The red emergency lights made everything look like a horror movie. Like someone dipped the whole house in blood and dared it to breathe wrong.Davion didn’t like the way the air felt—too still. Like it was holding its breath. Like it knew something he didn’t.Wilson’s jaw was locked tight, his grip on the gun like he was ready to break it in half.“Downstairs,” Davion said, already moving.“Wait,” Wilson hissed. “We need backup—”“We are the backup,” Davion snapped, not slowing. “And something’s wrong with your guards. You heard that scream.”Yeah. That high, guttural scream that didn’t sound human. It echoed in Davion’s ears like a memory he couldn’t scrape off. A scream that promised blood.They moved fast, careful, every step a test of trust in the next one. Wilson flicked on his phone flashlight—it barely helped. Just a pale cone of light in a hallway that felt like it stretched forever.More sounds.A crash.Then silence.Then a wet, squelching sound Davion knew too well.Blood.

The silence after Irene left wasn’t peace. It was loaded—like a grenade with the pin barely holding in place. Davion stood in the center of the ruined gym, breathing through his nose, ignoring the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and the slight tremor in his fingers.Wilson leaned against a half-broken weight rack, one arm clutching his side. “So… that was fun,” he said flatly.Davion gave a grunt and crouched, picking up a stray piece of metal debris. “We need to move.”“Move where?” Wilson asked. “In case you forgot, the only reason we’re still breathing is because Irene decided not to kill us.”“Not us,” Davion corrected. “Me.”Wilson rolled his eyes. “Wow. Thanks for the comforting reminder. Seriously though, what the hell are we doing now? Reika’s out there, Mad Tiger’s supposedly lurking in the shadows, and now your ex is raiding the place like a SWAT boss. You got any kind of plan?”Davion didn’t answer immediately. He scanned the debris, eyes flicking from one broken wall t

Davion didn’t say anything. Not yet. He’d learned that with Reika, silence was sometimes safer than words.Her jaw was tight. Her fingers twitched close to the blade strapped to her thigh. She hadn’t unclenched since they got here.“You’re quiet,” she finally snapped, her voice sharp as broken glass. “Too quiet. What’s in that head of yours, Davion?”He tilted his head, not moving from the beam. “I’m wondering why you didn’t kill me when you had the chance.”Reika stopped mid-step. Her eyes locked onto his like a sniper zeroing in on a target. “Don’t turn this on me.”“Why not? You had me—on my knees, remember?” he said, voice calm but firm. “I saw it in your eyes. You wanted me dead.”“I did.” Her voice cracked, just a little. “Hell, part of me still does.”“Then what stopped you?” Davion asked, pushing off the beam. “Why let me breathe?”She looked away, shoulders rising and falling fast. “Because I realized something,” she muttered.Davion took a slow step closer. “That I wasn’t th

Beverley had her earbuds in, hoodie up, and mascara smudged like she meant it. She wasn’t in the mood for anything, let alone her mom yelling about God-knows-what again downstairs.She blinked at the mirror, dragging a brush through her tangled brown curls, when she caught it—the thunder. But not just thunder. Voices. Arguing. Familiar ones.Then came The Voice.Margaret's.“DAVION IS BACK!”Her mother’s voice punched through the hallway like a grenade. Not even the heavy bass in Beverley’s playlist could drown it out. Her hands froze. Her heart didn’t. It launched into overdrive.Davion?As in her Davion?Beverley felt her heart shudder to a stop and she couldn't help but pant in relief.Beverley yanked her earbuds out, flung them onto her desk, and stumbled backward. Her breath caught.“Wait, what?”She didn’t stop to throw on socks. Or pants that didn’t have cartoon ducks on them. She just ran.Sprinted down the hall, past the art deco vase she always knocked over (it wobbled but

Margaret stormed into the kitchen like a hurricane in heels — click, clack, click — her heels stabbing into the tiles like they personally betrayed her. Her lips were already in that sharp, bitter pout she wore whenever she was about to cause emotional damage.Rain still smacked against the windows like the universe was just as pissed off as she was. Everything felt loud, dramatic, like a soap opera scene where someone was seconds away from fainting. Unfortunately, no one was fainting. Yet.Wesley, her forever calm and frustratingly chill husband, was already sitting at the kitchen table. Reading a newspaper. Drinking tea. Like nothing had happened. Like their house hadn’t just turned into a WWE arena thanks to Davion the Disaster and Trevor the Hot-Headed Golden Boy.“Of course,” Margaret muttered, yanking open the cabinet like it owed her money.A mug fell out, hit the floor, and shattered.She gasped like the house had committed treason. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”Wesley didn’t even