Page 21 of Domino
“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. My fault,” I mumble.
“It was your fault. But that’s all right. If somebody’s going to run into me, I’d rather it be somebody who looks like you than like me.”
He breaks into a wide smile that’s boyish and somehow makes his gruff and rugged features look ten years younger. His hair is darker than a raven’s wing and trimmed short. The distinctive white spots in his beard I saw the other day also stand out to me, and like his hair, is also cut short and neat.
He’s wearing dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and the leather vest, on which I notice the patches for the first time. There’s one bearing the name, “Dark Pharaohs,” which is what Missy had said their gang was called, along with one below it that says, “NorCal Original.” The patch on the opposite breast is one that says, “Domino”, and below that is a diamond-shaped patch inscribed with the number “20,” and I have no idea what that means. The number of people he’s killed, maybe?
I’m sure that’s all gang lingo, and I have no desire to mix myself up in anything like that. But I swear, he’s so well put together. If you took him out of all that denim and leather and put him in a three-piece suit, he could well look like a banker or a businessman. Everything in me is telling me to walk away and put him in the rearview mirror, but he’s got green eyes that sparkle like polished emeralds, and they seem to have nailed me right to my spot.
“What was the smile on your face about?” he asks.
“Sorry?” I reply lamely, still trying to unstick my feet from the pavement.
“When you came around the corner—you know, right before you slammed into me like a runaway train, nearly killing me in the process—you had this little smile on your lips. What was that about?”
I laugh despite my unease at being so close to this man, and my frustration with myself for not being able to make my legs work. I look up at him and give him a look of faux indignation.
“I’m hardly a runaway train. Unless you’re making a comment about my weight, and if you are, let me just say you better choose your next words very carefully,” I reply.
He laughs, and it’s a deep rumble that seems to reverberate through my very bones as it sends warm tingles along my skin in the most delicious way possible. It’s a thought that makes my blush deepen, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying or doing something stupid. Well, more stupid than saying something that sounded vaguely flirtatious. That is most definitely not the signal I want to be sending out to him.
“No, no. I’m not commenting on anything. Besides, you’re a bitty little thing anyway. Maybe I should have just said runaway caboose,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “That’s not much better.”
He screws up his face, and then laughs again. “Yeah, I suppose it’s not.”
A moment of awkward silence passes between us, and I slowly start to feel like I’m coming back to myself and feel confident I’ll be able to actually control my own body again. A clumsy smile crosses my face.
“Excuse me,” I murmur.
I start to move around him, but the man steps into my path, a cocksure expression plastered to his face. A flash of annoyance shoots through me, and I grit my teeth as I plant my hands on my hips, which infuriatingly, seems to amuse him.
“I’m Domino,” he says, like it should matter to me.
“Aren’t you a little old for dumb teenage nicknames?”
That seems to stop him in his tracks, and I use the moment to slip past him. But as I head for my car, I hear him right behind me, making me quiver with fear. Quickly manipulating my keyring so the keys are between my fingers in my fist, I spin around and throw a punch as hard as I can. Domino catches my wrist mid-swing, the amused expression on his face never faltering.
“That could’ve hurt,” he says.
I follow it up by driving my knee straight up, attempting to connect with his groin. But for being so large, he’s incredibly quick, and he blocks my knee, turning it aside harmlessly, all while still hanging onto my wrist. If anything, he looks more amused than ever, and it’s really pissing me off. He lets go of my wrist and takes a step back, still smirking at me.
“It was a good combination. But you telegraphed it. I knew what was coming, that’s how I knew how to block it,” he announces.
“What are you, a self-defense instructor?”
He shrugs. “Nah. The Corps prepares you for stuff like that. Teaches you how to defend yourself if need be.”
I nod and let myself relax just a bit. He seems a bit pompous, but I don’t see him as threatening. I hate to admit it, but he’s got a kind of boyish charm about him. As far as I can tell, it’s not an affectation either. It just seems to be who he is, which strikes me as odd given that he’s a gruff, biker type.
“Served in the Marines, huh?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I raise an eyebrow again. “Then came home and joined a gang?”
He scoffs. “Hardly a gang. We’re a club. A brotherhood.”
