Page 96 of Filthy Dirty Dom

She thought about the gunfire she had heard earlier and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the night, trying to block out the fear. But it was a constant, gnawing presence, like a monster lurking in the depths of the water below.

And then, just when she was about to succumb to the horrifying scenarios playing out in her mind, she saw it—a faint disturbance in the water. Her heart caught in her throat, fear and hope warring for dominance. As the figure got closer, she could make out the powerful strokes of a swimmer, and her heart surged with relief.

It was Alex.

He was alive.

His strong arms clawed through the water with a frantic urgency. As he finally reached the boat, he hauled himself aboard with an exhausted grunt, his muscles straining with the effort. His skin was pale beneath the moonlight, the jagged cut on his forehead glistening darkly. He collapsed on the deck, chest heaving, sucking in air.

The relief Leslie felt was so intense it was almost painful. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face in his wet shirt. His scent, salt and sweat and unmistakably him, filled her senses. Her heart felt like it could burst with the relief of it all.

He was alive. He was safe.

Alex was shaking as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "The others… they're okay. Safe... in a panic room," he managed to gasp out. His voice was rough, raspy, laced with relief and a tinge of regret.

"The invaders?" Leslie's voice was muffled against his chest, but the concern was clear.

"Being taken care of," Alex confirmed grimly. “Luca’s men have overpowered them.” His hand ran through her hair in a soothing gesture, but she felt the tremors running through him. He was spent, exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Leslie pulled back, wincing when she saw the hardened, deadly look on his face. The relief gave way to a fresh wave of concern. She looked down, her gaze drawn to the dark stains marring his shirt. The sight of it made her stomach churn. She reached out tentatively, her fingers grazing the wet, sticky fabric.

"Alex," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves against the boat. "You're bleeding."

He looked down, his face hardening at the sight of the blood. "Not mine," he said quietly, and the words were laden with a chilling finality. “I encountered some trouble on my way back.”

Slowly, he eased himself up, his movements pained but determined. Leslie wanted to protest, to urge him to rest, to allow her to help him. But the look in his eyes stopped her. He was already moving on, shifting into survival mode.

"We need to leave," he said, his voice brooking no argument.

"Where are we going?" she said, watching as he took control of the boat with practiced ease.

He didn't turn around as he answered, his voice carrying over the sound of the engine coming to life. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere no one else will know where to find us."

43

Alex’s vow that he was taking her somewhere no one would find them echoed in her head. As the boat sped across the ocean's vast expanse, Leslie watched the island recede into the distance. Her fingers curled around the rail, knuckles white as the engine's hum echoed in her ears. But then, to her surprise, Alex began to veer the boat around, back towards the island.

"Alex!" she called out, alarm ringing clear in her voice. "What are you doing?"

His gaze was locked on something in the distance, the intensity in his eyes a clear indication that he was focusing on something crucial. He raised a hand and pointed, indicating a small inlet that Leslie hadn't noticed before.

"I also ran into Damien on my way back. He told me there's a helipad there," he said, the words just loud enough to reach her over the engine's drone.

She squinted at the inlet he pointed out, then shot him a questioning glance. "And how is that going to help us, Alex? We can't just fly a helicopter."

A smirk ghosted across his face, a brief moment of humor amidst the grim situation. "Who says we can't?"

Her heart lurched. "You... can pilot a helicopter?"

He didn't respond, only gave her a nod as he steered them closer to the inlet. The confirmation hit her like a rush, a reminder that there was so much she didn't know about Alex. But each revelation, no matter how unsettling, made her respect him more.

"We'll fly to the nearest airport," Alex explained, the plan laid out clearly in his head. "From there, we'll charter a plane."

Soon, they entered the shadowy inlet. The moon cast a soft glow over the water, painting an ethereal path ahead of them. Alex cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the nocturnal sounds of the island—the chorus of crickets, the occasional call of a bird, the lapping of the waves against the hull of the boat.

"Stay put," Alex instructed, his voice a reassuring whisper in the darkness. He jumped into the water that led to the sandy shore, then reached out, his hand extended toward her, "Let me help you."

Leslie reached for his hand, feeling the solid warmth of his grip as he helped her navigate the short distance from the boat to the land.