- D O M I N I C • P O V -
I slammed my palm into the steering wheel. Hard. Not because of the traffic, not because of the streets, but because of her.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
A jacket. My fucking jacket.
I have a dozen like it. More than that. I could buy ten more tomorrow without blinking. Yet... there it was, on her.
On her.
She looked... fragile. Human. Beautiful in a way that didn't belong to me. A way that made me want to claim her, and at the same time, want to keep my distance like I was supposed to.
And I'd given it to her.
Why?
Why had I done that?
It was expensive. Perfect. Mine. Too much of me in the weave, in the scent, in the weight. And I handed it to her like some charity? Some... kindness?
I cursed under my breath. Hard. Shoved my hands into my hair. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth.
Because it wasn't the jacket.
It was what it meant.
She didn't need me to be her savior. She didn't need my jacket to feel safe. But somehow... she did. And giving it to her, letting her wear it... fuck. It fucked me up.
I drove faster. Harder. Needed to burn the image out of my brain before it settled.
But the harder I drove, the more I realized... I couldn't unsee it.
Her in my jacket. My scent clinging to her. Her tiny hands clutching the fabric like it was armor.
Like it was me.
Shit.
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I've controlled entire cities. I've broken men for less. I've killed for less.
And yet here I was, fucked in the head over a fucking jacket.
I ran a hand over my face. Tried to shove the image away. Tried to breathe. Tried to be Dominic Derveaux-the man who doesn't let anyone in.
But fuck.
She was already in.
Her shaking hands.
Her breath hitching.
The way she'd folded in on herself like she was trying to disappear.
I was already on my way home.
The route out of Ashwick curved west, past the last stretch of busted storefronts and tired apartment blocks, where the town finally started to thin out and pretend it wasn't rotting from the inside.
I should've kept driving.
Then the thought hit me.
David.
The image hit me out of nowhere, violent and sudden.
His hands on her.
The way he'd forced her down.
The sound she made when she struggled.
My grip tightened until my knuckles went white.
I saw it again-him yanking at her pants, desperate, sloppy, thinking he could take whatever the fuck he wanted. Thinking she was weak. Thinking no one would come.
I hit the steering wheel again, harder this time.
A beating wasn't enough.
I'd felt it even then, as my fist connected with his face, as his blood smeared across my knuckles. It hadn't been enough. The rage hadn't drained-it had sharpened.
Because he'd touched her.
Left his fucking mark on her skin.
I remembered the moment after-when she was standing there, shaken, clothes twisted, trying to pull herself together like she hadn't just been violated by someone else's intent.
"Your zipper's undone," I'd told her.
My voice had been steady. Controlled.
But inside?
I'd wanted to rip David apart with my bare hands.
The thought of her like that-exposed, humiliated, unaware-made something snap so cleanly inside me it scared even me.
I clenched my jaw, my chest rising fast.
Why the fuck do I care?
I don't do sympathy. I don't do softness. I don't get wrecked over women who don't belong to me-especially women I shouldn't even be looking at twice.
And yet her scent was still on me.
On my shirt.
In my lungs.
In my head.
The memory of her small body pressed against mine flashed again, unwanted and unforgiving. The way she'd fit. The way she'd stilled, just for a second, like she trusted me.
That alone made me furious.
Because now I knew something I couldn't unknow.
This doesn't end with a warning.
This doesn't end with bruises.
I don't care how long it takes. I don't care where he runs.
That bastard crossed a line he can't uncross.
My lips pulled back slightly as I breathed out, slow and cold.
This shit won't be over until he's dead.
I slammed my fist into the wheel.
Once.
Twice.
"Fuck."
The decision settled instantly-no debate, no hesitation.
The engine roared as I slammed the gas, tearing back toward Ashwick's edge, toward Grayridge.
Toward David's apartment.
I drove like the road owed me blood, speed climbing, knuckles white on the leather, because some things don't get forgiven.
They get handled.
The car swerved slightly before I corrected it, breath coming sharp through my nose. My jaw locked so tight it ached.
This shit can't go down like this.
It doesn't make sense. None of it does. I don't do this. I don't protect. I don't care. I don't hand parts of myself away and then spiral over it like a fucking rookie.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom idled like it was offended to be here.
