Page 16 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

VIVIENNE

S unlight slanted across the black sheets, golden and warm, pooling in the hollow between Elias’s ribs. I watched it spread over his chest like a blessing he didn’t know how to accept, his breath deep and even beneath my cheek.

We hadn’t spoken much after the phones started dinging.

We hadn’t needed to.

I’d seen the look in his eyes. Whatever those alerts had said, they weren’t good. But I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t looked. Not yet.

Maybe that made me a coward. Or maybe it made me sane. Because for once, I wanted to keep the chaos outside the door. Let the danger knock without letting it in.

So I’d buried my phone in a drawer, climbed back into bed, and wrapped my limbs around the most dangerous man I’d ever known like he was a comfort blanket. A broken, battle-scarred comfort blanket with a cock that ruined me.

Now, with morning spilling through the curtains and the scent of sex still clinging to my skin, I shifted carefully, not ready to break the spell.

My body ached, delicious and sore, marked in places only I knew to look.

My throat was raw from moaning, my thighs trembled from overuse, and my heart …

well, that traitorous bitch had started whispering things I wasn’t ready to hear.

Elias stirred beneath me, his arm tightening around my waist, eyes still closed.

“You’re awake,” I murmured.

“Been,” he rasped, voice wrecked from sleep and everything we’d done before it.

I traced a line across his chest, slow and lazy. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want to break it.”

I looked up. “Break what?”

“This.” His fingers brushed my hip. “Whatever this was.”

My throat tightened. I wasn’t ready to define it either. Not when it still felt so fragile and fucked up and new. So instead, I kissed the underside of his jaw, right where his pulse thudded. “Then don’t.”

He didn’t answer. Just held me a little tighter, a little longer.

But eventually, reality came knocking. As it always did.

He shifted, lifting onto one elbow. “Vivi …”

“No.” I sat up, hair tumbling down my back. “Let me guess. The sky is falling. The feds are on their way. The ballet’s canceled. There’s a vengeful hacker in the pantry.”

He didn’t smile. Not even a twitch.

So I did it for him—rolled my eyes, grabbed the sheets, and leaned back on my elbows. “Fine. Say it.”

He watched me carefully, like he was trying to assess how much I could take before cracking. “You’ve been suspended from the Charleston Crescent Ballet.”

I nodded once. “Figured.”

“They’re claiming it’s for ‘behavior unbecoming of a principal dancer.’” His voice was calm, measured. “It’s the bridge stunt. The media got hold of it. You’re everywhere.”

I stared at the ceiling, the fan spinning slow above me like it had all the time in the world. “So, I’m officially a liability now.”

“You’re a headline,” he said. “Which is worse.”

The bed was quiet for a long beat. The kind of silence that demanded truth.

“I knew it was coming,” I said softly. “You don’t climb suspension bridges and expect the board of directors to send you flowers.”

Elias sat up beside me, elbows on his knees. “You did it for me.”

“No.” I turned to him. “I did it for me. For that part of me that’s always been waiting to fall. You just happened to be there to catch me.”

His jaw ticked. “They’ll come after your reputation. Twist it. Make you look unstable.”

“They won’t have to twist much,” I said, a laugh catching in my throat. “I’ve always been one pirouette away from a breakdown.”

Elias looked at me then—really looked at me. And what I saw in his eyes wasn’t pity. It was fury. Protectiveness. Something that felt dangerously close to love.

“I can fix it,” he said. “I have leverage. We can bury the media threads. We can spin it. Say you were filming something. Doing performance art.”

I reached out, touched his jaw. “You can do a lot of things, Cipher. But you can’t unmake me.”

His brow furrowed.

“I’m not meant for polite society. Never have been. I’ve always danced on the edge. The ballet gave me structure, sure. A role. But it was never going to be enough.”

He was quiet, but I could feel the war in him—one part wanting to scorch the earth for me, the other knowing I was made of wildfire and wouldn’t be saved that way.

“I’m not asking you to fix it,” I whispered. “What if I’m asking you to stand beside me while it burns?”

Elias cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek like I might vanish if he blinked. “Then we’ll watch it burn together.”

I had him. And he had me. And that? That was dangerous in the best fucking way.

He leaned in, kissed me once—slow and deliberate, like sealing a pact—and then flopped back onto the pillows with a groan. “So what now? You’re officially off-duty. Should we throw a retirement party?”

I snorted. “Technically, my whereabouts are supposed to be reported to the authorities.”

