Sin dipped in honey

CHAPTER 4

Lyra's POV

The stranger smiled, and Jesus, it wrecked me. That hard face, so sharp and ruthless, went soft around the edges. Like sin dipped in honey.

“Does it really matter?” he asked slowly, his voice smooth as bourbon. “Tonight, we are just two broken souls hiding in plain sight.”

Fair.

“Then here’s to strangers,” I replied, raising my glass with a shaky hand.

“To strangers,” he echoed, clinking his glass against mine.

Our eyes locked in that moment, lingering for a second too long, and the air between us suddenly became… heavy.

All of a sudden, everything felt like it was tilting.

“Whoa, careful,” he whispered, reaching out as my elbow almost slipped.

“I am fine,” I lied, even though the room was spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl on acid.

His grip was strong. Rough fingers wrapped around my arm, steadying me. “When the last time you had something to eat?”

I blinked, too tried to think.

“Uhmm… I should… I should go,” I suddenly mumbled, sliding off the barstool.

But that was a big mistake because the moment my boots hit the floor, the ground swayed like it hated me. Heat rushed to my throat, and my stomach twisted in knots.

No, no, no. Not here. Not now.

I bent forward just in time and emptied everything I had all over his boots.

“Oh God.” My voice broke. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry…”

I was ready for him to curse me out, push me away, or laugh like Killian would have. But to my surprise, he calmly moved beside me and held my hair back. He then started rubbing my back in slow, steady circles while I shook, gagged, and fell apart.

“It’s okay,” he whispered closely. “You are alright. Just let it all out.”

After the nausea passed and I stopped vomiting, he helped me to a chair like I weighed nothing. I caught a glimpse of his boots and saw that they were soaked, but he didn't even seem to care.

I gratefully accepted the water he offered with shaky hands and tried to speak. “I… I will replace them.”

He tilted his head slightly. “They are just boots.”

“I mean it. I am not usually…”

“Don’t explain,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t owe me shit.”

He crouched in front of me and asked, “Can you stand?”

I tried to, but the second I moved, the floor seemed to turn into liquid and the lights became a blur. My body swayed, and the chair scraped against the ground.

Suddenly, everything went black.

°°°°°°°°°°

Waking up felt like being struck by a freight train and then dragged for a mile. 

My skull throbbed like it had been split in two. My mouth was dry as sandpaper and tasted like regret and stale whiskey. Every muscle in my body was sore, and the sunlight streaming through the windows? Might as well have been acid.

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my face.

No amount of cotton could silence the memory screaming through my skull.

The threesome, the bar, the whiskey, and then him.

The stranger with a smoky voice and fiery gaze. The way he held my hair while I threw up on his boots like a freshman at her first frat party.

“Kill me now,” I muttered, dragging myself upright.

Of all the people to humiliate myself in front of, it had to be him. The only man in this place who treated me like I wasn’t a chess piece or a warm body.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed, interruping my self-pity.

It was a message from Marcus asking, “How’s the mission going, baby? Any progress?”

As I stared at the message, the bitter taste of failure coated my tongue.

Progress? Sure, if you count discovering that your husband is a coked-out manchild with a god complex, and then getting blackout drunk and vomiting all over a potential ally... or enemy.

“Still settling in. I’ll update soon,” I typed before tossing the phone to the corner.

Needing to clear my head, I decided to take a shower. 

The quick shower did jack shit to scrub away the shame, but it cooled my face and hepled me stand tall. I threw on a black tee and jeans, slipped into my worn boots, and stepped outside.

The air was warm as the compound buzzed quietly with life. In the distance, the rumble of engines and the scent of motor oil and burning rubber filled the air like perfume. It should have been calming, but it unfortunately wasn't.

Every time Killian's name crossed my mind, my stomach still flipped.

Just then, the sound of water caught my attention. 

I looked over to the garage bays and saw someone washing a bike.

And it wasn't just anyone.

He was shirtless, his back turned to me, sun painting every muscle with gold. Water streamed down the ridges of his back, dripping along the line of ink that stretched over his shoulders. He moved like he knew exactly what power looked like and didn’t give a shit who was watching.

He was carefully cleaning a vintage Harley like it was something sacred.

Dozens of other bikes surrounded him—choppers, monsters, custom beasts that looked like war machines. It was biker p**n at its finest.

But none of them caught my attention like he did.

His build. That dark, damp hair. The curve of his jaw when he turned slightly.

Suddenly, I held my breath frozen as a wave of recognition hit me hard.

Steel-gray eyes? High cheekbones?

When he turned to face me and our eyes locked, we both froze.

A tense silence stretched between us like wire pulled tight. His expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker. He recognized me too.

And that was when the floor dropped out from under me.

Because now… I knew that the man with the warm voice and gentle touch… was Dominic Grave Maddox.

My mother’s killer.

The devil I had promised to destroy.

The reason I was wearing this goddamn ring.

He took a step towards me. Just one.

Measured and calm. Like a predator who already knows you are cornered.

“Morning, love,” he greeted me with a smooth, unreadable voice. “Did you sleep well?”

 Rage boiled up my throat at that moment.

I took a shaky step back. My voice was low when it finally came out, hoarse and shaking.

“You knew, didn’t you?”