David's apartment building squatted at the end of the block-peeling paint, busted intercom, the kind of place that smelled like mold and bad decisions. Disgusting. The Phantom didn't belong anywhere near it. Neither did I.
I cut the engine and stepped out, the door closing behind me with that soft, expensive hush that never failed to remind people who they were dealing with. My dress shoes hit the cracked pavement and I immediately felt it-grit, filth, disrespect.
Trash.
I walked around to the back, jaw clenched, and waved my foot beneath the bumper. The trunk opened smoothly, silent and obedient. Of course it did. Everything I owned knew better than to fight me.
I reached in and grabbed my boots.
Heavy. Solid. Black leather reinforced with steel-boots made to end arguments, not have them. The kind that crushed skulls if it came to that. I stripped off the dress shoes without a second thought and pulled the boots on, lacing them tight like I was gearing up for war.
I moved toward the building, boots hitting the pavement in slow, deliberate steps.
The place looked exactly how it always did-like it was rotting from the inside out. Like it refused improvement out of spite. I let out a dark, humorless chuckle at the thought.
I paid David enough to live in a house with gates. Enough to disappear into something clean. Quiet. Safe.
And yet here he was.
Still choosing this dump.
Every stride felt heavier than it should've, like the place itself was trying to drag me down to its level. The front door hung crooked on its hinges, glass smeared with fingerprints and grime. A busted buzzer panel sat beside it, wires exposed like nerves ripped out and left to rot.
I didn't touch it.
I shoved the door open instead.
The hallway smelled like piss and rot, the kind of filth only men like David called home.
Unemployed now, too.
The idiot shouldn't have ever thought to try to-
I cut the thought off before it finished forming.
My face hardened, jaw clenching so tight it ached. Anger slid through me, cold and precise. Not wild. Not reckless. Rage never made me sloppy.
It sharpened me.
I didn't knock. Didn't pause. My boots slammed the floor with every step, my pulse a steady drum of something dark and unstoppable.
I took the stairs two at a time, not rushed-never rushed. My pulse was steady. My breathing controlled. Rage didn't make me sloppy. It sharpened me.
I didn't knock.
The door gave way under my boot with a brittle crack, the lock snapping like it had been waiting for it.
He was exactly where I expected him to be.
Slumped on the couch. Bruised. Swollen. Barely stitched together after last time. One arm wrapped around his ribs, breathing shallow like every inhale hurt.
Good.
His eyes lifted slowly, unfocused at first-then recognition hit.
I closed the door behind me.
Quietly.
"You're back," he rasped. "What's this-second round?"
I said nothing.
Just stared at him.
That made his grin twitch.
Then he laughed, a wet, ugly sound. "You know what I don't get?" he said. "You."
My jaw tightened.
"You're married," he went on, head tilting. "Big powerful guy. Got a wife. A whole life." His eyes slid over me, mocking. "So why the fuck do you care if I wanted a taste of her?"
Something cold moved through my chest.
"She's not yours," he added. "Not like that."
I took one step closer.
He noticed.
"You think I didn't see it?" he pushed, voice sharpening. "The way you look at her. Like you're already fucking her in your head." He laughed again. "Man, that's sick. You got a wife, and you're acting feral over your assistant."
That word hit wrong.
Assistant.
"She's m-" I started.
He cut me off.
"What, yours?" he sneered. "That what you're gonna say? Because last I checked, you're married. So what's Lola gonna think when she finds out you're losing your fucking mind over some girl who isn't even yours to claim?"
Something inside me snapped clean in half.
Mine.
The word burned.
"She is mine."
It came out low. Flat. Certain.
The room went still.
He blinked. Then barked out a laugh. "You hear yourself?" he spat. "That's fucking insane. You're married. You don't get to call her that."
David scoffed. "You're fucking sick, you know that?"
My eyes went flat.
"Says the man who touched what's mine."
Silence.
Then David snapped, defensive, venomous. "Mine? You're married, Dominic. You've got a fucking wife. You don't own her. You don't own anything outside your sick little control issues."
I smiled.
"You touched her," I said softly. "You don't get opinions anymore."
"You're deranged," David shot back. "Acting like some fucking savior when you're just another monster-"
I crossed the room in two strides.
I grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off the couch, slamming him into the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.
