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“Another rental not far from here.”
I’m curious about why he couldn’t just stay here. There’s got to be more than enough rooms, but Dom’s already striding toward the front door.
I hurry after him, hugging my jacket for warmth.
He gets to the door a step ahead of me, and I try to move around him so I can knock, but he sets the bags down at his sides and knocks himself, not letting me past.
“Dom, what are you—” My question is cut off by the door opening.
Dominic is blocking my view, but over Dom’s shoulder, I can see the man’s hair color that matches my own.
King opens the door wide, stepping back to let us in. “Come in.”
Dom steps forward, not grabbing the bags. “Fuck you.”
And then Dominic Gonzalez punches King Vass in the face.
CHAPTER70
Dom
The feelof my bare knuckles hitting King’s cheek is so fucking satisfying I don’t even care that it hurts my already bruised hand.
I think Val shouts my name, but I’m too preoccupied with channeling my fury at her brother.
King swings for my head, and I deflect it so it only grazes off my ear, but I miss the punch aimed at my ribcage.
It connects, but I turn with the hit, and I use my shoulder to ram into King’s chest.
We go down, flipping an armchair in the process, but King manages to twist so we land on our sides rather than landing with me on top of him.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps as he catches my chin with his elbow just as I land a jab in his side.
He rolls away, and I get to my feet at the same time.
“You’re my problem,” I growl. “You call yourself a fucking brother?”
“Dominic!” Valentine tries to come between me and King, but I catch her around the waist and push her back behind me.
King lowers his brows as he tries to see Val behind me.
I use my free hand to point at him, and he slaps it away, stepping up into my face.
“Ask me where Valentine was when her mom died,” I grit out.
My words stop King in his tracks.
“Dom,” Val says quietly, and I feel her lean her forehead against the center of my back.
“He deserves to know,” I tell her with my eyes still on King. “Now fucking ask me.”
As we face off, I start to register the other people in the room. The woman near King’s side. Another woman, across the room. And a couple off to my right.
But I don’t care about them. Not yet.
“Where was Val when her mom died?” the woman, Savannah, asks from King’s side.
I turn my gaze to King’s wife and tell her, “Val was at her apartment in Florida.”
