He moves like a storm.
When Tyler’s stupid grin disappears into the dark and the dock’s world goes quiet again, Dominic doesn’t hug me or murmur promises. He traps my hand in both of his and walks. Fast. Eyes hard. Breath loud. I can feel every town light reflected in the set of his jaw.
“You okay?” he asks, but it’s not a question. It’s an order.
“No,” I admit because the truth tastes like metal on my tongue. “He has pictures.”
He swears under his breath—low, something dangerous—and his thumb rubs circles on my knuckles the way someone steadies a compass. We make it to the car in a silence that’s close to a scream.
“Stay in the car,” he tells me when he kills the engine in the gravel. The words are clipped. Businesslike. Everything about him is a soldier right now. “No one leaves. If
