DOM: Alliance Series Book Three
DOM: Chapter 66

The man’s neck makes an audible snap.

All three of my men let go, and the newest dead man falls to the floor.

There is no room for mercy in The Alliance.

And I am The Alliance now.

The room is dark when I enter. Valentine’s form is still with sleep under the blankets. I want to go straight to her, but I need to wash away the ugliness of my night.

So I do.

The scent of her shower products lingers in the bathroom, confirming she did this same thing before getting into bed.

On my way back here, I read the message from Doc. He reported that she suffered no more than a few scrapes and bruises. He cleaned and checked her palms for debris and recommended salve and a couple of bandages. He also told me that she wanted to shower and said she’d treat them herself afterward.

As I step under the scorching spray, I find I can’t be angry with her decision. I understand the need to rinse off a bad day. And even though the doctor and his wife could’ve waited downstairs for her to shower and then treat her hands after, I don’t think I would have been okay with my Angel being naked while someone else was in the condo without me around.

I lather a palmful of my body wash, then vigorously rub it over my chest and up and down my arms. And again, scrubbing at my torso and legs. I take an oversized squeeze of Valentine’s face wash, and I breathe in the clean scent as I roughly clean my face.

I’ve never felt so rattled during a killing. There have been too many dead men at my feet for me to even count anymore. But tonight. It was different. That man…

I close my eyes and put my face directly under the water.

Hearing that man talk about Valentine that way, it split me. It divided the two sides of me. The man. And the murderer. And without the tether, the violence inside me was completely unleashed.

Even Rob stayed an extra step away from me when we left that basement.

But I don’t regret what I did.

The dead men will never tell anyone how they died. But my men will talk among themselves. Word will get around. And then people will understand. They’ll finally understand just how off-fucking-limits my wife is. That even the smallest slight against her will result in me crushing their hearts inside their chests.

I open my mouth and let it fill with water.

After swishing it around, I spit it out, washing away the metallic taste that’s been lingering at the back of my throat. Then I turn off the water.

When I see the empty towel hook next to the shower, I have a ridiculous urge to laugh, remembering how Val threw that damn toaster at me.

My wet feet slap across the floor as I fetch a towel.

Not wanting to waste another moment, I dry off as quickly as I can, tug on a pair of clean boxers, and step into the bedroom.

Val hasn’t moved positions; she’s still sprawled out on her stomach—head turned away from me, her far leg bent, her foot at the edge of the bed.

My need to be close to her overwhelms my need for stealth.

I climb onto the bed, crawling over until I reach her, then I lower my weight, letting my body pin hers to the mattress. I revel in the softness of her perfect ass pressing into my groin and nuzzle my face against the back of her head. But I need more, so I bend my leg, putting it on top of hers, my thigh against the back of her leg, my chest against her back, and my arm on top of her arm in front of our faces.

I line up as much of our bodies as I can.

But it’s not close enough.

I stretch my leg past hers, hooking my foot around her ankle and pulling her leg back.

I grab the wrist of her outstretched arm and slide it across the bed toward our bodies so her arm is bent and her hand is near her face.

I curl around her, locking her to me with my limbs.

And I put my mouth against her hair, breathing her directly into my body.

Val lets out a sleepy groan. And I hold her tighter.

I need her.

I need to keep her safe.

I need to keep her happy.

I need to keep her with me.

Always.

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