Page 115 of Wicked Truths
“Dom will be very interested to see these pictures,” another message reads.
“Why?” I had asked.
“Because your stepfather will think you are betraying him with his enemy.”
I click through more messages, my anxiety mounting so high that my fingernail finds its way between my teeth as I chew nervously.
I read on, the knot in my stomach tightening.
“But it can all disappear,” SweetJustice had written. “I’ll delete everything if you just let me know about a certain deal Dominic is getting involved in. The one happening at Angels and Sinners. I need the details and quick.”
Which means my blackmailer can’t be Dom. Unless he’s playing some twisted game.
I read more details, piecing together the fragments of my forgotten life. The deal was happening on the night I was nearly killed. The night of the accident. The message warns me not to tell anyone—not Dom, not my sisters, nobody.
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, everything goes public. Your stepfather will know exactly what his little princess has been up to.”
I struggle to sleep for the entire night. So much so I’m exhausted, but sleep won’t come.
I check the time on my phone: 3:00 am. Perfect. Three hours of tossing and turning, and I’m no closer to sleep than when I first laid down. Is it the blackmailer still being out there that’s keeping me awake? Or something else entirely?
With a frustrated sigh, I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My throat feels parched. A glass of water might help.
The hallway is dark and silent as I tiptoe barefoot toward the staircase. I pause outside Dom’s bedroom door, my hand hovering over the handle. Before I can think better of it, I grasp it, turning it slowly to avoid any sound. The door opens just enough for me to peek inside.
The bed is empty. Perfectly made, like no one’s slept in it tonight.
Where is he? A flutter of concern rises in my chest, which surprises me.
Why should I care where my stepfather is at three in the morning?
I continue to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with filtered water from the refrigerator door. As I drink, my eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. The pool glows an ethereal blue in the darkness, its surface perfectly still like glass.
The sight is oddly mesmerizing. Peaceful, even. I stand there watching the water for several minutes before deciding I’m not ready to go back to my room.
I wander into the family room, glass in hand, and sink into the plush sectional sofa.
The remote sits on the coffee table, and I grab it, switching on the massive TV mounted on the wall. After scrolling through options, I settle onThe Greatest Showman. Something about the bright colors, or is it knowing it’s a musical, feels comforting right now?
Setting my water on the table, I curl up against the cushions, pulling the throw blanket over my legs. The movie plays, but my eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute. I try to focus on the main character, but the battle against sleep becomes too much.
I stop fighting it, letting my eyes close completely.
“Amara... Amara.” A deep voice murmurs in my ear as my body jolts against a hard chest.
My eyes fly open. “Dom.”
He’s holding me, his arms strong around my body. I must have fallen asleep on the couch.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asks, his voice a low rumble as he climbs the stairs with me in his arms.
My lip quivers traitorously. “I couldn’t sleep.”
30
Dom