"She was never yours to look at," I said calmly. "Never yours to touch. Never yours to think about."
He choked, hands scrabbling uselessly at my wrist.
He shifted, wincing, trying to look relaxed through the pain. "Guess you really didn't like what I did, huh?"
His tongue flicked over his split lip. "You should thank me, honestly. Girl like that? Anyone would-"
My fist met his face and snapped his head sideways, bone crunching under my knuckles. He hit the floor hard, air tearing from his lungs in a wet choke.
I followed him down.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Each hit landed exactly where I wanted it to. Nose. Jaw. Cheekbone. I felt things give beneath my skin-cartilage collapsing, teeth breaking loose.
Blood sprayed warm against my hands.
He tried to crawl away.
Pathetic.
I caught him by the collar and dragged him back like dead weight, slamming his head into the floor until his arms stopped working right.
"You don't talk about her," I said calmly.
He coughed, red spilling from his mouth. Still smiling. Still stupid.
"She liked it," he slurred. "The way she shook? Fuck-"
That was the moment.
Not rage.
Not heat.
Something colder slid into place.
"She's got a body that makes a man forget consequences," he went on, voice dropping, eyes darkening. "Soft. Fucking perfect. I just wanted a taste. Just a little-"
I grabbed his throat and lifted him just enough for his feet to scrape uselessly against the floor.
"Say it again," I murmured, my voice low, lethal. "Say one more word about her."
Only a wet gurgle came out.
Pathetic.
"You don't get to imagine her," I said, tightening my grip. "You don't get to remember her. You don't even get to say her name."
His hands clawed weakly at my wrist.
I slammed him against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
The third time, something in his neck shifted wrong. I felt it. Heard it. Didn't stop.
I dragged him back down and drove my knee into his ribs until the sound changed-until it wasn't screaming anymore, just wet air and panic.
"You. Touch. What's mine," I said between blows. "Do you understand me, you worthless piece of shit?"
He tried to speak. He tried to argue.
I didn't let him.
I forced his eyes to meet mine. Dark. Merciless. Hungry. Feral.
"You almost raped her," I said quietly, my voice colder than ice, deadly calm. "And you thought you could get away with it. But she's mine. Raven... is mine."
His gasp choked in his throat. His eyes went wide.
"You thought you could take something that wasn't yours," I continued, voice steady. "That's where you fucked up."
I stood over him, breathing steady, looking down at the mess he'd become.
"I don't care what you think my life looks like," I continued. "And you don't get to speculate about what belongs to me."
He coughed, blood bubbling at his lips.
"She was never an option for you," I finished. "And now you're going to spend whatever time you have left remembering that."
I leaned in, close enough for him to hear every word.
"I should end you right here."
A sound in the hallway snapped my attention.
I released him.
He collapsed in a heap, coughing wetly, body twitching, barely holding onto consciousness. His face was unrecognizable now-blood pooling beneath him, breath coming in thin, broken pulls.
I stood slowly, flexing my hands, blood drying over my knuckles.
I could finish it.
I should.
But not here.
Not like this.
"This isn't over," I said quietly. "Not until you're nothing."
He groaned faintly, barely aware.
I looked down at him once more-really looked.
Broken. Helpless. Waiting.
The bastard was barely holding himself together, sprawled out on the grimy floor like the worthless piece of shit he was. His breath was shallow, his chest heaving, blood pooling beneath his broken face. I had every reason to end him, to put a fucking bullet in his skull and call it a night.
But I was going to spare him.
For now.
I turned to leave, flexing my fists, my knuckles coated in his blood. My body was still thrumming with adrenaline, my vision still edged with red, but I forced myself to walk away.
Then he fucking spoke.
His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but I heard every damn word.
"She's tight, isn't she?"
My body locked.
"Bet her pussy feels like heaven when you're balls deep inside her."
My mind shattered. The world went silent.
Nothing else existed.
Not the dim, flickering light above us. Not the sound of distant sirens outside. Not the fucking air in my lungs.
Just those words.
Rage-pure, unfiltered, deadly rage-coiled in my veins and detonated.
I didn't think.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't fucking breathe.
I moved, and the world blurred.
I wasn't Dominic anymore.
I was rage.
Pure, unfiltered rage.
