Chapter 2 - The logic was brutal.
And clear.
She nodded once.
“Good.”
Dominic released her.
“Walk in front of me.”
He stepped back.
“Keep your head down.”
Another pause.
“Do not speak.”
Leo unlocked the door.
The nightclub’s bass immediately flooded the hallway.
Harper stepped outside.
Her legs felt unstable.
Dominic remained close behind her, his presence like a wall of heat and wool.
They did not return toward the main floor.
She never saw Caleb or Chloe again that night.
Leo led them through a service corridor that smelled of damp concrete and old beer.
Then through metal doors.
Cold midnight air struck Harper immediately.
A matte-black SUV idled beside the dumpsters.
2 additional men waited outside.
Both straightened when Dominic appeared.
1 opened the rear door.
Dominic placed his palm against Harper’s lower back.
A firm guiding pressure.
She climbed inside.
The cabin smelled of leather and gun oil.
Dominic entered beside her.
The door closed.
Sound disappeared.
The SUV moved into traffic.
Harper pressed herself against the opposite side.
She stared through the tinted window as neon lights smeared across the glass.
The adrenaline began to leave.
Exhaustion followed.
3 hours earlier, she had been worrying about whether the wedding caterer had received her revised deposit.
Now she was sitting beside a man who commanded armed men.
Harper rested her forehead against the window.
1 tear moved down her cheek.
Not for the woman she was now.
For the woman who had awakened that morning believing her future was secure.
“What is your name?”
Dominic’s voice interrupted her.
“Harper.”
She did not turn.
“Harper.”
He repeated it slowly.
“You have terrible timing.”
“I was looking for a bathroom.”
Her voice cracked.
“I wanted somewhere to be alone.”
The privacy partition between the front and rear seats rose.
The driver and Leo disappeared behind dark glass.
“Treachery is loud.”
Dominic looked toward the windshield.
“It makes people search for silence.”
He paused.
“I understand the instinct.”
Then he turned slightly.
“But you walked into the wrong silence.”
Harper looked at him.
Streetlights moved rhythmically over his face.
For the first time, she noticed how exhausted he looked.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Safe for who?”
Dominic finally met her eyes.
“For me.”
His expression remained empty.
“Your safety is a byproduct.”
The SUV eventually descended into an underground garage.
Fluorescent lights reflected from polished concrete.
The vehicle stopped near a private stainless-steel elevator.
Dominic exited first.
Harper followed because the men around the vehicle made refusal meaningless.
Her heels echoed across the garage.
Leo summoned the elevator.
Dominic entered.
Harper hesitated for a second, then followed.
Leo remained outside.
The doors closed.
Dominic inserted a black key card beneath the control panel.
The elevator began rising rapidly.
Harper’s ears popped.
She stared at the numbers to avoid looking at the faint blood stain along Dominic’s white cuff.
The elevator stopped at 68.
The doors opened.
Harper stepped into a vast penthouse.
Floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded the space.
The city stretched far below.
Inside, everything was cold and severe.
Slate floors.
Black leather.
Dark marble.
Brushed steel.
No photographs.
No books.
No plants.
Nothing personal.
A fortress pretending to be a home.
“First door on the left.”
Dominic crossed toward the kitchen.
“Guest room.”
He tossed his keys onto the marble island.
“There’s a bathroom.”
Then he looked at her.
“Wash your face.”
His mouth tightened.
“You look like a corpse.”
A small flare of anger rose inside Harper.
She almost answered.
Exhaustion killed it.
She entered the guest room.
White sheets.
Slate bathroom.
Perfectly clean surfaces.
At the vanity, Harper looked at herself.
Dominic had been right.
Her hair was tangled.
Mascara had left black streaks down her cheeks.
Her eyes looked bruised.
Her lipstick was almost entirely gone.
She looked as though she had survived an accident.
Caleb returned to her mind.
His hands in Chloe’s hair.
Chloe leaning into him.
Nausea rose.
Harper turned on cold water and scrubbed her face until the skin became raw and red.
She pressed a thick white towel against her cheeks.
Bleach.
Expensive fabric softener.
She breathed.
She had to survive.
She was not going to allow Caleb’s betrayal to become the reason she died inside someone else’s criminal dispute.
When Harper returned to the living room, Dominic stood at the windows with a phone at his ear.
His jacket and tie had been thrown over a leather sofa.
“I don’t care what Rossy says.”
Dominic’s voice remained low.
“The price was set.”
He stared at the city.
“If he renegotiates now, he loses the shipment.”
A pause.
“And his knees.”
He ended the call.
“Sit down, Harper.”
She perched at the edge of a black armchair.
Her legs shook in the cold conditioned air.
Dominic opened the refrigerator, removed sparkling water, poured a glass, and placed it in front of her.
“Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
A lie.
Her throat was dry.
Dominic sat opposite her.
Without his jacket, his size became more obvious.
His white shirt stretched across his chest.
Dark tattoos wound over his left forearm.
“My people are checking your history.”
His voice sounded almost conversational.
“Lease.”
“Tax records.”
“Phone history.”
