"Need any help with that?" Pace asked, referring to her husband's work decoding the information packets that came attached to the headers of the ransom messages the Riddicks received. She hadn't quite entered the den where Dom sat in front of a vid screen, intent on his work.
"Na, Pace. We've got it," he replied absently.
A pause ensued, after which, Pace posed another question. "Ticey wants to know what to call you," she said, feeling some warmth in her cheeks. She didn't know how he'd react to this. "I didn't tell her we're married, but she's curious about you anyway. I think she likes you a little," she told him, smiling shyly at the thought.
Dom paused in his scrolling, taking a moment to mull the question over. He glanced at her over his shoulder. "She can call me Dominic," he finally decreed. He turned back to the screen, acting like Pace no longer existed since he'd provided an answer to her question.
Her head dropped slightly and her eyes fell shut. At some point in her life she might've cried upon realizing he'd managed to pull another fast one on her.
He'd broken her out of a hellish nightmare the night before, acted like the loving husband she remembered, and then gave her the cold shoulder at breakfast. Yes, she might've cried when she was eighteen—after they'd just gotten married. She might've cried at twenty-one—shortly after his first return to her life. She might've even cried at twenty-five—when he left her for the second time. The night before, she would've cried, having reached her mid-thirties.
This morning, there were no tears left to shed for a man who didn't want her.
"How old are you, Dom?" she whispered, truly curious to know. Ten years had passed for her, but he'd hardly changed. Last she'd seen him, he'd been approximately twenty-eight, and hadn't looked a day over twenty-five.
He rolled his thick shoulders backward, cracking his spine. Everything about the way he moved indicated agitation to her. "I've got a better question for you, Pace," he said, sounding cool, but he didn't take his eyes off the screen and turn to look at her. "What the fuck are you doing with some guy who isn't even a member of your own race? Who the fuck is he, and why are you traveling under his name?"
Pace shrugged, even though he couldn't see it, letting her weight come to rest against the door jamb. "He's a classic human who likes me. His name is Robert Brodell, and I met him in a grad class I audited a few years ago. He's come over for dinner on occasion ever since. Every few weeks we get together for lunch. He's gotten to know Dallas and Tice. He wanted to come, support us while we searched for Dallas."
"He's ten years younger than you."
"Which would make him fifteen years younger than you should be, and five years younger than you are, right, Dom? You taught me to use all resources I have to my advantage, and in this case I'm using them brilliantly. I am a woman of a persecuted race; he's a nondescript man with no police record, and a good line of credit. What do you think I'm doing traveling under his name? I'm protecting myself and my daughter the only way I can."
Dom didn't answer, didn't even seethe with rage the way she expected. When they were young, he'd relentlessly go after any guy who dared approach her like a pitbull. Sometimes he'd get so jealous it frightened her.
Pace looked down at the forms in her hand. She'd almost forgotten them, had been on her way to toss them in the nearest disposal unit. "Tell me why you care what I'm doing with Rob," she said softly.
"None of my business what you're doing with him," Dom replied calmly, like he really meant it. "It's not like I ever stayed faithful for long."
She nodded, not so much to agree with him, but to reassure herself she'd expected his answer. Pace approached her husband, placing one hand on his shoulder and pressing the papers against his broad chest until his hand rose to replace hers, keeping them from falling to the floor.
Pace leaned down to speak softly in his ear. "Now it's none of your business, Dominic. I already signed them. Make sure you leave them with me before you walk out of my life again." With that she exited the room, her eyes dry and her chin pushed stubbornly forward.
When Riddick forced himself to get out of bed and go downstairs, he found Conte sitting at his kitchen table, staring off at nothing. He tried to not let it bother him when those black pits that passed for eyes among the Rysen slowly turned on him, taking him in for no more than four or five seconds before shifting away in dismissal.
"Hard to imagine, isn't it? At one point you thought I was just some punk kid," Dom opined, his fingers lacing together in the short, jet black hair at the back of his head.
"You're still a punk; and as far as I can tell, Conte, you're still a kid," Riddick growled, taking a seat across from the Con-X. He didn't know where the hell everyone went, but the house seemed empty. All the better to get this confrontation over and done with while there were no witnesses to interrupt.
