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

40. His Sinner

Chapter forty

His Sinner

I haven’t seen Dominic since I ran away from him, and it’s driving me insane. I keep telling myself that this is good, that the space will help me move on, that I can let him fade back into whatever shadow he came from.

But if that’s true, then why do I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to show up again?

He got into my head when we were alone, twisting my memories so much that they’ve changed my dreams. But why is he so adamant that what I’m remembering is wrong? What does he think we did in those cells?

I’m tired of overthinking and I’m not even sure why I said yes when my friend Sam called earlier. She was chirping about some new bar downtown and how I needed to get out of my “funk,” and I almost shut her down on the spot.

But the thought of another night alone, scrolling through Netflix and avoiding my own thoughts, was unbearable. I can’t even bring myself to act happy around Mason, and I can’t bring myself to leave him, either.

Four weeks. Four weeks since I left Dominic’s house, since I climbed on my bike and didn’t look back.

And four weeks of silence from him.

No texts. No calls. No cryptic notes or unexpected appearances. Nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared completely. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it? To be free of him? So why does it feel like there’s this constant knot in my chest, tightening every time I think about him?

The bar is packed, the sound of music and chatter spilling out onto the street as we push through the door. It’s dimly lit, the kind of place with sticky floors, overpriced drinks, and a crowd that doesn’t give a damn about personal space.

Sam grabs my arm, pulling me toward the bar, her excitement infectious even if I don’t quite feel it.

“Two vodka sodas,” she shouts over the noise, grinning as she fishes a twenty out of her pocket. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” I manage, offering her a small smile.

I should be more enthusiastic. I should be enjoying this. But my mind feels like it’s stuck on a loop, replaying things I don’t want to think about. The house. His voice. That smirk of his, like he always knew what I was thinking before I did.

The bartender slides our drinks over, and I take a sip, the cool liquid burning slightly as it goes down. Sam is already scanning the room, her eyes lighting up as she spots a group of guys near the dartboard.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing my wrist. “Let’s go find a spot to sit.”

I follow her through the crowd, weaving between people until we find a small table near the edge of the room. Sam is already chatting up a guy who looks like he spends more time at the gym than I do anywhere, and I take another sip of my drink, letting my gaze wander.

That’s when I hear it. Laughter. Deep, loud, and so fucking familiar it makes my stomach twist. I turn my head, the sound pulling me in, and my heart stops.

Dominic.

He’s sitting across the room, his brothers flanking him, a beer in his hand and a smirk on his face like he owns the place. And he might as well, the way people are looking at him, like he’s some kind of goddamn king.

But it’s not just him. There’s a woman on his lap, her arms draped around his shoulders, her blonde hair tumbling down her back as she leans in close, whispering something in his ear.

She’s everything I’m not—blonde, impossibly skinny, her perfect legs crossed as she laughs at something one of his brothers says. Dominic’s hand rests casually on her hip, his fingers curling slightly as if staking a claim, and my stomach churns.

I can’t look away, even as I want to.

It takes him a second, but his eyes finally lift, locking with mine. My breath catches again, but he doesn’t react. No smirk. No acknowledgment. Nothing. He just looks away, like I’m not even there.

Like I don’t fucking matter.

My stomach twists, a sick, hollow ache spreading through my chest as I watch him laugh at something Matteo says, his hand tightening slightly on the woman’s hip. He’s so casual, so unaffected, while I feel like I’m about to crumble into dust.

I wanna fucking stab him in the eye.

“Aria?” Sam’s voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back to reality. “You okay? You’ve gone pale.”

I tear my eyes away from Dominic, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine. Just… thought I saw someone I knew.”

Sam frowns, following my gaze, but Dominic’s turned slightly, his back to us now. “Do you want to leave?” she asks, her tone softer now, concerned.

“No,” I say quickly, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m fine. Really.”

But I’m not fine. I’m far from it.

I take another sip of my drink, the burn doing little to chase away the cold knot in my chest. Why is he here? It’s a stupid question—he’s allowed to be here just as much as I am. But it’s the woman that eats at me. The way he touched her, the way he laughed like nothing else in the world mattered. Like I didn’t matter.

Did I ever? Or was I just a pet project?

“Aria,” Sam says again, her voice quieter this time. “Whoever it is, they’re not worth it. You look like you’re ready to throw that glass at someone.”

“I’m not,” I say, though the image of shattering the glass against the wall is oddly satisfying.

I try to focus on Sam, on the conversation, but my eyes keep drifting back to him, to the way he leans closer to the woman on his lap, whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh again.

It’s like a knife to the fucking chest, because this isn’t the Dominic I know. The Dominic I know doesn’t laugh like that, doesn’t let anyone that close unless he’s pulling strings, unless it’s part of some game.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I was the game, and now he’s moved on to the next one.

Sam gets up to order another round, chatting animatedly with the bartender while I nurse my drink, my eyes locked on the table across the room. Dominic’s brothers are loud, Matteo gesturing wildly as Luca rolls his eyes, but Dominic is calm, in control, his attention divided between the conversation and the woman who’s practically draped over him.

I hate it. I hate him. I hate the way my chest tightens every time his hand moves, every time his lips quirk into that cocky half-smile. I hate the way my stomach flips when his eyes flicker in my direction, just briefly, before he turns back to her like I’m nothing.

My fingers tighten around the glass, my jaw clenching as I fight the urge to storm over there and demand answers. Answers to questions I don’t even know how to ask.

Why did he disappear? Why did he let me leave so easily? And why the fuck does it hurt so much to see him with someone else?

“Aria,” Sam says again, pulling me back to reality. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” I say firmly, draining the rest of my whiskey and slamming the glass onto the bar. “I’m not letting him ruin this.”

“Letting who ruin this?” she asks, her eyes narrowing as she follows my gaze again. This time, her expression sharpens. “Aria—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, cutting her off. “Just drop it.”

But Sam doesn’t drop things. She leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Who’s the guy? And why do you look like you want to murder him?”

I shake my head, my stomach twisting. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” she presses, her gaze flicking between me and Dominic. “Like, he’s an ex? A hookup? A—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. “He’s nothing.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, and I know Sam doesn’t believe it. But she doesn’t push, just gives me a knowing look before taking another sip of her drink.

I glance back toward Dominic’s table, my chest tightening again as he leans back, his arm draping casually over the back of the booth. He looks so fucking relaxed, so unaffected, while I feel like I’m unraveling from the inside out.

You’re nothing, his silence seems to say, cutting deeper than any words ever could.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe I am nothing to him.