Page 75 of Queen Of Dark Money

Shecrawled into my lap and nestled herself against my chest, her eyes drifting closed again. “OnlywhenIwanna be.”Shesighed, her whole body relaxing in my arms. “ButI’mtoo tired to be a pain in your ass,Dominick.”

Myheart melted as she said my name, so soft and yet so strong at the same time.Fromher lips, it sounded alluring, tempting, likeIshouldn’t be listening to it roll off those pretty lips of hers.Ithad been a while since a woman had called me anything but sir, and it affected me in strange ways.

“Youcan call meDom, if you want,”Itold her, whispering into the hair at the top of her head. “Idon’t mind.”

“I’dlike that,” she whispered, already drifting back off to sleep.Thankyou for saving my life,Dom.”

“Anytime,Kenz,”Ireassured her, rubbing up and down her back through the thick ass trenchcoat still covering her from head to toe. “Anytime.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

KENZIE

Iwoke up on yet another couch, the stiff leather beneath me sticking to my skin in places that made moving very uncomfortable.Shakingthe cloudiness from my head,IrealizedIwas alone, and for a brief moment, panic tried to creep back in, butIfought it back, beating that sinking feeling away untilIfelt somewhat normal again.Thelingering emotional drain took a toll on my body, but otherwise,Ifelt fine, if a bit hungry, with a drier mouth than the desert.

Ineeded to pee something awful, too.

Itwas still dark outside the windows along the far wall, andIwondered what time it was.Therewas no wall clock like there’d been atRiver’s, and there was no computer, phone, nothing to orient myself with.Itlooked like a study, or maybe an office of some type, with an ostentations glass-topped desk in the corner by the window.Afew shelves littered the walls, and a set of picture frames sat atop one.Curiousand half asleep,Iwandered over, abandoning the trenchcoat on the sofa behind me.

Thefirst one was of a young boy, maybe two years old, with a few teeth in his mealy mouth, wide open as he shouted at whoever was holding the camera.Thenext one was the sameboy, a little older, and on they went untilIcame to some startlingly familiar pictures.

Inthe last three pictures,Isaw an ex of mine, who’d transferred into my high school my senior year, all the way from–well, apparently, from this coast.Hisname wasTheoThompson, his mother a quiet, unassuming waif of a thing who tried hanging out with my mother once or twice after we became friends.Theowas a halfway decent kid in school, but he was hell on wheels outside of it.Alwaysgetting us into trouble, always quick to cast blame elsewhere, most weekends with a beer in his underaged hands.Iquickly learned to make something up and bail on weekend plans, but he got wise to me and started dragging me out anyway, refusing to accept my no’s as no.

Then, the summer before college, he started beating on me.First, it was a little sucker punch to the arm, here and there, which he passed off as playful.Thenit evolved, especially when he was drinking.Shovingand vocal arguments became black eyes and bruises, sometimes with excusesIcould reasonably pass off, others, not so much.

Westopped seeing each other when my mother pressed charges during my freshman year in college.ButIstill had the scar from the night he smashed a broken bottle across the side of my face, all becauseI’ddared to break up with him.BecauseIwouldn’t take him back, abusive piece of shit that he was.

Iwas pretty sure he spent time in jail for that assault charge.

Iwondered why this boy’s pictures were sitting inDom’sstudy.Werethey related somehow?Wasthis his nephew or something?

Theanswers would have to wait.Ijumped when the door behind me opened, and in walkedDom, a tray of food in his hands.Mymouth watered at the smells that assailed my nose, and an embarrassing groan left my lips at the same time as my stomach’s pleading growls to be fed.

“You’reawake,” he observed, shutting the door behind himself. “Good.Iwas worried you would stay in that emotional coma for a week.”

Myshoulders lifted as he set the tray on the desk, andIstrolled over to join him. “I’ma bit tougher thanIlook.”

“I’msure you are, but even a tough gal like yourself can cave under immense pressure.”

Ishook my head as he lifted a butterknife, my body wanting to recoil from the simple kitchen item. “I’mlike carbon.Ifyou put me under pressure,Iturn into a diamond.”

“Okay, diamond bitch, how about you eat something for me, yeah?”Hepulled out the desk chair and looked from it to me, back to it.Itwas quite obvious he wanted me to sit there, butIdidn’t want to sit while he stood over me and watched me.Istill felt a little vulnerable, and the strong, independent bitchIusually was hadn’t really resurfaced yet.

Iwrinkled my nose and shook my head, letting my inner brat out to play. “Idon’t wanna sit,”Isaid, prancing around the desk.Hesighed, grabbing my wrist asIpassed him and yanked me into his arms, taking the seat himself as he maneuvered me into his lap.

Whenhe was satisfied with my seating arrangement, his hand returned to the butterknife, and he looked at me from the side of his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “Okay,I’llplay,Kenz.Butonly becauseI’mfeeling charitable.”Hisgaze returned to the tray as he pointed with the knife. “Doyou like butter or jam on your toast?”

Icould feel the dom vibes rolling off of him, but he didn’t seem to be in a mood to be tested, soIsimmered down and did what he wanted, starting with answering his questions.

“Butter.”

Heobligingly coated the toast in butter whileIwatched, leaving me to wonder about some thingsIhad observed on thetray.Whenhe finished the first slice, he handed it to me, andIbit into it, relishing the texture of it on my tongue.IrealizedIdidn’t remember the last mealI’dhad, and with a little nod of encouragement from the man whose lapI’dturned into a seat,Ipicked up the fork and dug into the french toast and strawberries sitting on the nearby plate, slathered in sugary syrup.

“Ohhh, my god,”Imoaned, letting my eyes drift closed asIsavored the tangy sweetness on my tongue.Thiswas the bestFrenchtoastI’dever tasted in my life.Ina matter of minutes,Ifinished the whole plate and moved on to sliced bacon nearby, swallowing this stuff down likeI’dstarved my entire life until now.

Dominickchuckled behind me, setting down the last slice of toast as he picked up a glass of what looked like orange juice, with a straw in it. “Drinkbefore you choke on your food,” he ordered, andIleaned forward and slipped my lips around the straw, sipping it slowly, taking a much-needed breather asIlet my stomach catch up with the rest of me.

Fiveminutes and two more courses later,Ifinally leaned back and set down the utensils, leaving nothing but scraps on my tray.Ihadn’t had a meal like that in ages, andIrelished the fullnessI’dbeen left with.Hishand lifted, and he tucked my hair behind my ear for me, turning my head to the side so he could look at me.

---