Page 82 of Dom


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When I tear my eyes away from the glass, I notice that we’re not alone in here either.

A man is sitting on one of the couches between us and the windows, and another man is standing in the kitchen directly in front of us. He’s on the other side of the large marble island, but I can still make out the gun on his hip.

It’s almost funny—the black shirts, black pants, and matching serious expressions… But this is my life, for now, so that makes it less amusing.

“So we share our home with your army?” I ask, making my tone as bland as possible.

“No one sleeps here but us,” Dom answers. “What would you like for dinner?”

The question is so bizarre I don’t answer right away.

“Valentine,” Dom prompts.

“I want to go to bed.”

“You need to eat.”

I fist my hands at my sides. “You need to let me go to bed.”

Dom moves closer, his chest nearly touching mine. “Or what?”

“Or… Or I’ll steal one of those guns off one of your guys and shoot you.”

I don’t think I could actually get a gun off someone, but if I did, I’d definitely shoot him.

The edge of his mouth pulls up. “Where would you shoot me, Shorty?”

I narrow my eyes. “Your shin.”

Dominic barks out a laugh.

And it pisses me off.

“You wouldn’t be laughing with a bullet in your shinbone,” I snap and stomp toward the set of stairs, assuming the bedrooms are on the upper level.

Dom’s chuckle follows me. “I’ll give you that.”

I’ll give you that.I mouth the sentence before catching the movement of the guy outside again.

Whatever. It shouldn’t be a surprise to his men that I’m not happy to be here. At least some of them were clearly in on the plot.

Since Dom doesn’t do anything to direct me elsewhere, I start up the stairs, keeping my hand on the black iron railing.

When I reach the top, I pause. The hallway is much longer than I expected.

Dom stops beside me. “Would you like a tour?”

I shake my head. The full gravity of my situation is finally starting to sink in.

This fancy penthouse… This city that isn’t mine… This is my life.

At least until I can figure a way out of it. But since I don’t want to get locked in like the prisoner he claims I’m not, I’ll play along. Better a gilded cage than a real one.

“Door at the end.” Dom lifts a hand to point at the wide partially open door at the very end of the hall.

“That’s my room?” I clarify.

“That’s where you sleep,” he responds.

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