Things I should Feel, See or Touch

Sienna

I pulled my dress back on with trembling hands, my skin still tingling from where his fingers had touched, where his eyes had wandered. It shouldn’t have felt the way it did. Not after what I’d just survived. Not after being soaked in blood—real or not.

I turned away from him, from the heat still simmering in the air, and stared out the car window. It was the only thing I could do—look and pretend like I wasn’t unraveling inside.

That man—who still hadn’t told me his name—was walking toward the group of people tied down like animals. 

But my breath still caught when he kicked the first man- his man in the leg—hard. The guy collapsed like a puppet cut from its strings. I flinched, eyes going wide.

He was so calm when he held me earlier. So gentle when he touched my skin, stripped me of my clothes, checked my body like he owned every inch of it. And now he was unrecognizable—brutal, cold, merciless.

The others—four men and a woman—stood frozen. I could almost feel their confusion, their fear. But it was the woman who broke first. Her knees buckled. Her face was crumbling beneath the weight of not knowing what would come next.

And yet, he kept going. Like he wanted them to feel it. Over and over, his boots connected. They kept falling and rising like they knew what would happen if they stayed down too long. 

My heart thudded against my ribs.

It’s easy to forget who he is. To forget the softness in his voice earlier was an illusion. That the heat between us was just temporary, probably just adrenaline. If I stop being what he wants, he’ll discard me like them. Maybe worse.

I looked away.

I wanted to unsee all of it. Pretend it was a movie. A nightmare. Something that didn’t involve me. But just as I forced myself to take one more peek, I saw them dragging the tied-up bodies across the gravel—no hesitation, no concern. Their skin scraped along the earth like broken dolls.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

Then I saw him again. Adrian. That’s what they called him. He was walking back toward the car, like nothing had happened, like violence didn’t drip from his shoes. And with every step closer, my breath came faster.

My hand instinctively gripped the door handle like it might protect me. He yanked the door open, and my hand slipped off the handle like it never mattered in the first place.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low but sharp, like he already knew.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have it in me. But I took his hand. God help me—I took his hand. Fear still owned me, but so did something else. Something hotter. Something worse.

He helped me out like I was fragile glass. His palm wrapped around my fingers like silk hiding steel.

“I’m not going into that house,” I said quickly.

“We’re not,” he replied, and his voice was softer now, coaxing. “It’s a mess in there. They didn’t protect you. They failed. So now, we go somewhere else.”

“Can I just go home?” I whispered. “Please. I swear… I’ll never say a word. Not about anything I saw. Not about the blood. Or the people. Or you.”

He tilted his head, studying me with the kind of smirk that felt like a sin.

“I haven’t fucked you while you take notes yet.”

My eyes widened. My entire body went still.

He said it like it was nothing. Like it was casual, like talking about the weather. Then he looked away, already reaching for his phone, signaling someone with two fingers. Like he hadn’t just spoken the most outrageous thing I’d ever heard.

My mouth opened to curse him out, but before I could, I heard it—a low hum in the distance.

Wind kicked up around us as a helicopter began its descent onto the open field behind the house. The grass flattened under its roar. Dust swirled around my legs, whipping my hair in every direction.

Adrian just stood there, watching me, his jacket flaring behind him like something out of a goddamn mafia fairytale. He looked like danger. Like power. Like temptation I should run from but couldn’t seem to escape.

He held out his hand again.

“Where are we going?” I asked over the noise.

He stepped closer, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear, voice a sin-soaked whisper. “Somewhere I can keep you. Somewhere no one else gets to touch you.”

The helicopter touched down with the kind of smoothness that only money could buy. Not a jolt. Not a sway. Just power in motion.

We didn’t speak for over an hour. Adrian remained glued to his phone, fingers moving swiftly, voice low and clipped whenever he answered a call. I sat stiffly beside him, trying to make sense of everything that had happened—of him.

By the time we climbed out onto a private rooftop landing pad, my nerves were fried and my heels wobbled from adrenaline wearing off. He barely glanced at me as he led the way, straight into a private elevator lined with gold accents and mirrored walls.

The doors opened into a space that stole the breath from my lungs.

A penthouse. Not just any penthouse—the penthouse. Straight out of my deepest P*******t dreams. Vast, high-ceilinged, minimalist yet somehow dripping with luxury. Every piece of furniture belonged in a design magazine. Soft neutral tones, warm lighting that hugged the walls, and a view of New York that looked too perfect to be real.

I stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, my mouth parting as I stared out over the city I thought I knew. It glittered beneath us, oblivious to the chaos I’d lived through in the last forty-eight hours.

I turned, stunned—and that’s when she appeared.

Tall. Confident. Sex on heels.

Her hair was a blend of blonde and chocolate brown, waves cascading over her shoulders like she walked straight out of a salon commercial. Her makeup was bold but flawless. She wore a dress so tight it could’ve been painted on, hugging every inch of her hourglass frame with surgical precision. My own clothes felt like crumpled tissue paper in comparison—wrinkled, blood-smeared, tired. I felt tired.

She moved toward Adrian like she owned the floor beneath her feet, hips swaying like it was all for him. And maybe it was.

I stepped aside instinctively, as if I’d stumbled into the middle of something private. She reached out for him, arms open like she expected a warm embrace. I peeked, unable to help myself.

But he didn’t hug her.

Instead, he pointed toward the door. No warmth. No softness. Just a flick of his wrist and dismissal in his eyes.

My breath hitched.

“Why am I even here,” I whispered under my breath, sitting on the edge of the nearest chair like it might swallow me whole. If I survived this weekend, I swore I’d never walk into a random club again. Ever.

“This is insane,” she snapped. Her voice was syrupy with bitterness. “I told Natasha I’d be here. She said it was fine.”

“Natasha doesn’t own this place,” Adrian said coldly, barely sparing her a glance. “And she doesn’t bark orders on my behalf.”

“Why are you acting like it’s some crime that I’m here?” Her voice cracked a little, but she masked it with a shrug and a forced smile. “Is it because of this?” she finally gestured toward me like I was a stray dog she just realized had followed her home.

I shook my head quickly, eyes widening. God, no. I didn’t want to be the reason for any drama between him and… whoever she was. Girlfriend? Ex? Mistress? Hell, maybe all three.

Adrian’s voice dipped, low and final.

“Time’s up.”

She didn’t move at first. Just stood there in disbelief, clutching her tiny designer purse like it might give her power. But after a long pause, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and turned on her heels. The sharp click of her stilettos echoed through the penthouse as she disappeared through the door.

And just like that, she was gone.

Silence lingered in her absence, thick and awkward. I stayed perched on the edge of the chair like I was scared to touch anything. Maybe I was. I didn’t belong here. In this apartment. In this world.

He didn’t say anything as he walked over to the bar, pouring himself a drink with slow, practiced movements. The ice clinked into the glass, a sound far too casual for how tense the air was.

Then his eyes slid over to me.

“You really think I’d let her pounce on you?” he asked, his voice smoother now. Dangerous. Like honey laced with poison.

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t think anything.”

“Liar.”

He stalked toward me slowly, sipping his drink, eyes burning hotter with every step. My pulse skipped, my thighs tensed.

“Do you always look like you’re ready to bolt?” he asked. “Or is it just me that makes you nervous?”

I didn’t answer.

He set the glass down on the table beside me, crouched until he was eye level. His fingers traced the curve of my jaw, featherlight but firm enough to make me shiver.

“You don’t have to be scared of me, Sienna. Unless you like it.”

His lips curved into something sinful. “Do you?”

I didn’t know the answer.