14. His Sinner
Chapter fourteen
His Sinner
I slide my gun from its holster, checking the magazine and making sure everything’s in place. The weight of it feels solid, grounding, but it does little to calm the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.
I’ve spent years training myself to trust my instincts, and right now, they’re all screaming the same thing— I’m not safe. Not here, not anymore.
After the note and that mask on the security footage, I know I’m being watched. And if Dominic is involved—if he’s really come back to haunt me in whatever twisted way he’s decided—then I need to be ready.
I grip the gun a little tighter, letting the cold metal press into my hand as a reminder that I’m not helpless. Not anymore.
As soon as I get home, I make the rounds, checking every lock on every door, testing the windows, making sure nothing’s been tampered with. My little cabin feels smaller, more vulnerable tonight, every shadow stretching longer, every creak of the wood sending a jolt of unease through me.
When I’m satisfied that everything’s secure, I check my gun one more time, then tuck it away in the drawer beside my bed. Just in case.
But that’s not enough to settle the edge creeping under my skin. I grab my old baseball bat, propping it up within arm’s reach, the familiar weight of it somehow comforting.
Finally, I slip a small knife under my pillow, my fingers brushing the cool handle before I settle into bed, each precaution offering a small, flimsy layer of security against the shadows.
When I finally close my eyes, exhaustion tugs at me, the tension finally catching up to me. But my mind refuses to let go, spinning around the memories I’ve spent years burying.
I think of Dominic, of the way he looked that last day—bloody, battered, but still fighting, still holding on to that spark that drew me to him in the first place. I think of the man he might have become, of the darkness that must have swallowed him up after we were separated.
I want to believe that he’s still the same underneath it all, that somewhere in that mask, he’s still my Dominic. But the fear that he’s become someone I don’t recognize anymore, someone who’d haunt me like this, claws at me.
Eventually, sleep pulls me under, my mind slipping into a vivid, unsettling dream.
I’m back in that cell, the cold concrete pressing against my back, my arms aching, every breath a struggle. But I’m not alone. Dominic is there, standing on the other side of the bars, his face shadowed, his posture tense.
He looks at me, his eyes intense, filled with something I can’t quite read.
“Don’t cry, Little Sinner,” he says, his voice soft, a touch of that old sarcasm in his tone. He reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek, wiping away tears I didn’t realize were there. “You’re stronger than this.”
“I tried to be,” I whisper, feeling the weight of his words, the weight of everything I never got to say. “I tried to move on.”
He shakes his head, his lips pulling into that faint, crooked smile. “Maybe you’re not supposed to.”
The dream blurs, his face shifting, fading, and I reach for him, feeling the panic rise as I try to hold onto him, try to keep him here with me. But he slips through my fingers, his touch dissolving into the darkness, leaving me alone with the echo of his voice.
I wake up with a start, my heart racing, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. For a second, I think it’s just the dream lingering, the weight of the memories pressing down on me.
But then I realize I’m not alone.
Someone is above me, pressing me down through the blanket, their weight pinning me, holding me in place. I freeze, every muscle tense, my mind racing as I struggle to make sense of what’s happening.
The blue LED stitch mask is grinning down at me with that same eerie, neon smile, the hollow eyes watching, unblinking.
My heart slams against my ribs, terror surging through me as I try to move, but his grip tightens, pinning me in place. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out, my voice lost in the rush of fear and disbelief.
“Dominic?” I eventually whisper, my voice barely audible. I can’t tell if I’m still dreaming, trapped in some twisted nightmare, or if this is real, if he’s really here.
The silence stretches, unbearable, and I feel my heart splintering, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“Please… please tell me it’s you.” My voice cracks, the scent of him filling the air, that unmistakable mix of pine needles and motor oil; raw and familiar. It’s the same smell that clings to the trees outside my cabin, the same scent I’d catch on my clothes after every ride.
Dominic’s scent.
I feel a sob rising in my chest, the ache in my throat as I try to keep it back, try to hold on to some sense of control.
“Why… why won’t you say anything?”
He tilts his head, his hair falling across the mask, dark strands catching the faint light, and my heart lurches at the familiarity of it. I try to move, to reach out, but his grip tightens, pressing me back down, keeping me still as he leans closer. My breath catches when I see it—glinting in the low light.
A cross dangling from his neck, swinging just above my face. I know it immediately, the small silver pendant with a delicate chain. The one he pulled from my neck the night he told me to run.
My cross.
I gasp, feeling the tears finally spill over, my chest tight as I stare up at him. “It is you,” I whisper, half a sob escaping my throat. “Dominic…”
He’s so close, his body solid and warm above me, the mask hiding his face but not his presence. Then he brings a gloved finger to my lips, the universal gesture for silence.
I can feel the faint pressure, the warmth of his hand through the fabric of his leather glove, and my heart aches with a familiarity that feels like it’s breaking me.
“Please,” I choke out, my voice raw. “Please, just… say something.”
He shakes his head slowly, a silent answer, a refusal to give me the words I need. His fingers linger on my lips for a second longer, a ghostly touch that leaves me reeling, and then he pulls back, his gaze never leaving mine as he rises from the bed, his movements smooth, controlled.
He straightens, looking down at me for one last moment, and I feel that same, possessive intensity radiating from him, like he’s claiming this moment and staking his claim on me. I want to reach for him, to grab him, to make him stay. But I’m frozen, my voice lost as he turns, walking away, his steps silent as he disappears into the shadows beyond my room.
The door creaks open, and then he’s gone, leaving only the faint, lingering scent of pine and oil, the scent of him, wrapping around me like a memory come to life.
I lie there, staring at the empty space where he stood, the darkness settling around me like a shroud. The tears keep coming, silent, unstoppable, each one carrying the weight of five years of loss, of longing, of every unanswered question, every hope I tried to bury.
He was here. He came back.
But he didn’t say a word.