I welcome every hit Dom lays on me before he’s ripped away by Alec.
Pain throbs in my jaw from Dom’s right hook. I lift my hand to my busted lip. He got me fucking good.
He lets Alec pull him away but fury storms in his eyes and the only thing keeping him from attacking me is Alec.
I know Alec let Dom get a few hits in before dragging him away. I don’t care. I deserve it.
Despite the pain to my jaw and torso…I can hardly feel anything other than the sick feeling in my stomach.
Fuck. How could I do that to her?
She was willing to sacrifice her freedom, herlifeby staying away. She gave up me, Mum and Dad to keep us safe and I just spat in her face.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I get to my feet, prepare to go after her.
“You wanna fuck this up more, asshole?” Maverick demands, stepping in my path. “If you go after her now, one of you is going to say something you’ll regret.”
The determination burning in me dies. I don’t want to hurt her more than I already have.
For the first time since Rory’s been back, I start to crave a really fucking strong drink.
“Wanna spar?” I turn to Dominic, knowing he’s more than up for the challenge.
“Let’s go, dickhead.” Dom scowls, savagely.
“This time, I’m hitting back.” I stalk towards the door,needingto fuel my anger into something.
Dom and I track each other’s movement, shifting on our feet as we wait for Mason to give us the rules.
“Nothing below the belt and no KO’s—I’m not explaining that to Rory. We’re not taking anyone to the hospital so no serious injuries or broken bones.” Mason crosses his arms.
“Technique?” Dominic asks, itching to get started.
“Whatever the fuck you want.”
I grin savagely at that. This is going to be good.
Dominic ~
I wince when Alec dabs harshly at my split and puffy bottom lip. He hates when I get hurt.
He doesn’t meet my eyes when he drops the washer into the sink and presses the ice pack against my face. I flinch at the sudden cold.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, that hazel gaze finally connecting with mine for the first time since I broke us.
Medical supplies are spilled along the bathroom sink vanity. Alec told me to sit on the toilet lid while he patched up my injuries. He hasn’t said anything—about us or otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He stiffens at my words, knowing what I’m talking about.
Without a word, Alec removes the ice from my face and lifts my shirt to press it against the bruise on my ribs.
“Alec.” He doesn’t look at me. I stand up. My hand curls around his wrist. I slowly take the ice pack from his hand, not letting go of his wrist.
“What, Dominic?” Alec asks, monotone. I could have flinched at his use of my full name—after all, it was him who started the nickname.
