Chapter 81 Two Girls
Damien returned from the meeting with Mercer long after midnight. His head was still buzzing when he stepped into the hotel suite, the door closing softly behind him as though the room itself sensed the weight he carried.
Two girls
That was the price. Two lives to balance the scale of the debt he owed Dominic—and the price he had agreed to pay for the love of his life.
It had been months since he had recruited new girls. Months since Jasmine had walked into his world and shifted its axis. Since her laughter had begun to replace the cold arithmetic of survival. Since he had started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could step out of the darkness without dragging it behind him.
Now he was standing at its edge again.
Damien didn’t turn on the lights. He crossed the room in silence and went straight into the bathroom, shedding his clothes along the way. The shower roared to life, steam filling the space almost instantly. He stepped under the spray and let the water scald his skin, welcoming the sting as if it were punishment.
This was the closest he had come to that life in so long.
He pressed his palms flat against the cold tile, bowing his head as water streamed down his back. His shoulders rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths.
Now he had to keep this from Jasmine too.
Until both debts were paid, until he could leave this life behind, finally.
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. It felt like betrayal, even though he told himself it wasn’t. It was protection. She didn’t need to know what he had agreed to. She didn’t need to carry that weight. He would carry it alone. He always had.
“For your own good,” he murmured, though the words tasted bitter.
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers dragging water back over his scalp. Droplets traced the lines of his shoulders and slid down the length of his back. When he finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged over, his reflection blurred and indistinct. He grabbed a towel and tied it around his waist, then walked back into the bedroom.
The room was quiet. Too quiet
His phone vibrated on the bed.
Damien stopped mid-step.
For a second, dread flared in his chest—Mercer, Dominic, Gustavo. But when he picked it up, the message on the screen made his breath leave him in a rush.
Hey, you.
It was from Jasmine. His tesoro.
A smile melted across his features before he could stop it.
Hello, love. It’s late, he typed.
I know. I was waiting for you.
His chest tightened.
She asked him how his day had been.
Damien stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a moment, he considered telling her the truth. About Mercer. About Dominic. About the deal that now sat like a stone in his gut.
Instead, he typed:
It was long. Full of work.
A pause.
Then:
Can I see you?
He switched to a video call.
Jasmine picked up almost instantly.
Her face filled the screen—soft, warm, wrapped in lamplight. She was wearing one of his shirts, too big for her, the collar slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was loose and slightly tangled, and her eyes were bright despite the hour.
Jasmine picked up almost instantly.
For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
Damien filled the screen—bare chest still damp from the shower, a white towel hanging low around his waist. His hair was darkened with moisture, curls loose and wild, a few drops of water sliding down his collarbone. The bathroom light cast warm shadows across his shoulders.
Jasmine’s eyes widened.
“Oh—” she squeaked, then immediately turned her face away. “Damien!”
He lifted a brow slowly, a lazy, dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “What? I just finished showering.”
“You’re practically naked!” she accused, covering her eyes with one hand even though her fingers parted enough for her to peek through.
He chuckled, low and teasing. “Practically? Tesoro, this is very decent for me.”
She groaned. “Put something on!”
“Why?” he asked innocently, shifting the phone just enough that she caught another glimpse of his chest. “You called me.”
“I did not call you to see you in a towel,” she said, flustered. Her cheeks were burning now. “You did that on purpose.”
“I did not,” he lied smoothly. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d blush.”
“I am not blushing.”
“You are,” he said, voice soft with amusement. “Your ears are red.”
She gasped. “Stop looking at my ears!”
He laughed, the sound warm and full, and finally reached for a shirt hanging over the back of a chair. Slowly—far too slowly—he pulled it over his head.
“There,” he said once he was dressed. “Happy?”
Jasmine dropped her hand from her face, still frowning. “You enjoy torturing me.”
“I enjoy you,” he corrected gently, his expression shifting from playful to fond.
Her irritation melted despite herself.
They stared at each other for a second,“You look tired,” she said softly.
“So do you.”
She smiled. “Come on, I have something to show you.”
She set her phone on the dresser and began pulling things into view—bags, boxes, random items the guards had bought for her. Candles that smelled wrong. A blender she didn’t ask for. Three types of cereal when she had only wanted one.
“They got the popcorn wrong again,” she complained, holding up a bag dramatically. “This one tastes like cardboard.”
Damien chuckled despite himself.
She kept talking, moving around the room, her voice filling the silence he had brought back with him from Mercer’s meeting. Watching her warmed something in his chest, eased the guilt that gnawed at him.
This—this was the reason. Her. The sound of her voice, the way she wrinkled her nose when she was annoyed, the way she laughed at herself.
When the call ended, Damien lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“For you,” he whispered again.