Page 224 of Fractured Loyalties
Dom’s club.
I know what waits there. Not comfort. Not distraction. Leverage. Dom has the connections Vale’s men use when they want to vanish. Information flows through that place like blood through veins. And if Vale touched those channels, Dom will know.
The SUV eats distance fast, rain starting to pepper the windshield. I don’t turn the wipers on. The blur matches the fury in my chest.
By the time I reach the street, neon glows faint against the wet pavement. The same steel door. The same keypad. The same threshold I swore I was done crossing.
I press my hand against the scanner. The lock clicks open.
Inside, the bass trembles through stone walls, thick and alive. The attendants stand where they always do, sharp suits, sharp eyes. They know me. They don’t stop me.
Dom waits near the lounge, glass in hand, eyes already tracking me like he’s been expecting this storm.
“Twice in one week,” he says, voice smooth, almost amused. “Either you’re losing your touch, Elias…or she’s got you by the throat.”
I don’t rise to it. I step closer, rain still dripping from my coat onto the polished floor. “I need names. Now.”
His smile edges wider, predator to predator. “Then let’s find you a room.”
The hallway Dom leads me down is lit by sconces caged in black iron. No sound leaks from the doors we pass; the rooms are sealed, privacy absolute. My boots strike the floor in rhythm with his polished shoes until he stops at the far end.
The chamber he opens isn’t a playroom. It’s darker, stripped bare, a table in the center, leather chairs on either side. Business, not pleasure.
He gestures with his glass. “Sit.”
I don’t. I plant myself against the far wall, arms crossed, watching him. “Names.”
Dom exhales like I’m ruining his theater. He sets his drink down, leans back against the table. “Always straight to the blade with you. No foreplay.”
“Dom.”
His eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t fade. He studies me the way only he can, like peeling back skin to see what twitches underneath. “Vale’s people used my channels last week. Small transfers. Nothing flagged, nothing flashy. Enough to keep eyes in the city, keep a car circling the clinic without anyone asking questions.”
My pulse hammers once, hard, but I don’t move. “Who moved it?”
He slides a folded slip of paper across the table. No flourish, no explanation. Just a single name.
I step forward, take it, read it.
The air in my chest locks.
Kinley.
For a moment, the world stills. The faint bass trembling from the main floor above.
“Impossible,” I say, voice iron.
Dom arches a brow. “Impossible, or inconvenient?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Hedid,” Dom answers softly, like it’s already carved in stone. “The boy’s cracks were showing from the start. You knew it. Now Vale knows it too.”
The paper crumples in my hand. I want to deny it, crush it, throw it back at Dom’s face. But the trail from the Civic, the envelope of photos, the text message—every blade points in the same direction.
Kinley.
Dom watches me in silence, head tilted, like he’s savoring the moment. “You wanted names. Now you have one. The question is what you’ll do with it.”
