Page 36 of Sixth Sin

My smile wavers. “Again, I can’t comment at this time. Thank you.”

Determined to have the last word, the baseball hat guy mutters something I barely hear and reaches for my arm, only to be met with a hard shove to his chest. Dominic glares at him as he steers me through a second wave of questions and flashes on our way up the cement walkway.

“How did you just happen to find her, McCallum?” Hat guy sneers as he scans my ripped shorts and worn camouflage shirt. “Because she doesn’t look like an heiress. She looks like a—”

“A what?” I snap, twisting around just as Dominic’s fingers dig into my ribcage. “Say it. I fucking dare you.”

He doesn’t answer. And why should he? I broke character. He hit a nerve, and I went off script. Instead of dangling a carrot and pulling it back, I dumped an entire vegetable garden in their laps.

There’s a low curse behind me as Dominic shoves a key in the door. “That’s enough for tonight,” he growls.

That should’ve been it, and in a normal world, it would’ve been. But this is Hollywood. Nothing here is normal, and the only way to win a war of words is to have the last one.

“Can you tell us where she’s been for fifteen years?”

Dominic stills, his jaw clenched. Seconds pass like minutes, until slowly, he glances over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.” Without another word, he pushes me inside and slams the door.

Dominic’s phone rang minutes after we walked inside. While I didn’t expect him to put it on speaker mode, the few mumbled words he flung before disappearing down the hallway and slamming the door left me a little speechless.

Maybe he’s mad about the location of his home being discovered by the paparazzi. Maybe he’s pissed at the way I handled them. Or, maybe, he’s regretting this whole thing as much as I am. Whatever the reason, I’m not offended by the lack of hospitality.

I’m too busy spinning in my own wheelhouse of emotions to care.

“Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.”

There’s a lingering echo entwined around those words. It’s as if they exist on two sides of an opaque door. If I squint hard enough, I can see shapes and movement on the opposite side. I can hear murmurs and voices. But I can’t distinguish anything. It’s too cloudy and muddled.

Except for those words.

I know they’re there. Only the more I listen to them repeat inside my head, the less it’s Dominic who’s saying them. The voice on the other side of the door is familiar yet foreign. Comforting yet frightening.

And just like before, there’s a scratching at the back of my mind. As always, the minute I reach for it, it stops. Frustrated, I open my eyes, blinking as I take in the overwhelming brightness of the living room. I stare at the white painted walls, the starkness of the white leather couch I’m sitting on, and the unstained white carpet my feet rest on. But white can be deceiving, and light can tell lies.

A truth I’m learning every time I close my eyes.

“Screw this.” I climb to my feet, intent on ending this silent standoff. I get that Dominic is pissed, but tough shit. He’s not the one about to have his entire life upended and then dissected under a microscope.

Fisting my hands, I stomp down the hallway, flipping on lights and making as much noise as possible. I didn’t ask to be here. I sure as hell didn’t ask to nosedive into notoriety. I deserve answers, and I’m damn well going to get them.

“Dominic!” I yell, banging on the door. “Open up. I want to talk to you.”Silence.I pound again. “I’m not fucking around. Open the damn door, or I’m coming in.” Silence.

My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Yeah, I threw out the threat, but, unfortunately, I didn’t think much beyond it. It’s forward to just barge into a man’s room. Especially one who made it pretty clear he’d rather stare at four walls than my face.

One who had no issue breaking into my apartment.

The memory drives whatever hesitation I have into the ground, and I shove the door wide open to find his room empty.

Where the hell could he have gone? It’s not like he lives in a sprawling estate. In fact, the small two-bedroom ranch is surprisingly tiny, considering the net worth of his gossip-infused empire. Dirty laundry is a lucrative business.

I wander back through the house and catch the flicker of an orange glow through a glass door near the kitchen. With a few paparazzi still lingering around, I should be more hesitant, but I’m drawn to it, and before I can stop myself, I step outside.

Dominic sits in a lawn chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. One hand cradles a half-empty liquor bottle while the other pulls the lit cigarette from his lips. “What took you so long?”

“How did you get out here?”

Lifting his hand back to his mouth, he takes a long drag off the end of his cigarette. “Through a door.”

“I know that, jackass. I meant without me seeing you.”

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