Page 129 of Dirty Hit
Dominic Volkov does not kneel—I do. That’s been the pattern: me on the floor and him above, his hand in my hair, his foot between my thighs. The whole stupid dynamic we’ve both tangled ourselves in. Seeing him lower himself in front of me short-circuits me on a cellular level.
He doesn’t just kneel, he goes further. He spreads his knees for balance, rests his hands on his thighs, then tips forward until his forehead touches the rug at my feet.
My heart slams against my ribs hard enough that I need to press a hand to my chest. “Dominic,” I breathe.
“Don’t say anything yet,” he mutters, voice muffled by the carpet. “I’m working up to it.”
I let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh that sounds borderline hysterical, even to me. “You’re… you’re on the floor.”
“No shit,” he says. “I figured if you were going to make me eat humble pie, I may as well do it properly.”
Despite the sarcasm, his shoulders are tense; there’s a tremor in his forearms where his hands have curled into fists on the rug. This costs him.A lot. That realization makes my throat burn, even as some wounded, vindicated part of me sits up a little straighter.
“I’m sorry for being a fucking coward,” he starts, voice still slightly muffled. “I’m sorry for deciding what you could handle. For cutting you out, instead of talking to you. For sitting there on that quad and letting you see me with someone I didn’t give a single fuck about, while you walked away with thatlookon your face.” His fingers flex against the rug again. “I’m sorry I hurt you on purpose. That’s the part that keeps replaying—I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway.”
My eyes burn, and I blink fast. “Dom…”
He lifts his head a little, just enough that I can see the side of his face, his cheek pressed to the rug, his eyes on my feet.
“I’m sorry I made you feel disposable,” he says quietly. “You never were. You’re the one thing that’s not. I told myself I was protecting you, and maybe some fucked up part of that’s true, but there was selfishness in it, too. It was easier to shove you away than admit I care so much it makes me stupid.”
Dominic sits back on his heels so he can look up at me properly. He’s still below me, still on his knees, but now I can see his face. There’s no shield. No golden boy charm. No monster mask. Just Dominic—raw and wrecked and trying.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, slower, like he wants to etch each word into the air between us. “For every text I didn’t answer. For every time I made you question if you imagined what we had. For making you feel like you were the only one who got attached, when I was the one lying in your apartment bleeding, instead of dragging myself to a hospital or a motel. For making you doubt your own worth because I decided to act like an empty-headed jock with a girl on his lap.”
A ragged breath punches out of me; I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear him spell it out. My chest unclenches, like a fist finally loosening its grip after weeks of hanging on for dear life.
He bows his head once more, not all the way down this time, just enough to punctuate. “I’m sorry I broke my promise,” he says softly. “I told you I had you, and then I fucking dropped you. That’s on me; no excuses. No‘but my mom’or‘but my past.’I chose it. And I regret it.”
I sit there staring at him, throat tight, fingers curled into the couch cushion. The sight of him on his knees like this messes with my head in ways I’m not ready to unpack. It feels wrong and right at the same time.
Wrong—because he’s Dominic Volkov, and seeing someone so big brought low makes my stomach twist. Right—because the part of me that’s been bleeding quietly in the dark wanted this acknowledgment more than I wanted another kiss, or another scene.
“I’m sorry I let you kneel on my floor, wondering if you mattered,” he says. “You didn’t deserve that. You deserve better than a guy who only knows how to fix things with his cock and his fists. You deserve someone who can just fucking say he’s wrong, without making a performance out of it.”
“This is a performance,” I manage, voice breaking, even as my chest aches.
He huffs a broken laugh that sounds a lot like a sob. “Yeah,” he admits. “But it’s the only language I know: violence and kneeling. You pick which side you want. I’m better at this one than at using my words.”
He shifts, and I feel his lips lightly brush against the denim over my knee. It’s not sexual; not really. It feels more like some twisted knight’s oath, from a childhood where fairy tales were replaced with crime reports.
“I am so fucking sorry, Brendon,” he says again, and the fact that he’s saying my name hits harder than his pet names ever could. “I will still make mistakes. I will still fuck things up, because my first instinct when I’m scared is to destroy whatever’s in front of me. But I swear to you, I will not pull that same shit again. If I need you to be away from me because of her, I will tell you. I will not blindside you like that again. You have my word.”
My throat is so tight it hurts to swallow. My hand comes up of its own accord, fingers trembling, and I cup his cheek. Stubble scratches my palm and he leans into my touch once more.
“Dom,” I whisper. “Dominic, get up.”
He shakes his head slightly. “Not until you say you heard me,” he says. “Not until you know I’m not fucking around. Not until you believe that hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted to do, even when my actions screamed the opposite.”
“I heard you,” I say quickly, heart pounding. “I heard you. I believe you. I’m still… hurt, and pissed, and scared—but I believe you.”
He holds my gaze, searching for any lie. Whatever he sees makes his shoulders loosen a fraction. He nods once, then slowly straightens, staying on his knees but lifting his torso, so he’s closer to my eye level again.
“This,” he says quietly, gesturing vaguely to his posture. “This is not where I want you. I want you below me when you choose to be, not because I shoved you there. You asked for an apology, and this is the only way I know to show you I understand what I did.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes,” he cuts in gently. “I did. For me, as much as for you. I need to know there’s at least one person in my life I can bow to without it being used against me.”
