Page 24 of The Ecstasy of Sin
I thought Dominic was heroic; a savior in my darkest hour… but he made made it perfectly clear he’s dangerous. If a hero can swoop in and change your life for the better, what kind of damage can a villain do?
On the bright side, at least I have nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER 7
Dominic
Myheartispoundinga strong and steady rhythm, my mind a little more clear than it has been in days.
I glance down at my running partner, the athletic sable German Shepherd keeping pace at my side. His face is relaxed, his tongue hanging out as we jog under the light of the moon, down the forest trail behind the place I call home.
I can’t sleep tonight. Every time I close my eyes, I see her.
My sweet, fragile, little lamb. Looking up at me with fear in those big, brown eyes, begging me to be a hero, when what I really am would send her running for the hills.
She wouldn’t be calling me a hero if she knew the thoughts going through my mind, especially where she’s concerned. She’d be calling the police if she knew all of the things I want to do to her, and all of the ways I want to make her scream for me.
Our encounter began because of her suffering, and pain happens to be a trigger of mine. So is fear, and that is how our time together ended: with her trembling beneath my touch and looking at me like she finally saw all of the things I wasn’t even trying to hide.
She’s beautiful, too. A broken woman with haunted eyes and a story I’m dying to know. Soft, feminine, and delicate… she’s the perfect prey. I just know she would shatter so beautifully for me, coming apart at the seams like she was made to be destroyed in the most sublime way.
Then there is the strange, unfamiliar urge I feel to protect her. To hide her away from the world so that the only one who can hurt her is me. Mine to keep, and mine to ruin—whatever my heart desires.
Everything that happened between us in that short span of time turned out to be the perfect cocktail to root this obsession deep inside of me, and now I can’t get my mind off of her.
It’s been three days since we met at the clinic. Three days of working out to the point of physical and mental exhaustion, trying to regain control of myself despite this newfound need burning through me like a wildfire.
A need to know everything there is about Wren Holloway.
In the quieter moments of my day, I find myself stalking her social media. Much to my frustration, she isn’t as active as the average person, which means what I have access to just isn’t enough to satisfy my dark craving to study her.
Stalking is one facet of this new obsession that I can’t shake.
I’ve even shut my brothers out, ignoring their text messages and pacing my house like a caged animal while I obsess over her Instagram feed like it holds all the keys to the fucking universe.
Even though her posts are sporadic, there’s just enough to keep the fire inside of me burning. She almost always tags theTrinity Hill Public Library, often with a shot of whatever book she is currently reading.
I can tell she’s artistic because she puts effort into framing her photos to fit a certain aesthetic, one that clearly shows her love of literature and tea.
Stalking her online has taught me several things about her: She loves cozy shit, which pisses me off consider practically nothing about her current life is cozy. She also loves chocolate, although I can tell she doesn’t get it often because she raves about it like it’s a rare treat for her. Lastly, her heart is as big and kind as I imagined it would be. She has a few pictures of herself snuggling elderly cats and walking dogs at the local humane society.
She’s everything I’m not. Wren is gentle and compassionate, an empathetic girl that deserves a peaceful life. Yet there is more to her than meets the eye. There is a quiet strength in her that I instantly recognized, a resilience born of hardship and trauma.
I knew it the moment I saw her, because I recognize that same strength in my brothers. The kind that comes from surviving the kind of horrors most people pretend don’t exist, because they’re too weak to endure.
Here Wren is, homeless and living with a health condition that is difficult to treat and has no cure, still fighting to exist in a world that has forgotten her.
But I see her, and I’m not going to forget her.
Over the last three days I’ve read everything I could find on migraines. I know with the right specialists and a consistent treatment plan she can have a better life.
Something she obviously doesn’t believe is attainable, consider the application for fucking euthanasia I found in her backpack.
My mind is racing, and I can’t make it stop. All of this would be so much easier if I just kidnapped her and chained her to my bed. I could keep her safe, and warm, and fed. She wouldn’t have to sleep on the streets ever again.
Hunter and I are pushing through the last stretch of the trail when he begins to slow down. I always listen when he tells me he’s had enough, so I slow down too.
I give him a pat on the shoulder, and his tail wags in response. “That’s my good boy.”
