Damon’s POV
He always knew it would come to this.
The moment he saw Cheryl for the first time — in that slinky red dress at that bar, soft curls falling over her shoulders like poetry in motion — he knew he'd never stand a chance. Not when Aiden was involved. Aiden always got what he wanted, he looked like a guy that got everything he wanted. The girls. The glory. The forgiveness. Even after everything.
But not this time.
Not anymore.
Damon lit a cigarette and took a long drag, leaning against the black Impala parked under the sickly orange glow of a dying streetlamp. The road out here was cracked, half-swallowed by overgrown weeds. The silence of the place clawed at the back of his neck, broken only by the distant echo of a rusted windmill creaking with each breeze.
The warehouse ah
