Page 19 of SINS & Riley
And then I did.
It took forever to carve out even the smallest shard of his trust. And I torched it—shot a flaming arrow straight through it, Viking funeral style.
I open my mouth, ready to vomit out everything—the pregnancy tests, the desperation clawing at my heart, the fact that I’m nine-freaking-teen. “Dominic, I’m sorry. I just?—”
His hand snaps up, cutting me off before the words can crawl out.
That’s when I see it.
Blood.
Fresh, wet, smeared across his cheek, a trail dripping down his neck. The cut, jagged.
My heart doesn’t just drop. It plummets. Straight through my ribs, through the floor, shattering every lie I’ve said.
That I’d only be gone a few minutes.
That no one would notice.
That I wouldn’t get caught.
That Zver’s all bark and no bite. That he’d never really make good on his threats because, hell, after two months of captivity, the worst he’s done is confiscate my books and withdraw my cemetery privileges.
Not this time.
Dominic’s bleeding. And I’m to blame. God, I’m a kid sprinting with scissors, blind and stupid. When will I learn that when the blades go flying, they don’t stop at me?
It was only a matter of time before Zver shifted the crosshairs from me to Dominic. Next, the bullseye will be on his grandmother. Then, his children.
Tears sting, blurring everything until Dominic’s face is just a smear of rage and disappointment.
Stupid. Stupid.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Oh, right. I wasn’t.
Dominic catches my stare, and too quickly pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his cheek like that will erase what I’ve done.
The sight curdles in my throat, acid and bile scorching their way down.
I shove to my feet, ready to take Dominic’s fury head-on.
Only… he’s not alone.
When the book I’ve been reading slips from my hand and smacks the floor, I dive for it.
Too late.
“Forbidden Alpha’s Feral Bride,” the stranger reads, his fingers snatching it up before mine can.
He doesn’t offer it back. Doesn’t even look at me. He simply gives it to Dominic, who promptly tucks it into his pocket. My last bastion of escape—gone.
Technically, it’s contraband.
And strike two with Dominic.
The stranger strolls in slow and deliberate, his gaze meandering across every corner of the room. His sharp eyes momentarily lock on each camera, to the now empty bookshelves, before finally landing on me.
