The living room was fully finished, an apartment all on its own. I was frozen in place, afraid he’d catch me, that something bad would happen. But I didn’t feel fear. I was curious.
I stepped farther into the living room. To my left was a leather couch directly in front of the flat screen TV that was mounted to the wall. To my right was a computer desk, the laptop on it closed. My heart was thundering as I walked over to it and opened it, not knowing what I was going to do, if I was going to try to contact somebody for help, or to see if Richard was okay, or if there was any news about the robbery. But it was password-protected, and the time I would’ve spent trying to figure out how to get on it—which I probably wouldn’t have been able to do anyway—wasn’t something I was going to mess with.
I closed the laptop and looked around for a phone, although the truth was, who would I have called? Richard? The police? The very thought of turning Dom in twisted my stomach, had confusion racing through me. What in the hell was wrong with me?
But there was no phone. No cell, not a landline. Nothing.
I walked over to the kitchen, looking at a standard-sized fridge, opening it up. Beer, some condiment bottles, a pizza box.
Vassillia Pizzeria.
I had never heard of that company, so I clearly wasn’t still in town.
I closed the fridge and looked around. White marble counters were a contrast to the black cupboards. Everything was sleek and very minimalistic. I noticed there were no pictures, nothing hanging on the walls, no decorations of any sort. It was like an empty slate, a blank pallet.
Then again, Dom didn’t seem like the type of guy who lavished himself in materialistic things.
And then I saw the door, the one I presumed led upstairs. My heart was racing as I walked to it, gripped the handle and turned it, pulling the door open. There was a small tile foyer right before the stairs, and as I stood there, staring up the length of them, seeing the door that would lead to an escape, I actually found myself taking a step back.
I reached out and grabbed the banister of the stairs, taking that first step almost hesitantly, tentatively. “What in the fuck is wrong with me?” I whispered those words to myself as I started to ascend, each step taking me closer and closer to freedom. Although I didn’t really know if that was actually the case. For all I knew, there was a guard standing right on the other side of that door with a gun, just waiting for me to open it so he could put a bullet between my eyes.
The image of the one named Cullen flashed through my mind, and I felt a chill race over me. He was frightening and calm, collected and dangerous. I could tell he had no issues about killing. And his eyes… his eyes were dead, no emotion coming from them.
I found myself taking steps backward, turning and going right back to the only place I’d felt safe since I’d been here. And for the hundredth time since I’d been brought here, I thought how crazy I was. Maybe I was weak, conditioned from childhood that there was no hope, no clawing my way out from under the shit that my life was buried in.
Maybe I was just so used to being fucked over that this was normal, that any ounce of comfort and attention I got was something to be celebrated, latched on to. But as soon as those thoughts slammed into my mind, I immediately pushed them away. They felt foreign and wrong, because what I felt for Dom—the strange and exciting, exhilarating, and almost frightening emotions I had for him—wasn’t something I’d ever felt in my life.
It wasn’t something I’d ever thought I would feel. Although it wasn’t love, wasn’t just lust either, it was this connection I felt when I looked at him, when he touched me and spoke to me. It was as if he knew me, as if his soul knew what it was like to live my life, to be in my situation.
It was as if we were the same person.
Instead of doing what I should have done, what was the smart thing, I went back to his bedroom, shut the door, and walked over to the bed. I kept my back to the door, thinking, not sure what was wrong with me, but knowing what I was doing was the right thing to do, no matter what the “realistic” thing was, no matter what anyone thought.
Or maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with me at all. Maybe everything was right.
Chapter Fourteen
Cullen
She was a piece of ass. That’s all it was. This golden pussy my brother couldn’t help keeping for himself. I understood the possessiveness that came from Dom. Hell, we’d all felt it at one time or another during our fucked-up lives. When you didn’t have shit growing up, you tended to get territorial real easy.