Page 39 of Savage Don's Captive

I focus on my breathing, trying to block out Pavel’s mocking chuckle and Dominic’s chilling promises. At least I won’t be the one to suffer that fate, right? At least mine will be quick. Clean. One bullet through the head, and it’s over. No drawn-out torture, no slow death. Just... nothing.

No more pain. No more trying to force a relationship with my father. No more trying to tolerate my editors.

I remind myself, trying to slow my racing heart, but my body isn’t listening. Each breath feels shallow and shaky—BANG!

I flinch, my heart skipping a beat as the ear-shattering noise reverberates through the room, the sound of the gunshot vibrating through my entire body like a shockwave. My chest tightens, and for a second, everything goes still.

Then I’m falling.

Is this how it feels when you’re shot in the head? Painless and numb? Perhaps I’m already dead.

The world shifts beneath me, and for a moment, I’m weightless. My body stumbles forward, legs buckling. I don’t understand what’s happening, just the crushing weight against my back, dragging me down.

It’s not until I hit the ground on my knees, gasping for air, that I realize—Pavel’s dead weight is on me. His body slams into mine, slumping over me like a sack of bricks. My hands slip in something wet, and when I look up, I see him—face to face.

His arm is draped over my body, cheek pressed to mine, eyes wide open and glassy. Blood trickles from the bullet hole in his forehead, dripping down his nose, speckling my cheek and hair. The metallic stench hits me hard. Bile burns the back of my throat.

His face is inches from mine. Lifeless. Cold. Too close.

Before I know it, the weight is lifted from me, and TJ pushes Pavel’s lifeless body off mine. I sniff, trying to blink away the tears, my heart pounding in my chest.

Two more gunshots ring out, sharp and deafening. I know exactly who those bullets are meant for—Pavel’s brothers. A part of me feels grateful that I’m spared the sight of Dominic ending their lives because the image of him shooting Cardo, stone-faced and indifferent, is already seared into my mind.

“I said get up.” Dominic nudges my side with his shoe.

There’s no energy left in me to move. Maybe it’s the hunger gnawing at my insides, or the overwhelming relief washing over me. My body feels heavy, like it’s given up on fighting.

I look up at Dominic with his frown. There are specks of blood on his face, and stains of scarlet on his hand where he wears his brass knuckles.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“Fuck you, Dominic!” I turn to my side, landing my hand right in a puddle of Pavel’s blood, warm and sticky against my skin. A shiver runs down my spine. “Fuck!”

“I’m going to let that slide because you look pathetic right now.”

“Well, I’m sorry for being an inconvenience.”

“Apology accepted,” he answers casually. “Now get up.”

I force myself to stand, even though my knees are trembling. When Dominic extends his hand to help, I swat it away without hesitation.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“You know, for someone who should be fucking thankful you’re acting like a brat.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say sarcastically. “Thanks for fucking holding me against my will and starving me to death and telling me to stay in your office so big fat meanie over here can come and take me as his prisoner. And while we’re at it, thanks for not accidentally killing me.”

“You’re welcome,” he watches me finally get up. “And for your information, I wasn’t going to miss. I knew I was going to shoot his head one way or another.”

Dominic closes the distance between us, and I freeze. His intoxicating cedar scent blocks the metallic stench of blood and sweat. He surveys me from my head down to my toe, and I suddenly feel so exposed.

And up close, I see how disheveled his hair is, how his eyes burn with a disturbing excitement as if he’s reveling in the chaos and violence. He’s achingly gorgeous—criminally beautiful—and it feels almost taboo to acknowledge it.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, reaching for a loose strand of my hair before tucking it behind my ear. The tip of his finger brushes against my skin like a ghost. My nipples harden against my will.

“God, where do I begin?” I remark with irony, hoping that it will kill the electricity between us. It doesn’t.

“Alessandra, are you hurt?” he asks again, voice dropping to a dangerous register.

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