Page 74 of Dark Therapy

“What?” I growled, my voice laced with pure venom.

“Damien,” Claire’s voice came through, too calm, too steady. “We’ve got a situation. I need you to handle it.”

“Right now?” I hissed, already pissed off. I could feel my blood simmering beneath the surface, but there was no backing down now. “You couldn’t have waited? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Something?” She chuckled, but I could hear the tension in her voice. “I’m sure it’simportant, but this job’s gotta come first. You know how it works.”

I clenched my jaw, fingers digging into the wheel until my knuckles turned white. She knew damn well howIworked, how I didn’t like being interrupted when I had my hands on something…precious.

“Yeah, I get it. It’s alwaysmyfucking problem to fix, huh?” I shot back, slamming my foot down on the gas. “What the hell do you want me to do? I’m busy.”

“Just… take care of it. I’ll explain more when it’s done.”

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do,” I snarled, speeding through the streets. “I’ll take care of it. But you’re gonnapayfor this little interruption. You know that, right?”

Claire didn’t respond, and I could almost picture the cool, collected look on her face. She was used to me being angry—hell, sheexpectedit. But I wasn’t going to let her get away with pulling me away from what I was about to do.

The idea ofher… her waiting for me, helpless, wasconsumingme.

I hung up, throwing the phone onto the passenger seat. My fingers itched, a sickexcitementcrawling up my spine. I still had work to do.

The thought of Amelia—her wide, terrified eyes, her soft, trembling breath—was more than enough to get my blood pumping into my cock again. I had her locked down, where she couldn’t escape. She wouldn’t be able to move until I was back. I made sure of that.

I could feel the pulse of anticipation in my veins.

She’d be waiting. She always was.

And when I returned, she’d remember who controlled her world.

But first, I had a fucking job to finish. I had to deal with whatever the hell Claire’s mess was. Then I’d return.

I parked the car in the alley, the engine still humming as I killed the ignition. The penthouse loomed ahead, all glass and steel, a fuckingtrophyfor some rich bastard who had nothing better to do than piss off people with more power than he could ever imagine. I could already feel the tension tightening in my muscles, the anticipation of what I was about to do. This wasn’t some clean job—it never was, but today? Today was going to be fuckingpersonal. Why, you ask? Because I had to leave my Milliealoneand rush here with a fuckingharddick to kill the bastard.

I slipped out of the car, my boots hitting the pavement with quiet thuds. The city was buzzing around me, the noise a dull hum in the background, but in my head, it was nothing butsilence. The kind of silence that came right before you turned someone’s world into fuckingchaos.

I moved quickly, staying low and blending into the shadows, my hand resting lightly on the gun at my hip. I didn’t need it for this. Not yet. But I liked having it on me. It was a reminder of who I was—who Ialwayswas.

The target, a smug lawyer with more money than sense, was already fucked. He just didn’t know it yet. His mistake was getting on the wrong side of some seriously rich assholes. I could only assume it had something to do with a shady deal gone wrong. The kind of shit where people get erased without a trace.

The elevator was a breeze, and I took it up to the penthouse floor without a sound. I didn’t need to waste time stalking the guy. He was a goddamn lawyer. Arrogant, self-important, and too fuckingstupidto realize that he had a target on his back.

I reached the door to his penthouse, and I could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom.Perfect. He was probably too busy taking a goddamn shower to think about who was coming for him.

I slipped through the door, not making a sound. The penthouse was sleek, all polished marble and glass, everything shiny and expensive. I didn’t give a shit about the décor, though. I didn’t care about the picture-perfect life this prick had built. All I cared about wasfinishing the fucking job.

I stalked down the hallway, my every step deliberate, quiet, until I reached the bathroom door.

I stood there, waiting, listening to him humming softly to himself in the shower, oblivious to his impending fate.

I grabbed the towel from the hook on the bathroom door and stepped inside, the smell of soap and shampoo hitting me first. He was standing under the showerhead, his back to me, completely unaware.

Fucker.

I moved fast—too fast. One moment, I was standing behind him, the next I was yanking his head back by his hair, pressing a cold blade to his throat. His body tensed, but it was too late. The blade was already there, and I could feel the pulse in his neck thrumming against the steel.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling. “What do you want?”

I grinned, the darkness in me stretching wide as I pressed the blade harder, just enough to draw blood.