In your bed with me,I think but don’t say it.
“Are you sure? You should lie down. You’re the one who has been bleeding,” I point out.
“I won’t sleep until my men check in again,” he answers. “And I want you resting in here while I wait.”
“Fine,” I cave, too exhausted to argue that I should go. I’ll lie down for a few minutes, maybe an hour, until he’s finally ready to turn in. Then, I’ll go back to the guest room. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I crawl under the sheets and lay my head down on the pillow that smells like him, like safety, while Dominik settles into the chair with his laptop and phone within reach.
Sleep doesn’t come so much as it decides to drag me under. I fall, and the fall never ends, and I dream.
I’m running down a hallway that keeps lengthening just before I reach the door at the end. It’s infuriating. I feel like I’m stuck in an endless loop of a nightmare that never ends.
When I eventually wake, my throat is dry, and my eyes are swollen. The clock says I slept for hours, not minutes. Dominik still sits in the chair. He opens his eyes and looks at me like he knows exactly where my gaze is at all times. “You slept,” he says, and stands without a sound. He moves like he strong-armed his wound into behaving overnight. He doesn’t wince when the bandage pulls. That enrages me more than I expect it to. I want him to be human where I can see it.
“Show me,” I say, pointing to the place under his shirt where the blood made a stain earlier. “I’ll change it.”
“You already did,” he says.
“Again,” I say. “Because you’ve been moving too much.”
Dominik considers the demand, or the permission inside it, and then pulls the hem of his shirt up. The edges are still red, but not as angry. It is both better and worse than I want it to be. I go get the kit from where I left it in the study because my hands need a job and my mouth would make one if I didn’t.
“Lift,” I say when I return, and he does, without comment or jokes this time. I peel the tape off carefully. The gauze sticks at the edge. I tug it and he breathes in. I want to apologize but refuse to. I clean the angry ring, and Dominik watches me like I’m the first person to touch him so gently without asking for anything in return.
“You do that like you’ve been doing it forever,” he says when I finish.
“I’m a quick study.”
“I know,” he says, and the words land low and warm.
We’re too close. My palms flatten against his stomach where the muscles twitch, a small, involuntary recognition of my hands. He doesn’t step back. Neither do I. The air between us is something you could roll like a coin. I don’t know which side it wants to land on. I pull my hands away because I’m not going to be the one who tips it, at least not until he’s had more time to heal.
Dominik’s phone vibrates, and he answers it. His face doesn’t change, and everything else in him does. He says, “Yes,” and “Later,” and “No,” then he pockets the device and looks at me like the next sentence will require my spine.
“They brought a mouth with them that may be ready to speak,” he says.
“A what?”
He tilts his head. “A biker with a new patch and fresh fear who we can likely convince to talk to us.”
Oh. He means a hostage—a man left breathing on purpose. By “convince” I’m sure he means “inflict pain.” “What will you do with him?” I ask for confirmation even though I’m pretty sure the answer exists in a dozen fictional films and stories and rumors.
“Lean on him until he says something worth hearing.”
The ease with which he says it makes my stomach flutter unpleasantly; the clarity with which he means it makes something in me unclench. I don’t have to guess what kind of man I’m in bed with metaphorically, even if I’m still pretending we’re not headed there literally. I don’t want a man who flinches from himself. I don’t want a world where bad men are allowed to be complicated. I want this exact honesty, even if it makes my skin feel too tight.
“Can I—” I start, then stop because I shouldn’t want to be anywhere near what comes next.
“No, hellcat,” he says gently, the term of endearment easing the blow. “I’ll report back with the part that matters. Then, we’ll tell your brother how many breaths he has left to come up with the money.”
The mention of Archer is still a trapdoor, but the drop isn’t as far this time. I nod in understanding. “Okay,” I say, but it sounds like a lie.
Dominik reaches for me then. He takes my hand in his. It’s so normal, so innocent, I almost laugh. And then it isn’t normal at all when his thumb strokes once across the inside of my wrist and my whole body comes online like a city grid after a blackout. He feels the shock of it because he’s watching my face. He does it again because he likes seeing the effect he has on me.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he says quietly. It isn’t a pep talk. It’s a promise.
“How?” I ask because I like the way he answers me every time with something that isn’t hope but the truth.
