Until You Break (The Devout and the Damned #1)

38. His Sinner

Chapter thirty-eight

His Sinner

You can leave whenever you want.

The words echo in my mind, taunting me, and the brat in me wants to prove him wrong. I need to prove him wrong.

Carefully, I slide out from under the blanket, moving inch by inch, my movements slow and deliberate. My feet hit the cold floor, and I freeze, my eyes darting to him, but he doesn’t stir.

I swallow hard, my chest tight as I grab my clothes from the chair in the corner and slip them on as quietly as I can. My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it, even in sleep.

When I’m dressed, I take one last look at him, my stomach churning. I don’t know what I’m expecting—maybe for him to wake up and stop me, to say something that would make me stay.

But he doesn’t move, and I force myself to turn away, my steps silent as I slip out of the room.

My nerves are shot, every creak of the floorboards making my breath hitch, but I keep moving, my steps rushed as I make my way to the front door. I can’t let fear stop me now.

The keys are on the small table by the door, just like he said they’d be, and my bike is probably waiting just outside. I grab the keys and pause, my hand hovering over the handle. For a second, I hesitate, my mind racing with everything he’s said and everything he’s done.

Freedom is right there, within arm’s reach. So why do I feel like I’m about to run straight into a trap? I shake my head, swallowing the doubt that’s clawing at my chest.

Don’t overthink it, Aria. Just go.

I open the door as quietly as I can, the cold night air hitting me like a slap in the face. I step outside, my breath visible in the chill, and close the door behind me, my hands trembling. I look back at the massive house then to the road, realizing their garage is right next door.

Fuck, will Luca or Matteo pull me back to their brother?

Shaking that thought from my mind, I run when I spot my bike in the fucking driveway and I rush to it, my movements clumsy and frantic.

The engine’s roar fills the silence, vibrating beneath me, a reminder that I can still leave, that the choice is mine. My fingers tighten around the handlebars, my breath shallow and quick, adrenaline surging through every part of me.

This is it—my chance to go, to put distance between us, to escape this magnetic pull he has on me.

But then something tells me to look back.

Dominic is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and his body shadowed in the dim light spilling from inside.

He doesn’t say a word. Not a single fucking word. He just stands there, watching me, his gaze heavy and pinning me in place like he doesn’t even have to move to keep me under his control.

My chest tightens as I stare at him, trying to read his expression. It’s not anger—it’s something worse. It’s calm, that unnerving calm that comes right before a storm.

And it’s written all over his face: Go ahead, Aria. Leave.

I swear I can feel him inside my head, pulling at all the tangled, broken parts of me. My pulse quickens, and my throat feels like it’s closing, the weight of his silence crushing me. Still, Dominic doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything. But the way he’s looking at me says more than words ever could.

He fucking knew I’d try to leave.

I hate him for it. Hate him for looking at me like I’m already his, like I’ve always been his. And I hate myself even more for how much it makes me want to stay.

My heart twists, torn between the need to get away and the impossible pull of him. I clench my jaw, forcing myself to break the connection, to look away, and when I do, it feels like losing a part of myself. My chest is tight, my fingers trembling as I rev the engine, the sound loud enough to drown out the chaos in my head.

But I still don’t move.

It’s like an invisible hand holding me back, and I feel the tears building, stinging my eyes. I know if I look back again, I won’t leave. If I see him standing there, watching me with that same unshakable intensity, I’ll break. I’ll lose the little bit of control I have left.

“Just go,” I whisper to myself, my voice shaking, barely audible over the engine. “Just fucking go and don’t look back.”

I take a deep breath, my knuckles white as I grip the handlebars, and finally, I move. The bike jerks forward, the cool night air rushing against my skin as I accelerate, the house disappearing behind me.

But the farther I go, the heavier my chest feels, like I’ve left something behind I can’t get back. The tears spill over, and I let them, my vision blurry as I speed down the dark road, the engine’s hum the only sound in the quiet night.

The farther I get, the more I feel like I’m unraveling. Because even as I leave, even as the distance between us grows, I can still feel him. In my head, in my chest, under my skin.

He didn’t stop me. The thought keeps repeating in my head, over and over, like a mantra. He didn’t stop me.

Why the fuck does it hurt that he didn’t?