59. Kiera
KIERA
Dom hadn’t been joking about this lockdown shit. I’d thought it was bad before when I was penned up in my bedroom, but now it felt like she didn’t even want me near the windows.
Not that she’d said it explicitly. But it didn’t take a soothsayer to interpret the giant knot that had made a permanent home between her shoulders.
It’s really not that deep.
I was half convinced that her constant vigilance over my every move was the result of her annoyance with me rather than any real concern.
The other two had already let go of my slip up with the IPO — we’d had to do a lot of forgiving and forgetting around here the past few months, and I’d have thought Dom would understand that from first hand experience.
But she wouldn’t stop eyeing me like I was a bomb that was about to go off, or maybe a piece of gum clinging to the bottom of her shoe.
When she looks at me at all.
Though I told myself that this was some advanced form of psychological torture, guilt still ate away at the quiet corners of my mind.
I had put her at risk — all of us, really.
And while I resented her weird, standoffish behavior with me, there was a twisted part of me that took comfort in the punishment.
I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d found a way to make things right, and short of that, a way to pay for my transgression.
Would be easier to fix this if my mere presence didn’t piss her off.
But I wouldn’t let that stop me from trying.
When Spencer and Leo weren’t busy pounding down my door, they were usually in the gym. But a quick peek through the doorway showed that Dom’s were not amongst sweaty muscles on display today.
That didn’t quell my temptation to stop in the room. Maybe she would show up soon, or maybe my angels and I could find another way to pass the time. But I shook my head as I walked away from the temptation.
No, I’m on a mission. Where the fuck is she?
Checking her room was an absolute last resort — if I thought she’d been cagey about the West Wing, she’d probably behead me for stepping foot past her threshold. But I had a hunch that wasn’t where she was, anyway.
Careful not to alert my lovers, I crept down the long hallway, pausing at the door that led to the underground garage. From downstairs, I could hear heavy rock and the slam of a bucket hitting the ground. Bingo.
She’d found an excuse pretty much every day to lurk around down there: at first, she needed to oversee the handoff of our blue escape Audi back to a few of Violence’s mechanics.
Then, she wanted to ensure her Camaro and all of their bikes were returned in the condition they’d been in before my meeting with Maura: fucking pristine.
Now, I wasn’t sure what she could be doing. Probably shuffling around her car collection by model and year.
Probably finding any excuse to avoid me.
But as much as seeing me might piss her off, I’d learned in Washington that avoiding her only made it worse. It was for the best to force her to rip the bandage off, no matter how much it stung.
When I got downstairs, I didn’t see her at first. The only sign of life was the music blaring from the in-ceiling speakers and an industrial-sized container of car polish set out in the middle of the otherwise pristine ground.
But just before I could call out, a high-pitched buzz whirred from across the garage. Following the sound, I saw Dom with her back to the staircase, holding the source of the sound against the hood of a white and blue Ford Mustang.
Through the armholes of her black ribbed tanktop, I could see her scars, along with the wings of her tattoo.
Her back and arms were tensed as she slid the polisher along a square section of the car in a slow, controlled motion.
She made the movement look easy, but I could tell that it was exhausting: long lines of sweat ran down her back, making the muscles glisten and soaking a dark V into the back of her shirt.
Stop staring. How long has she been at this?
I tried calling out to her from the staircase, but there was no chance of being heard over the machine and the music. Staring creepily at her from the doorway didn’t seem like a great option though…
Biting my lip, I stepped down onto the garage floor, picking my way carefully through the lines of cars.
“Hello, Earth to Dom?” I shouted to no avail. “Need any help down here?”
I circled wide around her workstation, hoping to wave her down from her periphery. But the second I stepped into her line of sight—
“Jesus fuck!” She jumped, winding the polisher back over her head.
“I tried shouting!” I flinched, holding my hands up at the machine in her hand. “What was your plan? Bludgeon me with the fucking polisher?”
“Maybe. Still might be my plan,” she growled, setting down the machine. “What do you want?”
It was hard to push words past the pulsing arteries by my throat. “I just wanted to see if you needed any help. It’s been a while since we really talked.”
“I don’t need help,” she frowned, switching the machine back on.
She held the machine steady, swiping it across the machine methodically with what I suspected was more force than necessary.
“Are you serious?” I shouted, but kept her eyes on her work. “You can’t even talk to me?”
Dom was nothing if not stubborn, but so was I. As she geared up for another pass, I walked over and slammed my palm flat on the surface, daring her to maim my hand for her petty game.
Cornered, she shut the machine off with a frustrated growl. “What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you!” I threw my hands in the air. “I’m just trying to talk to you. Clearly, you’re upset.”
“Yeah, I wonder what could have me on edge,” she scoffed, stalking across the line of cars.
“We’re supposed to be a team, Dom. Teams talk—”
“Being a team doesn’t mean we have to braid each other’s hair and sing campfire songs all day.” She growled. Her palms rested against the hood of the Camaro, putting the swell of her powerful back on display. “You fucked up, we’re dealing with it. Why can’t that be enough?”
“Because I hate seeing you like this!” I shouted. The pressure in my chest burst, “I know I fucked up. I am sorry for putting you at risk. Really. But I don’t want an honest mistake to ruin everything between us. I—”
The words shriveled and died in my throat. There were a lot of things I could say to Dom now that I couldn’t before. But those three words were not one of them.
“What do I have to do to fix this?” My arms dropped to my sides. “I am begging you to just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Sharp silence stretched between us. She lifted her head to glare over her shoulder, to let her icy blue eyes slide over me like a scalpel as she dissected the soul I laid bare for her. After a long breath, she turned to face me with gravel in her voice.
“When I fucked up, you made me crawl across this garage floor.”
Heat prickled up my neck. “That was different, you—”
“You made me beg at your feet. You denied me, Kiera.” Suddenly, the ice in her gaze was melted away by wicked flames. She stepped closer, cornering me against one of her cars. “Do you want to know how that feels?”
I trembled, terrified by the darkness in her voice. “Dom, I—”
Her fingers dug into my hips, slamming me against the car she’d just polished. I’d seen her cruel appetite before, but this time was different. Now, I had a penance to pay, and we both knew it.
How far is she willing to push me?
Fear shriveled every brave part of me as she towered over me, her gaze darkened by hunger.
“You want forgiveness, Viper? Then it’s time to beg.”