Danton Maxton was not merely having a bad day.
He was having the single most catastrophic, soul-flaying, cock-shrivelling day of his entire privileged existence—and given that his existence had once included accidentally sending a poorly lit dick pic to his grandmother's bridge-club WhatsApp complete with the caption "thinking of you", that was a towering achievement in self-inflicted misery.
And that sad so much since it wasn't Derek's little betrayal that made this day so bad.
Brett and Anderson had been prowling the halls ever since like rabid wolves with blue balls, and the rest of the Seven were eyeing each other the way men in lifeboats eye the fattest passenger. Three days, tops, before someone got knifed in the showers.
Manageable.
Traitors could be disappeared. Families had been doing it for centuries.
No, the true apocalypse had arrived in form of love and betrayal!
Danton had been watching Delilah.
He always watched Delilah.
