DAMIAN’S POV
The city lights blurred into wet streaks across the windshield like someone had dragged a paintbrush over the glass.
I couldn’t even tell if it was raining outside or if it was just my eyes refusing to stop leaking.
My chest felt like someone had parked a truck on it — heavy, burning, and impossible to breathe through.
I couldn’t even tell which streets I was taking anymore.
I’d been driving for five hours straight, maybe six.
Time had turned into one long smear of red lights and white lines and the same three songs looping on the playlist because I was too f****d up to even change it.
The Royce growled under me, angry, restless, just like the thing clawing at my chest.
On the floorboard, three empty bottles of Grey Goose rolled and clinked every time I took a corner.