He watched her.
“They’re checking your regional-manager fiancé to determine whether he owes money to anyone who matters.”
Harper stared at the glass.
“And when they find out I’m exactly who I said I am?”
“You stay here for 3 days.”
Dominic answered immediately.
“Until the transaction you interrupted is completed and the money moves.”
His posture remained relaxed.
“When the risk window closes, you return to your cat.”
His eyes sharpened.
“And you never speak about tonight.”
“3 days?”
Harper looked up.
“I can’t disappear for 3 days.”
“My boss will call police.”
She swallowed.
“My family—”
“Your boss will receive a convincing email from your account explaining that you tested positive for COVID and need to isolate.”
Dominic interrupted smoothly.
“Your family will receive messages.”
He leaned back.
“We have your phone.”
“We have your passwords.”
His gaze held hers.
“The world will continue for 72 hours without you.”
Harper’s voice dropped.
“And if your men decide I’m lying?”
Dominic did not soften his answer.
“Then you don’t go back to your cat.”
Morning sunlight hit Harper’s eyes like a physical strike.
She groaned and buried her face into a pillow smelling of expensive detergent.
For 3 seconds, she remembered nothing.
Maybe she was in a hotel.
Maybe she had drunk too much.
Maybe Caleb would call and ask whether she wanted bagels.
Then the image of his hands in Chloe’s hair returned.
The next memory followed immediately.
An oak door.
$100 bills.
Blood.
Dominic telling her that she belonged to him.
Harper sat upright so quickly that the room tilted.
She was still wearing the wrinkled black cocktail dress.
Smoke and nervous sweat clung to the fabric.
She crossed the cold slate floor and opened the guest-room door.
The penthouse was bright and silent.
Coffee drifted from the kitchen.
Harper followed the smell.
Dominic stood beside the island.
No suit today.
Black T-shirt.
Charcoal trousers.
The clothing did nothing to make him less intimidating.
If anything, it revealed the width of his shoulders and the muscle in his arms.
The tattoos on his left arm were fully visible.
He studied a silver laptop while holding a mug.
He never looked up.
“Your cat is fine.”
Harper stopped.
“What?”
“Barnaby.”
Dominic tapped the laptop.
Then he glanced toward her.
“Finn accessed your building security system.”
Harper stared.
“We retrieved the superintendent’s spare key.”
His tone remained matter-of-fact.
“1 of my men went inside at 6:00.”
“He fed Barnaby.”
“Scooped the litter.”
“And packed you clothes.”
Dominic pointed toward a black duffel near the sofa.
Harper could only stare.
“You sent a mobster to clean my cat’s litter box.”
“I sent a highly compensated associate to maintain the appearance of normality while you are a guest in my home.”
Dominic returned to the screen.
“He also brought your charger.”
“Your phone was nearly dead.”
“Where is my phone?”
Harper folded her arms against the cold.
“In a Faraday cage inside my office.”
Dominic continued reading.
“Finn sent your email.”
“You officially tested positive for COVID at 4:00 a.m.”
He looked toward her.
“Your boss, Greg, answered at 7:00.”
“He told you to rest.”
“He will handle the quarterly reports.”
A strange laugh rose in Harper’s throat.
They had not simply abducted her.
They had paused her life.
Seamlessly.
“And Caleb?”
The name felt poisonous.
Dominic’s fingers stopped on the trackpad.
The air changed.
“He called 14 times between midnight and 3:00.”
Dominic still did not look up.
“6 voicemails.”
“Finn transcribed them.”
Harper closed her eyes.
“He says he was drunk.”
Dominic’s voice remained neutral.
“That Chloe forced herself on him.”
“And it meant nothing.”
“Don’t.”
Harper’s voice became a whisper.
“Please.”
She opened her eyes.
“Don’t read them.”
Dominic closed the laptop.
The snap echoed through the kitchen.
He poured coffee into another mug and pushed it toward her.
“Drink.”
Then he gestured toward the duffel.
“Your clothes are there.”
“Shower.”
His eyes moved briefly over her.
“You smell like fear and cheap nightclub gin.”
Harper wanted to throw the coffee at him.
Instead, she remembered the bloodied napkin.
She took the mug.
Her hands trembled badly enough to move the coffee inside.
“Are you going to kill me?”
The question broke slightly.
Dominic studied her.
“If I wanted you dead, you would be at the bottom of the river.”
His voice did not change.
“You would not be standing in my kitchen drinking coffee.”
He picked up his laptop.
“You are collateral.”
“Nothing more.”
A pause.
“Do exactly what I tell you.”
“Stay out of my way.”
His eyes held hers.
“And you go home in 2 days.”
Dominic walked toward the hallway.
“Shower.”
He glanced back.
“And wear something decent.”
“I have people coming.”
By the afternoon of the 2nd day, the penthouse silence had become oppressive.
Harper sat on the guest bed in faded jeans and a gray sweater from the duffel.
Wearing her own clothing inside the sterile apartment made the captivity feel even stranger.
She had spent 4 hours pacing.
May you like
Counting floor tiles.
Watching the city through glass.
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