The door slammed against the wall so hard the hinges screamed, and the sound tore through the tense silence of the safe house like a gunshot.
Devil filled the frame.
He was a vision of c*****e—blood smeared from his jaw down to his collar, dark spatters on his leather cut, knuckles shredded raw, one eye swelling purple from a brutal strike that hadn’t even slowed him down. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, every inhale dragging fire into lungs that had screamed through the fight. His boots left wet, crimson prints across the floor with each step inside.
The men guarding Haru jumped, guns half-raised, then lowered them just as quickly. Their president wasn’t just back—he was alive, though looking like he’d torn his way through hell to stand there.
“Where the f**k is she?” Devil’s vo
