Chapter 72
“I know she works at the Vetro Club. She’s one of your employees,” Preston stated bluntly, his voice thick with accusation and cold certainty.
Dominic paused, considering the weight of those words. After a moment, a realization dawned on him–perhaps, unintentionally, he had offended one of Preston’s people. Preston’s domineering nature made such possessiveness unsurprising: everything Preston did seemed driven by a ruthless sense of ownership. Dominic sighed inwardly, understanding the precariousness of the situation.
“So she’s alright, then?” Dominic asked, a thread of concern lacing his tone. “She’s not dead?”
On the floor, Laura sagged, her limbs weak and trembling. Despite her fog of confusion and fear, a flicker of understanding glimmered in her eyes. “It’s true,” she thought miserably, ‘I love Mr. Foster so much, but he… he set me up. The haunting image of Georgia trapped, suffocating in that transparent container, relentlessly pounding her fists against the cold, unforgiving surface, surfaced in her mind. The desperation etched on Georgia’s face twisted Laura’s insides. She shuddered violently.
“If fate hadn’t spared me, it could have been me,‘ she mourned silently, the weight of near–death pressing down on her chest like a stone.
Preston nodded curtly and signaled Lorenzo “Tell him.”
Lorenzo’s voice was mechanical, detached, as he recounted the horrific sequence of events that had unfolded earlier that day. Each detail hit Dominic like a hammer blow, shattering any illusions of control or safety. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles whitening, as he gazed down at Laura crumpled on the floor–a fragile, broken figure caught in the crossfire of power and jealousy.
Dominic’s mind swirled chaotically. The extent of the day’s chaos was overwhelming. He had no idea so much darkness had been lurking beneath the surface.
Preston snorted dismissively, the sound shar Chapter Unlocked, Enjoy Reading!
silence. “Dominic, I don’t care what you do to her. Kill her if you want. Just make sure you do it right. No surprises, no loose ends.”
His voice turned colder, laced with a venom reserved for only the most sacred of possessions. “Georgia would have died if I hadn’t come back when I did.”
Concern flickered in Dominic’s eyes. “How is Georgia?”
“She’s fine. You don’t have to worry about her,” Preston replied, his words clipped, hard as steel. “And remember–don’t get any ideas about her. She’s mine. Even if I didn’t want her, I wouldn’t tolerate anyone else laying a hand on her.”
The possessiveness in Preston’s declaration ignited a fire inside Dominic. His temper flared, fueled by frustration and wounded pride.
“Preston,” Dominic snapped, “who do you think you are? Do you imagine you call the shots in Nevada just because you say so? You think Georgia belongs to you? Just because you say it?”
He leaned in, voice sharp and deliberate. “Do you even know what makes her different? Her body isn’t like anyone else’s.”
Dominic’s knowledge wasn’t accidental, The Night Fall Pack had originated north of Stillwater Range, far from the Silver Stream Pack Georgia once belonged to. Yet Dominic had noticed something unusual about her during their second kiss- the faintest breath of wolf scent beneath her skin, a subtle but distinct signature.
He had realized then that Georgia’s aversion to touch wasn’t just psychological–it was physical. Her wolf’s breath was weak, fragile. That detail, that vulnerability, was something Preston had to be aware of, too.
Dominic’s words hit their mark. Preston’s eyes darkened with a storm of anger as he abruptly rose, his towering frame moving toward Dominic with an intimidating fury.
“What do you know? Tell me!” Preston demanded, voice low and harsh.
Dominic could feel the raw intensity radiating from the usually composed Alpha. Preston’s anger was a rare crack in his icy veneer, revealing the depth of his anxiety and protectiveness over Georgia.
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Dominic’s lips curved into a sly, knowing smile. He leaned close, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, meant only for Preston’s ears. “I know enough. Not just about what makes her different, but I’ve touched it myself.”
His hand gestured vaguely toward the left lower back as he spoke. “It’s right there.”
Preston’s furious blaze began to flicker, replaced by a chilling calm–the kind that warns of a brewing storm. His gaze bore into Dominic’s, heavy with unspoken threats and fierce warnings.
“The last time,” Preston said quietly, the weight of those words hanging in the air like a dark prophecy.
Though cryptic, Dominic understood perfectly. Preston was giving him a final warning–a line not to cross. Stop coveting Georgia, or the fragile peace between their packs would shatter, igniting a war neither could afford.
The mention of Georgia stoked a wildfire of jealousy and rage inside Preston–emotions he refused to acknowledge as possessiveness. No matter what Dominic claimed, the truth remained: Preston was the first man to have shared Georgia’s bed, and he guarded that fact fiercely.
Preston cared little for how Dominic had learned about Georgia’s condition or whether Dominic’s knowledge was truthful. His only desire was to leave the confrontation behind and face Georgia herself, demanding answers about her connection to Dominic and the secret wound on her body.
Out of the corner of his eye, Preston caught sight of Laura, still weak and vulnerable on the floor. Lorenzo stepped forward, announcing, “Alpha Preston, the bucket is filled with water, as you ordered.”
Without hesitation, Preston gave the command, “Do it.”
Lorenzo, well acquainted with Preston’s methods, grabbed Laura and forced her head beneath the surface of the bucket
“Help!” Laura’s muffled cries bubbled up as she struggled fiercely, panic suffocating her breath. Her body writhed in a desperate attempt to escape the cold, oppressive water that stole her strength minute by minute.
Preston glanced at his wristwatch with an icy detachment, counting aloud without urgency: “One. Two… Four minutes. Time’s up.”
Only then did Lorenzo lift Laura’s dripping head from the water. Throughout her torturous ordeal, Lorenzo remained motionless, indifferent to her fading strength and growing despair.
Preston roughly seized Laura’s arm and shoved her forward, pushing her into Dominic’s waiting embrace. “Alpha Dominic will take over from here.”
Without looking back, Preston turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”
Inside, Preston’s thoughts churned with dark purpose. ‘I’m going straight back to Georgia. I need to know exactly what she’s done with Dominic and how Dominic learned about the wound on her waist.”
His face betrayed no emotion–calm, unreadable, but beneath that surface, a storm gathered, ready to explode.
The car sped through the streets, cutting through the night. When Preston reached the Vetro Club once more, Lorenzo and the others hurried out behind him.
Preston strode into the club alone, his gait hard and unyielding, a silent storm in human form. Lorenzo could only follow, watching silently.
Preston’s pace quickened as he neared Charlotte’s office Without hesitation, he shaved the door open, no knock, no
warning.
Charlotte looked up, startled by the furious figure striding across her office. “Georgia isn’t awake yet, Mr. Hill,” she warned, sensing the volatile fury in his eyes.
