Page 92 of Fractured Allegiance
Just that soft, steady glow like it never lied to me.
But it did.
Someone was in here. Watching. Not just Drazen. Not just Silas. Someone else.
Or maybe Silas is the someone else.
My hands curl into fists before I reach the console. I pull them back. Turn away. Don’t touch it. Not yet. I don’t want to give Drazen the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten inside my skin. Not while I still smell like the night before and still feel the pressure of Silas’s hand hovering too close to mine without ever closing that last inch.
He’s dangerous.
But I didn’t flinch.
And that says more about me than it should.
I go to the kitchen. Pour water into a glass and drink it too fast. It burns like it's trying to scrub something off the inside of my throat.
Then I sit.
Just sit.
Staring at the still loft around me. The things I pretend are mine. The clothes. The books. The paintings on the wall that I picked because they felt impersonal enough not to be questioned.
I stand up to go shower when a knock sounds on the door. Hurriedly, I grab the nearest shirt off the chair, tug it over my head, cross to the door. My muscles tense before I even check the peephole.
Of course it’s Dom.
Dressed in charcoal gray, eyes hidden behind sunglasses even though we’re indoors, indoors, and it’s bright.
I open the door halfway.
He doesn’t wait for me to speak.
“Drazen wants a favor, and since I’m passing by your place, I thought it’s better to just come instead.” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay. So, where is this favor happening?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’ll be with you shortly.” I say as I close the door to change my clothes.
I grab my keys and step out.
Because with Drazen, there’s no such thing as no.
Only not fast enough.
When I get to the car Dom is already there, behind the wheel, waiting.
He starts the car and moves without saying a word.
Dom drives like he’s got something to prove.
One hand draped over the wheel, the other playing with the controls like the car’s a toy he’s already decided will never be good enough. The windows are tinted dark, the inside smells like cedar and nicotine, and every street we turn down feels like a road I’m supposed to forget.
He doesn’t talk for the first few minutes.
Just taps the steering wheel to some rhythm in his head.