He stretched, utterly unbothered. “Yeah, well. I won’t be doing that. I’ll have our guy on the force take care of it.”

“You’re obstructing justice.”

“I’m protecting it,” he said, eyes closing. “Big difference.”

I stretched beside him, catlike and smug. “A retirement party sounds tempting. But I don’t think Dominion Hall stocks enough alcohol.”

He smirked, eyes tracking the lazy arc of my arm as I reached overhead. “Seriously. What do you want to do today?”

I gave it a beat. Let the question hang in the air like something sacred.

Because with Elias? The possibilities were endless.

We could hop on a plane and be in Paris by dinnertime—white tablecloths, caviar, and a view of the Seine like something out of a dream.

Or we could rent out an entire theater downtown just to watch Black Swan on a loop while we heckled it from the balcony.

Hell, he probably had the resources to shut down a theme park for the day and let me pirouette down Main Street in stilettos and lingerie if I asked nicely.

With that kind of money, the world bent a little differently—rules became suggestions, time became elastic, and impulse was just another form of currency.

Still, I stayed where I was.

“I don’t have to be anywhere,” I said finally, rolling onto my side. “For once in my life, there’s no barre, no rehearsals, no endless emails about costumes and fundraising galas. Just … me. And this absurdly comfortable bed.”

“And the venomous snake,” Elias added dryly, glancing toward the far corner where Obsidian had curled into a tight black coil on the rug like she owned the place.

Right. Her.

“We should probably put her back,” I murmured, propping my chin on his chest. “Before she gets bored and slithers her way into someone’s closet.”

Elias made a noise that was half-laugh, half-grimace. “Pretty sure if she ends up in the wrong suite, there’s going to be a murder. Or at least a lawsuit.”

“Please. I’ll bet half the women here wear shoes more dangerous than Obsidian. Besides,” I grinned, “maybe it’s a loyalty test.”

“A snake test?”

“Exactly. If they can’t handle a little serpentine chaos, they don’t belong in this house.”

He arched a brow. “You’re terrifying.”

“And you like it.”

He sighed, tossing an arm over his face. “Fine. We’ll wrangle her in a bit. But I guarantee someone’s already noticed she’s missing.”

“They’re probably organizing a search party as we speak,” I said, grinning. “Flashlights. Team t-shirts. Maybe a reward poster.”

Elias gave me a sidelong look. “Think anyone would suspect she was last seen wrapped around your naked body?”

I bit my lip, eyes sparkling. “Only if they really know me.”

We both laughed, the sound easy, unexpected. It felt strange and beautiful—this thing between us that hadn’t existed forty-eight hours ago, now solidifying like wet cement setting fast.

He reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “We’ll deal with the ballet fallout. The snake. Whatever else.”

I nodded, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. Then I sighed, rolled over, and reached for the drawer.

The phone was still where I’d buried it last night, its black screen deceptively calm. I tapped the button, expecting the worst.

It didn’t disappoint.

Missed call: Jessa Lane

Text (6): Jessa Lane

1:07 AM – Vivi, please call me. I’m freaking out.

1:10 AM – That stunt on the bridge? What were you thinking?

1:15 AM – Are you okay? Are you high? I’m serious.

1:22 AM – I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave you, but you wouldn’t listen.

7:04 AM – We need to talk. Tonight. After work.

7:06 AM – Please. I’m not asking.

I stared at the messages, that last one pulsing louder than the rest.

Not asking.

Jessa never pushed like that. She was the more reasonable one. The calm after my storm. But this? This was something else.

Elias must’ve noticed the shift in my energy because he sat up slowly, his voice low and gruff. “Everything okay?”

I didn’t answer right away. Just stared at Jessa’s name like it might rearrange itself into something softer.

“She called,” I said finally. “Jessa. My friend from the harbor … and the bridge. She texted a bunch, too.”

He waited.

“She wants to talk. Tonight. Says it’s important.”

His jaw worked, like he was chewing on the words. “You gonna call her back?”

I nodded, swiping to dial before I could second-guess myself.

Jessa answered on the first ring. “Vivi.”

Her voice was tight. Too tight.

“Hey,” I said, leaning back against the headboard. “Sorry I didn’t answer last night. I?—”

“I don’t care,” she cut in. “I just needed to know you’re alive.”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Thriving, even. Got suspended. Had incredible sex. Played with a venomous snake. All in all, ten out of ten.”

“Vivi,” she said sharply, the edge in her voice slicing through my sarcasm like a scalpel. “That bridge stunt could’ve gotten us both killed.”

