Chapter 4

Katarina POV

Back Inside the bookstore

The scream died in my throat.

But it wasn't one of the tattooed men.

Just some drunk, stumbling from the alley, grabbing my arm to steady himself.

"I'm sorry," he slurred, eyes glassy.

I tore my arm free and ran—heart pounding, breath catching, legs moving on instinct.

I didn't stop until I was inside the bookstore.

Safe.

Sort of.

But my skin still burned where he touched me. I hated that I was shaking.

Hated how danger seemed to follow me like a shadow I couldn't outrun.

I needed to forget.

The book was still in my lap.

Same filthy page. Same aching tension between my legs.

But this time, my hands trembled as I turned the next line.

I wasn't calm anymore.

I could still feel the drunk's fingers around my wrist, even though he'd stumbled off muttering apologies.

Even though I was safe.

Sort of.

"He slammed into her, stretching her wide as she moaned his name. Her hands clawed the desk, her body shaking as his cock drove deeper, deeper…"

I read the sentence again. And again.

Not because it was new.

But because it made my body forget everything else.

My eyes burned down the page. My thighs clenched, pressing together under the counter stool. I shifted, my knee bumping the wooden shelf as I inhaled sharply.

God.

This one was filthier than the last. Exactly what I needed.

My panties were already damp, the soft cotton sticking to me with every twitch, teasing like a secret I wasn't supposed to enjoy. I shouldn't be reading this here. I really shouldn't.

But I couldn't stop.

Every line made my heart beat faster. Not because of the words. But because of who I kept imagining.

Him.

Not the fake fantasy man in the book.

The Don.

His cold green eyes.

His full mouth.

The way his hand gripped my tits like he owned them.

The way he didn't ask before taking—he just knew.

I bit my lower lip, hard. My nipples ached against the inside of my bra. It was shameful, disgusting, the way my body reacted just thinking about him—but the memory of his voice, that one word, "Kneel," echoed in my skull like a hypnotic drumbeat.

I'd never been touched like that. Never kissed like that. Never felt like that.

When he'd grabbed my breasts, my dress had fallen off my shoulders just enough for the cold air to brush my nipples. His mouth hadn't even touched them, but still—still—I'd gone slick between my legs.

I shifted again on the stool, the seam of my jeans pressing deliciously where I needed it most. I squeezed my thighs together tighter.

What would he feel like inside me?

Would he be rough? Would he tie me down?

Would he hold my wrists while he slammed into me over and over until I screamed his name?

A little moan slipped out before I could catch it. My palm slid down, slow and shaky, hovering just over the button of my jeans. One little touch. One little press.

I could already feel how wet I was. For him.

I bit down on my fist, heartbeat hammering

"Kat?"

My head jerked up.

Shit.

Liam.

He stood there in the doorway like a shadow that forgot to knock.

I scrambled to shut the book and shove it beneath the register, praying he hadn't noticed the way my cheeks were flushed or how I was practically squirming on the stool.

"Hey," I said too fast hoping my voice didn't sound breathless. "You, uh, need something?"

He smiled. A little crooked. A little... wrong.

His hair was messy as always, but his clothes were... not. Crisp. Neat. Like he'd changed who he was today. His eyes were dark, deeper than usual—too dark.

"Hi, Katarina." He stepped forward, his hand twitching slightly before disappearing into his jacket pocket. "You... looked focused."

"You were really into that," he said softly, his voice lower than usual.

"I—just reading inventory stuff," I lied.

"I saw the cover. That wasn't inventory."

My heart fluttered with embarrassment, but something in his tone made it stutter with fear too. He stepped forward, slowly.

He stared. Not at my face. At my throat, maybe. My shoulders.

Something flickered behind his eyes.

"You smell different today," he said, voice dipping strangely low.

My stomach tensed.

"I—um—showered?" I offered, forcing a little laugh.

He tilted his head. "No. It's not soap." He stepped closer, and I instinctively gripped the counter between us. "It's... something underneath. Like scared. And sweet."

"Liam, are you okay?"

He blinked. Then smiled suddenly—too fast, like a light switch being flipped. "Yeah! Totally. I'm fine." His voice pitched up, lighter, nerdier. Like the Liam I knew.

But something in my gut curled. The way his posture dropped an inch. His lips twitching like they weren't sure how to hold a smile.

He placed a graphic novel on the counter. "They added volume six," he said in that easy tone again, but it came out... rehearsed. "I thought of you when I saw it."

I scanned it slowly. "Thanks," I said. "That's sweet."

He leaned forward. "Do you want to hang out later? I could—cook."

Cook?

I swallowed. "I'm staying at Selena's tonight."

"Right. Right." He nodded too fast. "Sleepover. Girls. Secrets. Lying."

My breath caught. "What?"

His eye twitched. The smile faded. "You don't have to be scared of me," he said quietly. "But... we don't like when you think about other men.

I froze.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Liam?" I whispered. "Who's we?"

"Nothing. Just kidding."

Silence fell between us.

He pulled a folded paper from his back pocket and set it down. "This is for you."

I stared at it.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer.

His voice dropped—calmer now, but eerily flat. "You don't have to be scared of me."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just watched him back away, turn, and walk out the door like a wind-up toy with its key yanked out too soon.

The bell jingled again. And he was gone.

I waited three whole minutes before I reached for the paper.

It was folded perfectly—crisp edges, like someone had measured them. I opened it slowly.

In neat handwriting, it read:

""Don't let the other one see this. I'll keep you safe. But I can't hold him back forever.""

—L

I stared at it.

Other One?

Who the hell was "Other One"?

But I knew.

Something was wrong.

With Liam.

With this whole damn city.

I slid the note into my bra, heart hammering.

Behind me, the shadows in the aisles seemed to shift.

And just before closing, I swore I saw Liam again.

Standing outside the window.

Not smiling.

Not blinking.

Just watching. "I pressed the note closer to my skin and tried not to think of green eyes and rough hands. But he was there. Even in Liam's shadows. Especially in them."

Once more, the place was silent, and as I looked about, I saw the fading outside light. Madame had left hours earlier, it was growing dark. Selena was packing, already organizing her belongings to head off for the evening.

I checked the time—5:30 p.m. I was supposed to text Mateo so he wouldn't worry. I hadn't even told him I was staying at Selena's

When I finally checked my phone, I saw multiple missed calls from him..". My pulse skipped a little, and there was a familiar surge of panic flooding my chest. Mateo has never called this much. Why did I not notice earlier? Why did I not pick up?

I dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail. That was strange. Mateo was always so careful, always in touch, especially in a city like this, where dangerous gangs loom around in broad daylight.

I quickly sent him a text, then stared at my phone screen, waiting for a reply that never came. I felt the unease build in my stomach. Something was wrong.

I could feel it in my gut. I looked at Selena, who was already at the door, her bag flung over her shoulder. I swallowed, my thoughts mumbled. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice was low, and she picked up on the change in my mood. Shaking my head, I said, "I'm not sure". "But it's weird." Mateo's not answering." I stared down at my phone, waiting for a reply that never came.

Then I saw the last message he'd sent.

"If he shows up, don't let him in."

My blood went cold.