Every time.
“We’ll get him back,” he promised, meaning it with everything in him. This was his chance to make things right, to prove he wasn’t the same controlling asshole who’d locked her in that safe house three years ago. “Vivi, I swear to you, we will get him back.”
Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t believe him. And why would she? The last time he’d made her a promise, he’d locked her in a safe house for a week while her brother was arrested, took away every choice she had, decided her life for her because he was terrified of losing her.
He’d told himself it was protection. She’d called it imprisonment. He’d decided what was best for her without asking, without trusting her to make her own choices.
He wasn’t that man anymore.
Or at least, he was trying like hell not to be.
Vivi searched his face. Looking for what—sincerity? Evidence of change? Some sign that the man sitting across from her wasn’t the same one who’d held her against her will?
Whatever she found wasn’t enough.
That was fair. He’d earned that.
She stood and disappeared down the hallway without a word, her bare feet silent on the hardwood.
He watched her go, his chest aching. He’d loved her to distraction at one time. It was why he’d risked everything—his military career, his family’s reputation—to work jobs with her and Sabin. To be close to her. To be part of her world. To steal what she stole, to run when she ran. To feel that pulse of adrenaline and see the smile that lit her face afterward. He’d been reckless for her, and he’d never regretted a moment of it—even when it meant lying to his father, his uncles, his brothers.
Dom pushed off the couch and followed the path she’d taken. He found her standing in the bedroom doorway, staring at the king-sized bed that dominated the space. Another camera blinked in the corner, red eye watching. He wondered if there were cameras in the bathroom. Probably. Praetorian wanted eyes on them 24/7.
His gaze returned to the bed.
Only one.
Because of course. The universe had a sick sense of humor when it came to the two of them.
“I’ll take the couch,” he said quietly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice was no-nonsense. “We’re adults. And we both need to sleep off the sedative they gave us if we’re going to be any good for Sabin.”
Adults. Right. Two adults who’d been tearing each other’s clothes off in a backseat before being abducted by a paramilitary organization. Two adults who hadn’t shared a bed in three years and hadn’t shared one without touching in ever.
He swallowed. “Okay.”
They took turns in the bathroom, and to his surprise, there weren’t any cameras. Either Raines had some residual sliver of decency, which Dom doubted, or the room was wired with audio instead.
He splashed water on his face, then assessed the damage in the mirror. The knot on the back of his skull was tender, but the swelling had gone down. His wrists looked worse than they felt—angry red welts already darkening to purple. The bruise on his ribs was a deep, spreading stain across his left side when he lifted his shirt. Ugly, but manageable.
He changed into one of the provided T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were close enough to his size that it made his skin crawl. Praetorian knew his measurements.
When he came out, Vivi was sitting on the edge of the bed. She’d changed into an oversized gray T-shirt that hung to mid-thigh and pulled her hair back in a loose knot. The black dress was draped over the back of the vanity chair. Without the armor of designer fabric and stilettos, she looked smaller. Younger. The cut on her temple stood out against her skin, cleaned now but still raw.
She didn’t look at him as he crossed to the other side of the bed.
They lay down on opposite edges of the mattress, a careful valley of untouched sheets between them. Dom stared at the ceiling. The lamp was off, but the city—wherever this city was—leaked light through the barred windows, casting faint geometric shadows across the plaster.
The mattress was obscenely comfortable. That was the worst part. His body wanted desperately to sink into it, to let exhaustion and the lingering dregs of whatever chemical cocktail they’d used drag him under. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the live feed. Sabin in that chair. Blood in his hair. The knife at his throat.
And next to him, separated by twelve inches of silk and a chasm of history, Vivi breathed.
The silence felt like a living beast between them.
At some point, she turned onto her side, facing away from him. She made a sound—not quite a sigh, not quite a hum, but the soft exhale that always came right before she dropped from restlessness into deep sleep.
He hadn’t heard that sound in three years. Hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until this moment.
