“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say softly, letting my hand drop to my side.

He just shakes his head, his hands balled up into angry fists, and storms out of the room.

I hear a rattle of keys, the front door slams loudly, and my heart sinks as I realize Jase is gone.

I make it the longest five minutes possible before I slip out of my T-shirt and hobble slowly into the bathroom to join Dornan under the shower. He smiles as he sees me, his gaze going to the crudely stitched wound on my thigh. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” he says, kneeling down on the tiles, inspecting the new row of stitches his doctor has professionally installed in my leg. He runs his fingers along it oh-so-gently, before tightening his grip on the back of my knees, forcing me to spread my legs wider so I don’t fall over. He plants a soft kiss on my sensitive nub, his breath against my skin making me squirm.

He rises, taking the time to suck on my hardened nipple before standing straight again. I shiver, grasping his hard biceps as he grinds himself against me.

“Get on your knees, baby girl.”

A sense of panic rises in my belly. “I can’t,” I whisper. “My leg—”

Frustration flashes across his features briefly, his black eyes burning into mine. His eyes flick down to my stab wound before settling back on my face.

“Pain is good,” he says, his hands squeezing my neck tight before releasing me again. A warning. “Remember? Pain means I fucking own you.”

I nod reluctantly.

“Say it.”

“You own me.”

“Why?”

Remember Chad. Remember who you are. I smile.

“Because I’m yours.”

“You’re goddamn right, you’re mine. Now get on your fucking knees.”

He holds my weight as I kneel slowly and with difficulty, my leg screaming with fresh pain that radiates to my extremities and makes me want to hurl.

I feel a couple stitches pop open and glance down to see thin rivulets of blood break free and slide down my leg, diluted by the warm water. The scene revitalizes me. Today, I’ll give my blood for him, and one day soon, he’ll give his blood for me.

Now,” he says smugly, pressing the tip of his hard cock against my lips. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Jase was right. I am an excellent actress.

I open my mouth, and I lie.

After our shower, Dornan takes me back to the clubhouse on the back of his bike.

Riding with Dornan just feels wrong. I don’t feel free in the wind; I feel trapped, like a butterfly encased in glass. Fluttering my wings feebly, only to keep hitting them on my invisible fortress.

Only this fortress of mine is of my own making.

I shouldn’t complain. But I’m impatient. It’s been almost a month and so far I’ve killed Chad, kissed Jase twice and screwed Dornan enough times to make my head whirl. I wonder what my father would think of me right now, and then I squash that thought, because he’d be horrified. He’d be beside himself.

His little girl killing, and fucking, and lying.

It still kills me when I think that he died trying to save me from this life.

A week passes with no nasty surprises and no stabbings. Just a lot of sitting in Dornan’s room, waiting for him to be there, and a lot of laying on my back, being fucked. Every day of my life is starting to feel exactly the same, a veritable groundhog day for vengeful whores.

I learn to bite my tongue and not answer back, as impossible as it is for me. Jase is barely around, and when he is, he won’t look me in the eye.

That makes me very, very sad.

I am laying on Dornan’s bed one afternoon, headphones in, bopping my head, listening to the Revenge playlist that Elliot made for me. I’m at “These Boots are made for walkin’” when Dornan bursts in to the room, yelling into his phone.

“It was fucking them!” I hear him growl into the phone, his low voice reverberating in the confined space. “I saw their warehouse. Barrels of pure meth stacked to the ceiling, and they’re the ones importing this shit through the shipping yards.”

I turn down the music, intrigued, but continue to bop my head like I can’t hear anything he’s saying.

“They’re our enemies. Of course they want to fuck me over.”

The person on the other end of the phone says something and Dornan seems placated for the moment.

“Tomorrow we ride,” he says. “Assholes think they can fuck with my kid? My club? I’ll burn that motherfucking warehouse to the ground with them in it.”

He throws the phone down, his entire body tensed. I remove my headphones and slide them under my pillow, along with my pink iPhone. He’s seen it, knows I have it, but I don’t flash it around in case he tries to take it from me.

He sits on the end of the bed and pulls his black boots off, dropping them by his feet. I slide over, placing my hand on the back of his leather cut, testing his reaction.

When he doesn’t push me away, I crawl onto his lap and straddle him, running my fingers through his short black hair. My leg is much better and though it still hurts when I move like this, it’s bearable.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, turning my head to the side a little. I stare straight into his dark brown eyes, almost the same color as his pupils, and I’m struck by how different they look to Jase’s. The colors are all the same, but the look in their eyes is poles apart. One says gentle, and the others scream predator.

I put my hand between us, rubbing the spot where Dornan would normally be hard at the mere sight of me. But today he’s not, he’s too distracted and he is the one with revenge on his mind. He pulls my hand away and lets it fall between us, smiling.

“You’re a doll, trying to make me feel better.”

I shrug. “You can talk to me, you know,” I say. “I can listen as well as fuck.”

He laughs, and for once the sound is light, without intent. It’s…normal. I am shaken as I try to assign that seemingly innocent laugh with the monster lurking inside.

Don’t ever let your guard down, I think to myself. Last time he was sweet the fucker stabbed you.

“I’m sorry about your leg,” he says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “It was a bad day. Burying Chad…you’re not supposed to bury your own kids, you know? They’re supposed to bury you.”

Wait… he’s apologizing? To me?

I nod, suppressing a smile. “I know.” I’ll bury you, no problem.

“What did Mariana do that was so bad?” I ask him.

He sighs. “Bitch tried to take my son and leave. Fucked my best friend. Stole enough fuckin’ money from this club to ruin us.”

So she was having an affair with my father.

“I’ll never do to you what she did, Dornan.”

I’ll do worse.

He runs his hand through my hair, his mind elsewhere, and I smirk as I realize what he’s yet to confirm.

I’ve got him.

The son of a bitch is starting to love me.

“Pack a bag, baby girl,” Dornan says abruptly. “A couple days we’ll be gone. You’re riding with me, and when we get there you’ll be riding me with that sweet pussy of yours.”

I fight the innate urge to roll my eyes and smile instead. “We’re going on a trip?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer anything more, and I don’t dare ask where, even though I’m dying to know. I hate surprises.

“Should I pack for cold, or hot?” I ask, hoping the question is neutral enough. “I want to look nice for you.”