Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

“Allie, I told you there would be things I can’t share with you, that it would be dangerous. I’ll be as open as I can, and I am more open with you than I have been with anyone, but you’re not ready for it all.”

Though this man would never beg, I can hear the plea in his words, asking me to let this go. But while I can let go of a lot of things, this is my home. If he wants some arm candy that’ll bend to his every whim like a willow tree, he needs a reminder that I’m not that girl. I have been to hell and fought my way to get back to where I am today. I am strong, not a weak willow but a fucking oak tree rising up to the sky, and I will not let him come in and slowly chop me away. He’s never tried to do that before, but I can feel the sharp edge of the axe’s blade in this moment. I’m not backing down.

“Let me decide that for myself,” I demand. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, what you’re doing. The truth. Or you’re going to find yourself outside buck-ass naked with Logan giving you a ride home.”

I’m not sure how something so seemingly minor has become something so gargantuan, but it has. And it feels like I’m doing the right thing. Whatever he was doing, it’s just the tip of an iceberg that can sink us if we don’t course-correct right the fuck now.

Dominick’s eyes glare at me, sharp as flint, analyzing even as their depths implore me again to let this go. Finally, he sighs and looks to the ceiling, and I’d swear he’s praying, though he doesn’t seem the type.

“Forgive me. I want you to remember that I love you. More than life itself, I love you. And I didn’t want to share this yet, but I knew I’d have to eventually.”

“Share what?” I demand, my patience gone.

“Here,” he says, grabbing my robe off the hook behind the door and holding it out for me. “I think it might be best to show you.”

The words are sarcastic, biting, and unlike him, which makes me curious, so I slip my arms into the robe, tying it at my waist as he pulls on his slacks. Bare-chested and barefoot, he holds his hand out to me.

“Come, Allison.”

He already seems resigned that this is going to be bad, and I fight the urge to rewind the last few minutes, to go back and have never seen him messing with the smoke detector, for him to have never lied to me.

But I need the truth.

This man holds my heart and is this close to having the keys to my soul as well. If I’m to give him all of me, I need all of him. So I step back, mindlessly slipping my feet into my fuzzy bunny slippers I keep by the door for late-night trash runs and follow him into the hallway.

“What is this? Is this rule three? Where I just go wherever you say without question?” I awkwardly joke, the pain in my voice evident even to my own ears.

Dominick frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps rule three, but not the no-questions-asked aspect. More about the trust we have established.”

That sounds dire, and the foreshadowing of what I’m about to see sits heavy in my gut, bile threatening to rise up in rebellion.

We walk down the hallway silently, though I look at him with a raised eyebrow when we get on the elevator and he presses the Four button. We walk down a hallway very much like the one we just left, and when Dominick stops at the door directly above my own, an eerie sense of déjà vu sweeps through me.

I’m shocked as Dominick pulls a key out of his pocket, glancing at me as he unlocks the door. He pushes it open and gestures for me to enter with a sweeping hand.

“What is this?” I say, stepping inside.

It’s laid out identically to my place, but bare-boned, just a couch in the living room and a folding table in the dining area. I can see a coffee pot on the kitchen counter. It’s devoid of personality, cold and barren. I can’t see the bedroom, but as Dom closes the door behind us, he seems comfortable here.

Looking around again, I can see a hook on the wall, and my mind flashes an image of him casually hanging his suit jacket there. But . . . why? He’s got a place, a much nicer place than this.

“This way,” he says, his voice deep and pained. Whatever this is, he’s . . . ashamed of it.

Whether it’s at what he’s done or at getting caught, I don’t know. I follow him down the hall to the bedroom, and when he turns on the light, I’m greeted with an unexpected sight.