Page 77 of The Beautiful Dead

And when she did—she’d never feel safe again.

Domino chuckled, stepping toward her as she scrambled backward on her hands and feet. “Are you sure?”

“Brielle,” I called, my voice carrying through the night. She halted mid-shuffle, her spine stiffening, dread curling around her like a second skin.

She clambered to her feet, turning slowly, movements jerky, breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The moonlight painted her in shades of fear—wide, unblinking eyes, and parted lips quivering on the cusp of a scream.

“I know everything.”

The weight of those words shattered her like a killing blow. She stumbled, her knees buckled, fingers twitching at her sides. Fight or flight. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

I stepped closer, basking in her unraveling. “Soon… everyone will know. The truth.”

The color drained from her face, leaving her ghost-pale, her expression torn between disbelief and sheer, unrelenting terror.

Domino moved behind me, swift and silent as a shadow, before shoving me to the ground. My hands hit the damp earth, a breathless gasp forced from my lungs.

A hollow, depraved laugh rumbled from Domino’s chest, a sound that sent a shudder racing down my spine. Rough fingers wrenched my jeans down, the air sharp against my exposed skin. His presence loomed behind me, his body a furnace, heat radiating from him in waves.

“I need you,” he growled, voice feral, raw with hunger.

He wrenched one of my arms behind my back. The slick whisper of steel cut through the night—the snick of his switchblade being flicked open. A sharp sting blossomed against my wrist, followed by the slow, searing slide of blood down my skin. The scent of metal mingled with the damp earth, heady and intoxicating. Cold fingers spread me apart, holding me open for him. Scorching drops of blood dripped down between my cheeks, the blunt head of his cock notched against my entrance.

I moaned, a sound that barely belonged to me, guttural and wrecked. My body tensed as he pushed against me. Without prep or further warning, he thrust into me brutally.

A cry tore from my throat, a perfect collision of pain and pleasure. My fingers dug into the dirt as he drove deeper, forcing me to take all of him. Each thrust was brutal, precise—a claim, a brand, an unspoken vow carved into my very being.

Mine.

Brielle turned at the sound of our ragged, animalistic breaths, her face twisting in horror. Her eyes locked on mine—on the way my lips parted in bliss, the way my body yielded to every punishing thrust.

She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, horror morphing into something close to revulsion.

That’s when Domino wrapped a bloodied arm around my chest, yanking me upright, my back flush against his chest. The blade in his hand dragged lazily up my throat, smearing my blood across my skin.

Brielle’s scream shattered the night.

She ran.

Domino’s laughter followed her, dark and predatory, howling through the trees like the devil himself was chasing her.

I shattered, dissolving into pure sensation—his touch, his heat, the way he owned me so completely I could no longer tell where he ended and I began.

I was his.

I had always been his.

And if this was hell, I would burn for him forever.

CHAPTER 16

DOMINO

The room was steeped in darkness, but I could still see him. The soft glow from the city lights filtered through the curtains, painting his skin in pale, silver-blue shadows. He was sprawled across the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other draped across his stomach.

He was dreaming. His lips parted slightly, his breath deep and slow. Restless, even in sleep. Whatever played out behind his closed lids had him shifting faintly, his fingers tightening into a fist before loosening again. I wanted to know what he was seeing, to pry his skull open and crawl inside.

Was it me? Did I haunt him the way he haunted me? Or was he reliving our evening in the woods with Brielle?

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