“Did you at least make me come before they took us?”
A laugh tore from him. It hurt his ribs, hurt his head, and he didn’t care. Because of course. Ofcoursethat was her first coherent sentence. Drugged, captive, bleeding from a head wound in a concrete box, and Vivianna Cavalier’s opening move was to give him shit.
“Seriously? That’s what you’re going with right now?”
“I’m zip-tied in what appears to be a murder basement, Dominic. Forgive me for wanting to know if the evening was at least partially worthwhile.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re avoiding the question.”
“No, Vivi. I did not make you come. I was a little preoccupied with losing consciousness.”
“Shame.” She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, and for a second, just a second, the mask slipped.
She was terrified.
And she was never, ever going to admit it.
Something cracked open in his chest, and it wasn’t his ribs. It was the thing he kept locked down, the thing he’d been drinking to numb at the club—the knowledge that three years hadn’t changed a damn thing. He’d watched her walk away. Spent months telling himself he was over it, that she was just another beautiful woman in a city full of them, that what they’d had was just chemistry and convenience.
But it wasn’t the curves or the sex or the way she looked in that black dress. It was this. The steel underneath. The refusal to crack, even now. The dark humor deployed like armor plating, protecting everything soft and vulnerable that she’d never let him see for more than a few unguarded seconds at a time.
It undid him. Every single time.
“Hey.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
“We’re getting out of here.”
“Oh, well, ifyousay so.” But the corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Close enough.
“Can you reach the zip ties on my wrists?” He shifted, turning to give her access to his hands. “I’ve been working them, but I don’t have leverage.”
She leaned forward, her bound hands reaching toward his. Their fingers tangled awkwardly—his numb, hers shaking—and she felt along the plastic band. “These are military grade. You’re not snapping these.”
“I wasn’t planning to snap them. I need something thin—a pin, a piece of wire, anything to work into the locking mechanism.”
“Fresh out of lock picks, unfortunately. I left them in my other kidnapping outfit.” She pulled back and scanned the room. “What are we working with?”
“Concrete box. One door, steel, hinged outside. No windows. Ventilation system behind the walls. We’re underground—the air, the temperature, the way sound travels. Could be a bunker, could be a basement.”
“Could be a parking structure.”
“Could be.”
“Well.” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders despite the restraints. “At least they didn’t separate us. That either means they want us together for a reason?—”
“Or they’re confident we can’t do anything about it.”
“Right.” Her eyes met his. “Dom, whatever happens?—”
“Viv, don’t.” His heart squeezed. She hadn’t called him Dom in years. It was always his full name with that acidic bite in her tone to remind him she was still pissed at him. “Don’t do the goodbye thing. We’re not doing that.”
She held his gaze for a long moment and opened her lipstick-smudged mouth to respond.
A heavy mechanical clunk echoed through the concrete room like a gunshot. Dom shifted his body between Vivi and the door before the sound had finished reverberating. He planted his feet, squared his shoulders.
