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

43. Her Ruin

Chapter forty-three

Her Ruin

I’m elbow-deep under the hood of an old Mustang, trying to keep my mind off her, off the way she’s managed to unravel every piece of my life without even trying.

I let the work distract me, the smell of oil, the hum of the engine under my hands. It’s the only thing that keeps me steady these days.

The sound of the door slamming open breaks my focus. I look up, and there she is, storming into the garage with fire in her eyes, her shoulders squared like she’s ready for a fight. It takes every ounce of control I have not to smile, not to show her just how much I’ve missed this, her in my space, her eyes blazing like I’m the only thing she wants to burn.

Fuck, I love it when my girl looks like she wants to stab me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, her voice sharp, cutting through the sounds of the garage like a knife.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, baby,” I say as I grab a rag and watch her face turn red.

“That guy from the other night? He’s dead! They found him beaten up in an alley.”

I raise an eyebrow, not even bothering to feign surprise. “And what’s that got to do with me?”

She stares at me, disbelief flickering across her face. “Are you serious? You think I’m stupid, Dominic? You think I don’t know you well enough to see right through you? You killed him—just because he touched me.”

I shrug, wiping my hands on the rag, forcing myself to stay calm and keep my expression unreadable. “You sound pretty confident for someone who doesn’t have any proof.”

“Proof!” she scoff, her jaw clenching, and she steps closer, her eyes dark with anger, and fuck me, I need her on her knees. “I saw the way you looked at him. You think killing someone over something like that is normal?”

“Maybe it is, to me,” I say, my voice controlled. “Guy puts his hands where they don’t belong, he pays the price. Doesn’t seem complicated.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh, crossing her arms. “You’re unbelievable. You think you can just play god, decide who lives and dies because of your twisted sense of… of ownership.”

“Ownership?” I take a step forward, closing the short distance between us, feeling the heat radiating off her, the anger simmering beneath her skin. “Is that what you think this is? That I just see you as something to own?”

She doesn’t back down, doesn’t flinch. “That’s exactly what you’re acting like. Like I’m some… some possession you can protect or destroy at will.”

The anger bubbles up, and before I can stop myself, I’ve got her backed up against the car, my hands gripping the edge of the hood, caging her in. I see the flash of something in her eyes—fear, excitement, I don’t know. But she’s not backing down, not giving me an inch.

“Maybe you don’t get it, Little Sinner,” I say, my voice rough and edged with the frustration that’s been clawing at me for weeks. “Maybe you don’t understand what it’s like to have something that feels like it’s part of you, something that’s in your blood, and watch someone else touch it like it’s theirs. Like they have any right to it.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “So, what? You think that justifies everything? You think I’m supposed to feel grateful?”

“I don’t give a damn how you feel about it,” I snap, leaning in, letting the words sink in. “I don’t do this for gratitude, Aria. I do it because it’s the only way I know how to keep what’s mine.”

“That’s just it! I’m not something you can just claim and protect like a damn trophy!”

“Then why are you here?” I taunt, my voice dripping with challenge. “If you’re so outraged, so disgusted by me, then why are you storming into my garage like you’ve got a right to demand answers? Why not stay away from the deranged murderer?”

She opens her mouth, ready to fire back, but nothing comes out, and I see it—that hesitation, the crack in her anger. And I know that, deep down, she wants this as much as I do, even if she won’t admit it.

I tilt my head, studying her, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Face it, Aria. You can tell yourself you’re better than this, that you don’t want this, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

She glares at me, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You’re so full of yourself,” she spits, but there’s no bite behind it, no real fight. “You think you’re some dark, twisted savior, don’t you? That I need you to come in and… and play hero for me.”

“Hero?” I let out a laugh, cold and unhinged. “Baby, the last thing I am is a fucking hero and you should know that better than anyone.”

She stares at me, her eyes searching mine. “You don’t own me, Dominic,” she whispers, her voice shaking, but her gaze is steady.