Conte motioned with his head toward the den. "Vale's working on locating where the messages we got came from. He's good at picking through that shit. Pace is better, but right now she's too emotional. She'd miss something."
Riddick glared at him, unable to believe how at ease this man seemed in a place where he didn't belong. Other people probably would've mistaken that ease for ignorance, but not Rick, and definitely not with Conte.
"Dallas must've gotten it from her," he said. "The emotion, not the attention to detail. You know, for a while there I was almost convinced he couldn't possibly be related to you. He's too decent to deserve a fuck-up like Dominic Conte for a father."
A lazy smile spread across Dom's face. He began to chuckle, deep in his chest. "Like you're a real gem, Riddick. You know what surprised me? You're actually stupid enough to live here under your own name in this day and age," he shot back, still keeping any trace of aggression from shaping his features.
Riddick shrugged. He could play it cool. As much as he hated it, the only way to beat Conte was by resisting the temptation to get angry. "Sometimes it's better to hide in plain sight. I have a family, a steady job. In a universe this big, people just assume the name's a coincidence. There are millions of people registered with Riddick as their surname, and thousands of them share the first name 'Richard.'"
Conte's grin slowly grew bigger and a spark appeared in his eyes that almost made Riddick shiver. It felt like the other man could see right through him, knew exactly what he felt and thought. If he could've grabbed a knife and ended Conte's life in that moment, he would've done it without hesitation. At least, he thought he would've. It'd been a long time since he'd held another life in his hands.
"You know what I just realized about you, Riddick?" Dom asked, showing off the shark-like smile he probably saved exclusively for potential prey, people he wanted to intimidate.
Riddick decided he wouldn't be intimidated. Not by anyone. He used to do intimidation for a fucking living.
"What?" he responded appropriately, positive he didn't want to know.
Conte tilted his head back slightly, giving the impression of looking down on him, like Kyle might look down on a bug right before smashing it beneath his shoe.
"You hate it here. The job, the family. I spent half the night trying to figure it out, and now I think I know why you ended up a desk jockey. You lost sight of the difference between doing what's easy, and doing what comes naturally. Deep down, you miss it, don't you? Toying with mercs; knowing when you do get tossed into a cell, you'll still be the biggest badass on the block. Shit, you probably still think you can kick my ass. Remember what you told Jack about me when I was seventeen? You told her I was just a baby, nowhere near my prime. Turns out you were right about that much. I could've broken you with my bare hands back then, so what do you think I could do to you now?" he asked, cocking his head.
Riddick shrugged, preparing to pull out his ace. Things had slid far enough downhill. The last thing he need on top of his kids going missing was a lunatic threatening him in his own house. "Doesn't matter how strong you are," he rumbled, letting himself sound dangerous and at ease. "I don't think I'd need help to take you down."
"You sound pretty sure about that."
"I can smell the booze on you, Conte. It's coming out in your sweat, and I'll bet you didn't sleep at all last night. Jack's right—you have changed. She thinks you're more grounded, because she's never seen your kind before. You've been burning the candle at both ends for longer than you can remember."
That must've hit closer to home than Conte liked, because he didn't answer, just stared. Not surprised, not angry. His face became stone.
Motion from outside ended their short stare-off. Pace and her daughter Ticey stood outside, talking where no one could overhear them. After a moment, Pace pulled Ticey close, rubbing a hand up and down her back in comfort while the young girl sobbed. Both men took in the scene in silence.
"She's not as pretty as Jack turned out," Dom informed him. "She's no teenager anymore, either."
Riddick's gaze didn't stray from pair. Some unfamiliar part of his humanity nudged his mind, whispering that he should go find Jack, hold her, comfort her, make her believe he'd take care of everything. Another part pushed those sentiments away. He'd already started undergoing the process of detaching himself from everything around him. At first he'd assumed it was shock, but now he knew better.
Riddick was preparing himself to go native, letting loose a side of himself the universe hadn't seen in decades.
"Now I know for sure you're still a kid, Conte," he said, keeping his voice low. "A man wouldn't sit and watch while his family suffered like that."
The Con-X merely shook his head. "I can't go out there. She's not as pretty, she's not as innocent, and she's not as thin. Doesn't change the fact that if I got her alone, I'd probably put her back against a wall and show her what she's been missing." With that Dom got up and walked out of the room, heading toward the den.