My fist crashed into his face with a sickening crunch, bone splitting beneath my knuckles. His body flung back, skull slamming against the wall. But I didn't stop. I wouldn't stop.
Not when the sound of his voice was still echoing in my head.
Not when the image he painted clawed into my skull like a parasite, making me fucking sick.
Her.
Her sweet little face, twisted in pleasure, gasping for air, moaning-
Moaning someone else's name.
My vision went black.
I didn't register my fist driving into his ribs.
Didn't feel the sharp snap of bone beneath my knuckles.
Didn't fucking care.
Because in that moment, he wasn't just David.
He was every bastard that ever dared to look at her. Every man who ever thought they could touch what was mine.
MINE.
MINE.
A snarl tore from my throat as I grabbed him by the collar and slammed his head into the pavement. Blood splattered, hot and wet, speckling my shirt, my face, my hands. His body jerked like a fucking ragdoll, choking on the blood filling his lungs.
But I was deaf to it.
Her moans.
Her gasps.
Her body arching under another man.
No.
No.
I let out a guttural roar and drove my knee into his ribs so hard his body lifted off the ground. A strangled scream ripped from his throat, but I didn't stop to hear it. I was already swinging again.
Flesh met bone.
Bone broke.
Skin split.
Over. And over. And over.
I couldn't stop.
Wouldn't.
My knuckles were numb.
My vision tunneled.
Blood sprayed, coating my hands, dripping down my arms, staining the ground beneath us.
Her name on his tongue.
Her sounds filling his ears.
Her body-
Mine.
I slammed his face into the pavement. The crunch of breaking teeth sent a twisted satisfaction through me, but it wasn't enough.
Nothing would be fucking enough.
His lips trembled, that sick smirk long gone, his body twitching as he coughed up blood. His eyes-swollen, beaten, pleading-barely stayed open.
Pathetic.
I crouched low, grabbing his shattered jaw, forcing his gaze to meet mine.
"You think I won't fucking kill you?" My voice was guttural, raw, barely human.
He wheezed, struggling to breathe.
"I should," I muttered. "I fucking should."
I should've dragged this out.
Should've made him beg.
But I was too far gone.
Too deep into this rage, this obsession.
I grabbed his throat.
Squeezed.
Harder.
Harder.
His body thrashed, weak, pathetic, his hands clawing at my grip. His mouth opened in a silent scream, blood bubbling at his lips.
And then-
Snap.
The sound echoed through the room.
His body went limp.
His eyes-still open, still full of fear-stared at nothing.
Silence.
Stillness.
My grip remained locked around his throat, my breath a ragged snarl in the heavy air.
His movements slowed.
Hands slipping.
Chest stuttering.
The fight draining out of him in uneven spasms.
I didn't rush it.
Didn't look away.
The thought of another man making her moan-the thought of someone else being inside her, making her gasp and whimper-made me lose my fucking mind.
And now-
Now there was no going back.
I released him, his lifeless body hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Blood seeped into the cracks of the pavement.
I wiped a hand down my face, smearing his blood across my skin, feeling the raw sting in my knuckles.
The room was drenched in silence. The kind that came after violence. The kind that swallowed everything whole, thick with the stench of blood and death.
I stood in the center of it, my breathing harsh, my knuckles raw and dripping red. The weight of what I'd done should've settled by now. It should've hit me. But all I felt was the lingering rage still burning through my veins, still making my hands shake.
David lay at my feet, his body still, his face a pulpy, unrecognizable mess. He wasn't breathing. Not anymore. I'd made sure of that. The last crack of his skull against the concrete had been the final one. The one that ended it.
And yet, I still wasn't satisfied.
I should've felt something. Guilt. Regret. Anything.
But all I felt was the anger. The same fucking anger that had made me rip him apart with my bare hands.
I took a slow, shaky breath, but it didn't help. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms, but that didn't help either.
I let out a sharp breath, yanking my phone from my pocket. My fingers were slick, smearing red over the screen as I dialed.
The line rang twice before someone picked up.
"Boss?"
I exhaled through my nose, trying-and failing-to steady the fury still curling in my gut. "Get over here to clean this mess."
A pause. "Where?"
I didn't hesitate. I rattled off the address like it was carved into my skull.
"417 Kessler Row. Grayridge. Third floor."
Another hesitation. "What kind of mess?"