I swallowed. “I had it under control.”

“You didn’t even tell me what we were doing until we were halfway up.”

“Would you have come if I had?”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. Then quieter, almost pleading, “You scared me, Vivi. Not just for you—for me, too. And that’s not normal.”

A beat of silence stretched between us.

“I’m not exactly normal.”

“No,” she said, and something about her voice changed—got softer, sadder. “You’re not. Which is why we need to talk. Face to face. Tonight.”

I hesitated. “I don’t have work anymore, so … whenever.”

“After my shift. I’ll text you the place.”

“You’re being weird,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “I just want to talk. Please?”

That word again.

I rubbed my temple. “Fine. Text me.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Vivi?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

My chest pinched. “I know.”

We hung up, and I stared at the phone for a long moment before setting it face-down on the nightstand.

Elias watched me, unreadable. “She knows something.”

“She thinks she knows something,” I muttered. “I’ll go. See what it is.”

He nodded once. “You want backup?”

A smile tugged at my lips. “You volunteering to sit there while my friend freaks out on me?”

“Depends,” he said. “Will there be a snake test?”

That got a laugh out of me—short, sharp, necessary. “God, I hope not.”

He reached over, brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You ever tell her the truth?”

“About what?”

“About why you’re always chasing cliffs?”

I rolled onto my back, stared up at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles above us. “She knows I’m wired different. She is, too. But she still thinks everything broken can be fixed with a therapist and a chamomile tea.”

“She wrong?”

“No.” I turned my head, met his gaze. “She’s just not right either.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Where do you live when you’re not doing laps around my waist?” he asked, voice casual but curious.

“Over a bar,” I said, stretching out beside him. “Liquid Courage. On East Bay.”

His brow lifted. “You live over Liquid Courage?”

Something about the way he said it made me pause. Not just curious—knowing. Like maybe he’d already figured that out. Like maybe he’d already seen it.

“Third-floor walk-up, crooked windows, and a stairwell that smells like spilled tequila and bad decisions. It’s perfect,” I explained.

He grinned. “Fitting.”

“Everyone downstairs thinks I’m just the cranky ballerina who stomps around and throws out half-finished choreography at midnight.”

“Are they wrong?”

“Only about the choreography. I don’t choreograph—I unravel.”

Elias propped himself on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over me like a slow touch. “You’ve got the body for it,” he said, voice low. “Strong. Controlled. Every line deliberate—until it’s not.”

My breath hitched at the way he said it, like he’d studied me more thoroughly than anyone ever had. Like he saw not just the shape, but the discipline, the damage, the danger underneath.

I tucked the sheet higher, suddenly exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin. His fingers trailed lightly along my arm.

“You have siblings?”

I snorted. “Unfortunately.”

He arched a brow.

“One older sister. Emmaline. Lives in Dallas. Married a preacher who sells protein powder on TikTok. They named their baby Chasten.”

He blinked. “That sounds illegal.”

“She once sent me a ‘modest is hottest’ sweatshirt for Christmas. I sent it back with a dildo tucked inside.”

Elias laughed, low and warm. “I’d pay money to see that reunion.”

“There won’t be one.” I shrugged. “She hated me before I ever gave her a reason to.”

He was quiet a moment, then asked gently, “What about your parents?”

I stilled.

He must’ve felt it—how everything in me snapped tight like a pulled muscle.

“No dad,” I said after a pause. “Not ever. Not even a whisper.”

“Your mom?”

I didn’t answer right away. Just stared out the window where the light had turned sharper, slicing across the floor like judgment.

“She’s still in New Orleans,” I said finally. “Hasn’t left the city in a decade. Paints pictures of women with no mouths. Says they’re saints.”

“Jesus.”

He didn’t push. Just let the silence settle between us like something sacred.

After a while, I spoke again, softer. “She used to sing to me, you know? Real soft. Almost like she didn’t want the world to hear. But it always felt like goodbye.”

Elias’s hand found mine again, his grip firm.

“You’re not her,” he said.

I nodded. “No. I’m worse.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t try to fix it. He just stayed.

And that? That mattered more than anything else.

The silence wrapped around us again.

Elias kissed the back of my hand, then sat up, rubbing a hand down his face like he was shaking something off. “I’ve got a few things to check on,” he said. “Nothing I can’t push if you’ve got ideas.”

I stretched out on my stomach, folding my arms under my chin. “No ideas. Just stolen time until I have to meet Jessa.”

His gaze lingered on me like he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded. “We’ll make the most of it.”