The penthouse windows reflected Damien’s pacing figure like a caged panther, his shadow stretching long and predatory across the marble floors. The city lights below blurred into streaks of gold as he spun on his heel, his patience fraying at the edges.
“Why is she in the Jones Estate?” His voice was a low growl, the words sharp enough to draw blood.
Davis leaned against the bar, swirling a glass of bourbon with deliberate calm.
“How the hell should I know?” He took a slow sip, watching his cousin over the rim. “You need to breathe before you—”
“Don’t.” Damien’s hand slashed through the air. “I’ve waited long enough.”
He snatched his jacket from the couch, checking the Glock tucked into the waistband with practiced ease before shrugging it on.
Davis’s glass hit the counter
