DOM: Chapter 62

I rise, scooping Valentine into my arms, then I sit on the bench where she just was.

“You should’ve told me,” I say with my lips against her soft hat. “We didn’t need to come here. You should’ve told me.”

“I want to like Christmas.” Her words are so quiet they make me hold her tighter.

My wife… The shit she’s been through. All by herself.

“You’ll never be alone, Angel. Not on holidays. Not ever,” I swear to her.

“I’m okay,” she says with her head against my chest.

“We’ll get the bowl fixed,” I promise.

“It’s okay.”

I pull a pair of dirty white mittens out of my pocket and hand them to her. “And we’ll get these cleaned.”

She lifts her hands to take them, and I’m not sure if she even realized she dropped them.

When I found her mittens on the gravel, my first instinct was to burn the whole market to the ground. But then I spotted her, the white of her hat calling to me.

It’s my fault.

This is all my fault.

I didn’t realize I’d kept her phone until it was too late.

I didn’t put together the dates of her story on my own. I should have. Her nineteenth birthday. Waiting to visit until classes were done. I should’ve figured it out. And I should’ve known her bitch of a mother would choose fucking Christmas Day.

I should have done better.

I owe Valentine better.

Val tries to sit up, but I keep her secured to me.

“I really am okay.” She gently puts her mitten-covered hand against my chest. “It was just a stupid panic attack.”

“There’s nothing stupid about it.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll do better.”

“No, Dom, this isn’t something you did.”

“I’ll do better,” I tell her again. “And we’ll make our own traditions.”

I feel her exhale. “Okay.”

“Uh, Boss.” A male voice cuts into our space.

I lift my head to find Ben standing a few feet away from us. “What?”

His eyes don’t drop below mine, making sure he doesn’t look at my wife. Good man. “We have a location.”

I sit up straighter. “Local?”

He nods. “Rob is getting the cars ready. Told me to come get you.”

Val presses against my chest to sit up, and I finally let her.

“I’ll be right there,” I tell Ben, dismissing him.

Her eyes are full of worry as she blinks up at me. “The bad guys?”

Jesus, this woman.

The edge of my mouth quirks. “Yeah, Shorty. I gotta go get the bad guys.” She said it as though I’m not also a bad guy. But I’m not an idiot, so I’m not going to remind her that I’m one, too. “I’ll have a group of my men bring you home. Same rules as always.” I know she doesn’t need the reminder, but I want to say it anyway.

“Okay,” Val agrees, and when I loosen my arms, she climbs off my lap.

I carefully take her hand in mine, and we walk around the edge of the market toward my row of waiting vehicles.

Guiding her to the middle of three SUVs, I turn her to face me. “An older man and his wife will be waiting in the hallway outside the apartment for you. He’s my doctor, and he’s going to look at your hands and your knee and whatever other part of you is hurt.” She opens her mouth, but I shake my head. “This is happening. And I trust him, but his wife will be in the room with you, too. Don’t ever be alone with any man that isn’t me.” I gently grip her face in my hands. “They won’t survive my jealousy.”

“I won’t.” She glances past my shoulder to the dozens of men gathering around us. “You’ll come home?”

Home.

“Yeah, Angel, I’ll come home.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Now, be my good wife and get in the vehicle.”

She surprises me by gripping the lapels of my jacket and pulling me to her as she lifts onto her toes, pressing her lips to mine.

I let my eyes close for one second as I soak in her essence before I pull back. “Good wife, indeed.”

Valentine bites down on her lip, then climbs into the back seat.

I wait until she’s buckled herself in, then I close the door.

The driver starts to walk past me, but I grab him by the collar, pulling him so we’re face-to-face. “If there is so much as a scratch on her, you’ll pay with your life.”

He nods. “Yes, Boss.”

I let him go. “When she’s secure, double the usual security team. We haven’t had a lead on these guys in weeks. If this is a setup, I want you ready.”

He nods again, then circles around to the driver’s door and climbs in.

The house is in a shitty part of a shitty suburb and looks just like the flophouse it is.

Neighbors in a place like this mind their own fucking business. Which is perfect, because we’re about to do some business.

No cars are in the driveway, but one of my men checked the detached garage, and the vehicle inside matches the one we’re looking for.

The yards are all surrounded by tall but rickety fencing, so it doesn’t take much for my guys to silently remove a few boards, letting us walk into the target backyard.

I left my jacket in the car—for dexterity—but there wasn’t time to change into tactical gear. So I’m walking through knee-high dead grass in my fucking suit.

But we don’t need tactical because there are twenty of us and only two of them.

Twenty is overkill, but half of them will stay outside as backup and cover. And the ten of us entering will break off, half through the front door and half through the back door.

Our second-best lockpick goes around to the front, and I step up to the back.

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to use this particular skill, but no one does it better. And in a matter of seconds, I have the deadbolt sliding free.

Staying radio silent, the men surrounding the house signal to each other when both doors are unlocked.

And we enter as one.

Adrenaline and anger flare through my system. And I inhale it, filling my lungs with the power I feel as the first man through the door.

Our guns are drawn, silencers on—our goal is to keep this quiet.

The back door opens into the kitchen. It’s small. The lights are off, but a glow comes from the living room off to my right, and it’s enough to show me there’s no place for a man to hide in here.

The TV is on, playing a football game, and the noise is enough to cover the small sounds our shoes make on the linoleum floor. But the front door leads directly into the living room, so my five turn the other way, down the short hall, letting the front crew take care of the man in the living room.

Half a shout reaches us, but it’s muffled before it finishes. And with the game on, it just sounds like someone yelling at the TV, not someone getting grabbed by five men dressed in black.

There are two open doors—dark bedrooms beyond—and one closed door with light and steam coming through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the cheap door.

My mouth pulls into a grin.

He’s in the shower.

I move my gun into my left hand and slip my right hand into my pocket.

Threading my fingers through the perfectly sized holes, I slide my brass knuckles into place.

It’s been too long.

Careful not to click the metal against the door handle, I turn the knob slowly and push the door open even slower, eliciting no sound.

Two of my men break off to check the bedrooms, and another stays in the hallway, but Rob follows me into the tiny bathroom.

The shower is small. A corner stall with a wavy yellow-tinged fake glass door.

Perfect.

My fist flexes, my grip tightening around the thick black metal.

And then I move.

In two strides, I’m at the shower. The man behind the cloudy door turns, putting his back to the spray, and he sees me, sees the movement.

But it’s too late.

Using my momentum, I throw my fist forward through the thin door, sending shards of plastic in every direction.

My punch carries on, my body turning with it, until my reinforced knuckles meet with the man’s chest.

My forward motion was slowed by the door, so I don’t hit him with my full force, but it’s enough to stun him, to take him out of the fight before it even starts.

Rob reaches past me into the shower and yanks the target forward by the arm, causing the naked man to stumble through the broken doorframe.

Shower guy is still trying to catch his breath from the hit to his solar plexus, so he’s not screaming, but he does try to take a swing at Rob.

Except I’m behind him now. And with an open hand, I shove his head to the side. Hard. Into the mirrored medicine cabinet.

The whole thing caves in, shattered glass cutting into the flesh of his face.

He does scream now. But it’s too late. No one is coming to save him.