much sleep as possible.