Page 17

Dominion Hall was silent, the kind of quiet that felt like a held breath. My brothers were probably still asleep, tangled in their beds with their women, their lives neatly slotted into place. I envied them, hated them, for it. They’d found their anchors, their reasons to soften the edges of the darkness we’d all carried since our black-ops days.
Me? I was still the oak, the one who didn’t bend, didn’t break. Until Vivi. She was breaking me, and I was letting her, chasing the fall like a junkie chasing a hit.
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and stared at the screens. The ballet company’s network was locked down, my temporary firewall holding like a fortress. I’d checked it twice already, paranoia gnawing at me. What if I’d missed something? What if another copy of her data—her address, her phone number, her life—was still out there, floating in some dark corner of the web? My spiders were still crawling, sniffing for traces of the hackers’ network, but they’d come up empty. The job was done. Clean. Except for the bodies. Except for the line I’d crossed.
My burner phone was gone, the SIM card crushed and the device ditched in a storm drain on my way back. My contact had handled the cleanup—bodies vanished, apartment scrubbed, no trace leading back to me or Dominion Hall.
I was untouchable, as always.
But I didn’t feel it. I felt exposed, raw, like Vivi had peeled back my skin and left me bleeding. Her grin from the harbor last night—wicked, untamed, daring me to chase her—played on a loop in my head. She’d paddled into shark-infested waters, laughing like the danger was a game, and I’d wanted to drag her out of that kayak.
I stood, pacing the room. The ache in my chest was a living thing, clawing at me. I’d killed for her, but it wasn’t enough. She was out there right now, probably already planning her next reckless stunt, her next leap into the void.
I believed in code, in systems, in puzzles that fit together with perfect precision. Risk was fine—calculated, measured, controlled. But Vivi? She was chaos, a storm that didn’t give a damn about my rules. And fuck, I wanted to tame her, to claim her, to make her mine in a way that left no room for her to run. My cock shuddered at the thought.
My personal phone buzzed on the desk, snapping me out of the spiral.
A text from Teresa.
Network’s holding. You coming by today?
I stared at it, my thumb hovering over the screen. The ballet company. Vivi. I could say no, finish the upgrades remotely, cut her out of my life before she ruined me. But the demon laughed, low and mocking, and I knew I wouldn’t.
I typed back.
Yeah. I’ll be there.
Sent it before I could think twice.
The door to my suite creaked open, and Marcus’s voice cut through the silence, lazy but sharp. “You look like shit, brother. Rough night?”
I didn’t turn, my jaw tightening as I kept my eyes on the screens. “What do you want?”
He stepped inside, uninvited. I could feel his gaze, sizing me up, smelling the blood I’d washed away. “You took off like a bat out of hell last night. Thought I’d check if you were still breathing or if that mermaid drowned you.”
“Fuck off,” I said, but there was no heat in it. Marcus was a pain in the ass, but he was my brother, and he knew me too well. Too fucking well.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “She’s got you twisted, doesn’t she? Lady in Red.”
I didn’t answer, my hands curling into fists. He didn’t need to know how deep she’d cut, how her face alone was enough to make my control fray.
“Careful, Elias,” he said, his tone softening, almost serious. “Women like that? They don’t just break your heart. They take your whole damn world.”
I met his gaze, my voice low. “I don’t have a heart to break.”
He snorted, pushing off the wall. “Keep telling yourself that. Don’t do anything stupid.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him, and I was alone again with the hum of my computers and the weight of his words.
Vivi was breaking me, and I was letting her.
Worse, I was craving it, wanting the chaos she brought. I sank back into my chair, pulling up the ballet’s network again, telling myself I was checking for vulnerabilities. But it was a lie. I was looking for her—her profile, her schedule, anything that would tell me where she’d be next.
The company had a performance this weekend, a private matinee at the Dock Street Theatre. She’d be there, dancing, her body carving music into motion, her fire on display for a room full of rich assholes who didn’t deserve her.
The thought made my skin crawl, the demon snarling at the idea of other eyes on her. I could go, watch her, make sure she was safe. The justification was thin, but I clung to it.
I pulled up the theatre’s security system, slipping into their cameras with a script that took seconds to run. The feeds weregrainy, but I mapped the layout—exits, blind spots, the stage where she’d spin and leap, untouchable but exposed. I’d be there, in the shadows, where she wouldn’t see me. Where I could keep her safe without her knowing.