I'm trying to avoid him as much as possible. Luckily, he is out a lot at the moment.
After slipping on a pair of denim shorts and a yellow tee-shirt, I glance at the bruises on my throat, a perfect line of three purple spots. Which means Con raises his pinky in the air when he squeezes. The other side of my neck, where his thumb was firmer, the bruise is deeper, dark purple with red blood spots scattered inside.
I switch on my make-up mirror and squeeze a dollop of primer on my finger, covering each bruise and hope it will keep the coating of foundation I apply next in place for the day.
I know it’ll get a little harder when they turn green, though; I need to work out how to counteract that color.
Perhaps I need a deeper tan.
I head downstairs to the kitchen. I falter seeing Dom smiling at me as he eats a bacon sandwich at the kitchen island.
Not wanting to make this any more awkward than it already is, I slot two slices of bread into the toaster and glance around the room. “Are you looking forward to Helena coming home today?”
He grunts and rolls his eyes skyward.
I smile. It’s so Dom.
“Are you?”
"I'm not looking forward to the two of you arguing again." I roll my eyes.
He nods to my beach bag. "Where are you going?"
“I’m meeting Milly, Poppy and Frankie at the beach today. Hopefully Lia too. I’ll be staying away for the day.”
“Good plan. Because she is going to be pissed with me for leaving her In Victoria.”
“I thought she was doing the dirty on you,” I say as the toast pops up. I grab the butter and spread a thick layer over.
Today his near black hair is impeccably styled, and teamed with his blue eyes and tanned skin. He’s the epitome of a Greek god.
He wears black jeans and a black button down. It’s like a uniform of sorts, and I expect his wardrobe comprises nothing else, just the same clothes, apart from when he is at the beach or in the pool.
I take my toast and sit on a stool at the white marble kitchen island as Dom slides a mug of coffee my way.
“Thank you,” I say. “You should come to the beach. We’re going surfing. I can teach you.”
He laughs. “I’m too old. I haven’t surfed in years.”
“You’re not too old.” Our eyes lock as I smile at him.
I've always liked Dom. He has always been kind to me, even if the life he leads is damn right scary.
Dom’s jaw ticks as he stares at my covered neck. When he turns away, I flick my hair so it falls down my chest, hoping with the make-up coverage he forgets about it again.
“Apparently, the waves are going to be epic this afternoon,” I tell Dom. “Milly is so excited.”
My sister, Milly, is the expert surfer in the family.
Dom grumbles something, but I miss it, lost in my thoughts, before I push myself off the stool and place my plate in the dishwasher just as my phone chimes with a message.
My stomach churns every time it makes that sound—the sound I allocated to my blackmailer.
I pull my phone from my pocket and read the message.
SweetJustice: I’m going to give you seven days to get something for me. That should give you time to do the job properly.
I feel like I can breathe again. Seven days' worth.