My grip on the phone tightened so hard I thought it might snap in half. "The kind that needs to fucking disappear," I said, voice low, dangerous.
Silence. Then-"Understood."
I hung up without another word.
I stared down at the body. It should've been enough. The fucker was dead. He'd never run his mouth again. Never speak her name again. Never fucking breathe again.
But the rage inside me still simmered.
I turned away from the body, pacing the length of the room, trying to shake off the fire still burning in my veins. My hands curled and uncurled, my jaw aching from how tight I was clenching it.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I didn't do this. I didn't lose control.
This wasn't business.
This wasn't power or territory or betrayal.
This was about her.
And that pissed me off even more.
I didn't even know her. Not really. It had been two days. Two fucking days, and yet, the second I heard him say her name, the second I heard the way he spoke about her-
I saw red.
And now he was dead, and I was still standing here, mad as fuck, trying to understand why I gave a shit.
The back door swung open. Footsteps echoed against the concrete as my men walked in. Four of them. Loyal. Experienced. Killers. They had seen a lot of shit working for me, but the second their eyes landed on the mess, their steps faltered.
Leo was the first to speak. His gaze flicked from the body to me, his brows pulling together in confusion. "Boss...?"
I didn't answer.
I could feel their eyes on me. Taking me in. Taking in the blood smeared across my hands, my arms, my fucking shirt. The way my chest was still rising and falling too fast, the way my fingers still twitched like they wanted to tear something else apart.
Nico let out a low whistle, nudging the body with his boot. "Damn." He glanced up at me, brow raised. "You went all out on this one."
My jaw ticked.
"Boss," Nash said carefully, voice tight, "you want us to clean this up, or-"
He hesitated.
Then finished it.
"-mind telling us why?"
The room changed.
Not loud. Not sudden.
Just... wrong.
I didn't answer.
Didn't blink.
Didn't raise my voice.
My hand slid behind my back.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I pulled the gun free from the waistband of my pants.
That's when they knew.
I lifted it-not toward him.
Toward myself.
And pressed the side of the barrel against my temple.
Tap.
I started pacing.
Slow steps. Predator steps. The kind that make your skin crawl because you don't know when the strike is coming.
Tap.
Metal kissed bone as I walked.
Tap.
My jaw clenched, teeth grinding as my eyes stayed on Nash.
Tap.
"You've worked for me how long?" I asked quietly.
Tap.
No answer.
He swallowed.
Tap.
"Long enough," I continued, "to know I don't answer questions."
Tap.
I stopped in front of him.
Close.
So close he could see the faint tremor in my jaw-not fear.
Restraint.
I leaned in slightly, gun still tapping against my head.
Tap.
"When I explain," I murmured, "it's because I want to."
Tap.
"When I don't-" my lips twitched, almost amused "-you shut the fuck up and do your job."
Tap.
His throat bobbed.
He opened his mouth.
That was the second mistake.
Bang.
The shot was brutal.
Point-blank.
The sound cracked through the room like thunder, deafening, final. Nash's head snapped back as blood and bone exploded against the wall behind him. His body jerked once-just once-before collapsing in a heap.
Dead before he hit the floor.
Silence swallowed the space.
Heavy. Wet. Breathing too loud.
I stood over him, gun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel.
Then I turned.
Slowly.
My gaze locked onto the others.
They didn't look away.
They were too afraid to.
I lifted the gun, spun it once in my palm, and slid it back behind my back. The movement was smooth. Casual.
My shoulders rolled as I straightened, muscles flexing beneath my blood-stained shirt.
I took one step toward them.
Then another.
"You see this?" I said calmly, gesturing with my chin toward the body. "This is what happens when someone forgets who the fuck they work for."
No one spoke.
Good.
"I don't hesitate," I continued. "I don't explain myself. And I sure as fuck don't care how long you've been loyal if you get stupid."
I stopped in front of Leo.
Close enough that he stiffened.
"If I can kill one of you," I said softly, "I can kill all of you."
I let that sit.
Let it sink.
Let it burn.
Then I stepped back, already done with them.
"Clean it," I ordered. "Both bodies."
My eyes hardened.
"And remember this lesson."
I turned and walked out, boots crunching through blood-
Still furious.
Still unhinged.
And nowhere near done.
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