Page 58 of Worth Risking It

“Take a deep breath.”

Gulping, my teeth rattled as I did as I was told. His brows lifted, as if to warn me to stay calm. Turning me around, he unclasped my bra and then squatted to remove my heels. Patting an ass cheek on his way back up, he swung his head to the master suite right next to the entrance.

“Go take a shower. I’ll toss this in the wash.”

Despite knowing that dress would probably get ruined in the washing machine, I hugged my arms around myself and ran for the master bathroom. Yanking open the glass door, I turned on the hot water and then turned around to get a washcloth from under the sink.

I froze at my reflection in the mirror that spanned the entire length of the bathroom with two separate sinks beneath.

My pale skin was splattered with faded, red drops of blood smeared on my chest and even my chin. Seeing blood on the necklace, my heart sank, my head shaking adamantly.

Whimpering, I jumped into the shower, slammed the door, and frantically scrubbed away every trace of that man. The scalding water burned, and the fibers of the cloth chafed because I was using too much force, but I had to erase him! I had to get him off me.

Bending over, I blubbered while trying to wash away the feel of his gel covered hair on my foot. An image of his head rolling and bobbing when I accidentally hit it had my stomach cramping, and I swayed, slapping the back of my wrist to my mouth.

After a few minutes, all my energy just seemed to ooze out and I was exhausted. My knees finally gave out and my ass plopped to the white, porcelain tiled bench built in the corner of the shower. Panting, my sight blurred as I zoned out, the cloth slipping from my fingers.

I sat there until the water turned cold, replaying those short few seconds over and over. Each time my brain painted that picture, it replaced a feature until eventually, yet all at once, it was Wyatt’s face before me, his beautiful blue eyes gazing into mine as a bullet shot through his skull.

All this time, thinking Milo was harmless because he only dealt with contracts and negotiations, and he was just as ruthless as his father and Jack. As the Russian. He was a true mobster, and this was not a game. This was not a fantasy, not a dream, this was real life. My life. And a man was now dead because he dared to touch me sexually.

Wyatt was going to die. If Milo found out, he would be killed, as well.

I had no doubt he would get rid of me, too. If I broke that man’s heart because he knew I was in love with his best friend, I now had no doubt he would make me suffer before I died.

Cutting off the water, I pushed the door open and got a towel to dry off. Was he still mad at me? For all I knew, this might be the night I died. He seemed pretty pissed off at me at the club and didn’t look at me once in the cab ride home.

The fear so thick, I was trembling and already sweating, I crept out of the bathroom. The whole house had a modern, retro, midcentury vibe, so there was very little furniture. The king sized bed without a head or footboard was positioned beneath the row of windows toward the ceiling that looked out at the front yard. A tall dresser was in the corner beyond the bathroom, and a long dresser sat across, past the closet. Hovering in the hallway between it and the bathroom, I listened for any sound that Milo was around the end of the wall.

Gulping at the silence, I inched forward, spotting him sitting on the bed, taking his shoes off.

My heart lurched to my throat and stuck, clogging any breaths I tried to take in. My stomach turning over, I clutched the towel in front of me, dripping water to the white, tiled floor.

He let out an elongated groan, throwing his head back as he unbuttoned his shirt. Standing, he shrugged the silk off his shoulders and caught me ogling him. With just the hint of a pause, he dropped it to the floor and pulled at his belt, staring with a stoic expression.

It was like a standoff, neither of us spoke for what felt like hours. Kicking the trousers aside, standing before me in nothing but his underwear, he thumbed his nose and strode toward me. My lids rounded and my spine snapped straight, my pulse erratic in my veins, adrenaline pumping in my ears.

Bypassing me, he opened the top drawer of the long dresser and pulled out one of my nightgowns. In two strides, he was before me, tossing the slinky negligee over his shoulder to take the towel from my grip.

Still quiet, he tenderly ran it across my body, drying me off. Satisfied, he tossed it aside, shrugged the nightgown forward, and patted my elbow to make me lift my arms. Sliding it over the top of my head, he plucked my hair from the collar and jutted his chin.

“Get in bed.”

Too afraid to deny him, I rushed across the room and flung myself to the mattress, wiggling beneath the thin blanket. Dropping to my back, staring at the ceiling, I tried my damndest to not shake.

Milo cut off the light and joined me, grunting as he made himself comfortable on his side. His elbow in the pillow, his temple on his fist, he stared at me intently.

“How far did it go?”

“What?”

“You really think now is the time to play coy? Answer the goddamn question.”

My lids clenched and I tried to swallow past the knot in my throat. “He…touched my breast.”

“Is that it?”

“Kissed my neck. But I swear to god, I didn’t encourage him, Milo!” I added with a rush of words, rolling my head to plead for forgiveness with my eyes.