Page 37 of Savage Don's Captive

The crunch of bone shattering echoes through the room. His cheek caves in, teeth flying from his mouth, blood spraying in an arc as his massive body crumples.

I throw another punch the moment he tries to rise. His body jolts violently, more blood painting the floor as he slumps back down. Without hesitation, I pull out my gun and fire into his thigh. The crack of the bullet echoes as he howls in pain.

Blood splatters my face as I listen to his agonized moans.

As expected, these shitheads had nothing to offer. They couldn’t even save themselves.

I walk toward Dumber, who’s already pale from blood loss. I tower over him, giving him a bored look.

“I warned you last time,” I say flatly. “Cutting his tongue was me being kind. Maybe you three need a better lesson.” I raise my gun, aiming at his head as he lies helpless on the floor.

I’m already imagining his brain matter decorating my floor when a voice speaks behind me.

“You shoot him, and I’ll kill your pretty little girlfriend.”

My blood runs cold as I turn and see Dumbass.

He presses his revolver firmly against Alessa’s forehead, his arm locked around her neck, holding her in place. Alessa stands frozen, her hands trembling as they grip his forearm, trying desperately to loosen his hold, but she’s powerless.

And for the first time since I took her from her penthouse, there’s real terror in her eyes.

Chapter ten

Alessa

Youknowtheysaythat when you die, your life flashes before you? Well, that isn’t the case for me because if I’m dying today, the Grim Reaper sure is taking his precious time with it.

To die in the Commission’s hand is a painful irony. Spending my life running from them only to have them be what kills me—poetic justice at its cruelest. But to die in the disgustingly filthy hands of a hefty man who smells like cold bologna and is wearing actual flip-flops showing off the dirt inside his toenails is just disgusting.

He was the one who opened the door while I was rummaging through Dominic’s drawers to find something I could use todefend myself. But the guy has nothing in his drawers. No knife, no fucking pistol, and not even scissors, for God’s sake.

But the big guy pulled a gun on me and yelled at me to walk towards him before he manhandled me, locking my head against his sweaty arm, and dragged me to join the commotion outside.

My heart is racing against my chest, and my mind is telling me that I’m going to die and the last thing I’m going to see is Dominic’s club with two bloody men on the floor who look identical to the man who’s holding me—they’re triplets.

Dominic is towering over a man on the floor, gun at the ready. TJ is behind them, his gun pointed at the same person who’s lying in his own blood. I hear Dominic say something, but the adrenaline now pumping in my ears makes it impossible to hear.

But I do hear what this asshole says as he aims the tip of the gun at my temple. “You shoot him, and I’ll kill your pretty little girlfriend.”

I watch as Dominic slowly turns toward me, his eyes hooded, brimming with calm fury. It’s the kind of rage that simmers like a white flame—quiet and controlled, yet burning with an intensity that scorches everything in its path.

He discreetly kicks something from the floor without even glancing down, and I catch the delicate glimmer of a knife. I struggle against my captor’s hold, desperate to break free. The sight of his brothers lying defenseless and bleeding on the floor makes me hope his grip has weakened. Instead, he pressesharder against my throat, cutting off more of my air, and sending panic rushing through me.

Dominic’s gaze finds mine as I shake against the fella, and he tightens his jaw, shaking his head at me. What? Like I want to be in this position?

If I hadn’t been too naïve to follow Harold inside this wretched place, maybe I’d already be in the city. Hell, maybe I’ll already be at home packing my shit and getting settled in a safe house somewhere. Yet here I am, caught in a testosterone brawl between the mafia and some hooligan.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he smirks.

Dominic fucking smirks. Not at the man, but at me. Is he fucking serious? That’s the first thing he wants to say? “Do you think I’d fuck with that? Look at her.”

Fury wraps around every cell in my body as I shove the man away with my elbow. I’m not sensitive to Dominic’s crude words about my body—I’m not that petty. But it strikes close to home because it took years to love every curve and to accept that beauty doesn’t depend on being skinny, especially after enduring years of bullying for it.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion and the whirlwind of emotions from the past few days that make his words sting even more. Especially after he’s seen me at my most vulnerable—naked, exposed, with nothing to hide.

And you know what happens to a girl like me when I’m this frustrated? I fucking cry. Yeah, fucking sue me, but my eyes sting from the tears threatening to go out. But I blink it away before any of them can escape. Because crying in front of Dominic is worse than bleeding out. My pride can’t handle that.

“Fuck you,” I mouth at him.

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