Justin's POV
Warmth.For the first time in what felt like forever, I had felt warmth. Not from the damp, mildew-stained walls. Not from the flickering, dying light bulb that hummed above us. But from him. From Justin.
Our foreheads pressed together, the world narrowed to his bruised breath against my lips, the quiet strength in his voice, the fire that refused to die even though his body was beaten and broken.We weren't broken.We were unbreakable.I clung to that truth like a lifeline.But lifelines can be cut.
The metallic slam of the warehouse door tore the fragile peace to shreds. My blood ran cold.
Dante.
He walked in like a man who owned the room, his steps echoing with mockery, with arrogance, with the cruelty I had once mistaken for charm. His hair was damp, slicked back, as though he had been preparing himself for something monumental. His eyes glittered with the kind of madness that made my skin crawl.
And then his voice low, venomous, slithered through the air.