“So you keep saying,” I whisper back, my face inches from hers, daring her to answer, to admit the truth we both know she’s been running from. “If you’re so sure of that, if you really believe it, then walk out. Leave. Go back to him and pretend he would burn the fucking world down to protect what’s his.”

She swallows, her breathing shallow, and I see the struggle in her eyes, the way she’s fighting herself. “You’re insane…” she says, but there’s no heat, no conviction.

I let my hand trail down, grazing her waist, feeling the way her breath catches, the tension in her body, as if she’s holding herself back from something she can’t control. She should shove me away, push me off, scream at me. But she doesn’t. She just stares at me, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

“You don’t have to like what I did,” I murmur, my lips close to her ear, feeling the way she shivers under my touch. “But don’t stand there and act like you don’t understand it. Like some part of you doesn’t like the fact that I killed for you again.”

Her eyes flicker, a crack in her defiance, and I know I’ve hit something real, something she’s tried to hide, even from herself.

“Dominic…” she says, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “This isn’t… this isn’t what I want. Not like this.”

I raise an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at my lips. “Then tell me to walk away and never come back.”

She opens her mouth, but no words come out, and I see it—the truth she’s trying so hard to bury. She can’t tell me to stop because, deep down, she doesn’t want to.

“Face it, Little Sinner,” I whisper, drawing my hand to her chin. “You can fight it all you want, but you’re just as fucked up as I am.”

Without another word, I pull back, giving her space, the heat between us fizzling like I’ve shut off a switch. I feel her watching me, probably waiting for me to say something more, to give her another ounce of attention, another piece of whatever game she thinks this is.

I won’t give her that. Not this time. Instead, I go back to work, tightening bolts, checking wires, acting as if she’s nothing more than a ghost haunting the edge of my workspace.

A minute passes. Then two. I can feel her impatience radiating off her, like she’s itching for me to turn around, to goad her, to say something that’ll pull her back into that heated argument, anything to keep her the center of my focus.

“You’re really just going to ignore me?” she snaps, breaking the silence.

I can hear the frustration in her voice, the bite that’s there because I’m not giving her the satisfaction of another fight, of another chance to throw her weight around.

I shrug, not even looking up. “Got nothing else to say to you, Aria. You came here looking for answers. I gave them to you. If you don’t like them, that’s your problem.”

I can practically feel her clench her fists, holding back whatever angry retort she wants to throw at me. “You think you can just say something like that, act like you know me, and then just… go back to work?”

I glance up, my expression deliberately bored. “Yep. That’s exactly what I think.”

Her eyes flash, and there’s a part of me that revels in it, that enjoys this game, watching her unravel, watching her get just as twisted up as I am. She’s used to control, used to getting the final word, and I’m denying her that, letting her feel what it’s like to be the one left wanting.

She scoffs, the sound dripping with disbelief, frustration, anger. “You’re unbelievable, Dominic. You act like you’re some force of nature, like nothing touches you, like you can just do whatever the hell you want without consequences.”

I give her the barest hint of a smirk. “Maybe that’s because I can.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t wait around to hear it. I grab another tool, my focus fully back on the car, giving her nothing. And even though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her frustration building, the tension thickening as she realizes that I’m not going to give her what she wants.

“You can’t just dismiss me,” she snaps, taking a step closer, her voice edged with desperation. “Not after everything you’ve done.”

I look at her, my expression unaffected. “Why not? You want me to grovel, to apologize for something I’m not sorry for? Not gonna happen, baby. I did what I had to do, and I’d do it again.”

She stares at me, her breath shallow, and I can see the war inside her, the struggle between wanting to hit me and wanting to drop to her knees. I straighten, wiping my hands on the rag, dismissing her with one last glance. “If you’ve got nothing else to say, there’s the door.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, and I wonder if she’ll actually go, if she’ll finally turn her back and walk out, prove that she doesn’t need this, that she doesn’t need me. But she doesn’t. She stands there, hovering, like she’s still waiting, still hoping for something else.

Unfortunately for her, I’ve made up my mind. If she wants something from me, she’s gonna have to say it.

Because I’m done playing the one who’s willing to give it all.