ANMELDEN[DECLAN’S POV]I nod once, fair. “Nina, please.” She shakes her head, and gestures toward my stomach. "If I'm not mistaken, that's a bullet wound."“Yes, but—”"You're being hunted," she continues. "Your father and the commissioner, those aren't people we get involved with, Dec." "Nina," Bolton snaps. "That's Declan you're talking to.""I know exactly who I'm talking to.""He helped us—""I know what he did!" Her voice rises now, sharp as steel. "He helped us with Jayden's surgery. I haven't forgotten that.""Then—""But that doesn't mean we throw our lives away!" She scoffs.The words hit harder than they should. I shift slightly. Pain flickers through my side. I don't react. Nina reaches into her bag, pulls out crumpled notes. "I have two thousand." She steps forward, holding it out. "Take it. Find a hotel. Somewhere else."Bolton stares at her. "You're serious?""Yes.""Nina—""No!" She places a hand on her belly. "You think this is a joke? You think this is one of your little '
[DECLAN’S POV]The food burns my tongue, but I don't slow down. Rice. Lamb. Something with spice that makes my eyes water.I shovel it in like I haven't eaten in days.Bolton watches from across the small table, arms folded, brow creased like he's waiting for me to choke."Slow down," he mutters. I ignore him. Take another mouthful.The lamb's overcooked. Doesn't matter. It's real food. The kind you sit down to eat. The kind you forget exists when you're tied to a chair in Moscow, wondering if the next hour's your last.My throat tightens.I reach for the gin, take a long drink. The burns going down. Good. I need that.Bolton shakes his head, tops me off without asking. "Easy.""Yeah."I don't mean it. “Oh man.” He sighs.The house is small. You feel it without trying: Two rooms. One narrow hallway. A sitting room that bleeds into the kitchen. Old couch with a spring poking through the cushion. Telly that probably works when it feels like it. Toys shoved into corners: plastic sold
[DECLAN'S POV]The tape on my arm pulls when I move. Each step makes it worse: adhesive ripping at skin, the burn crawling up my vein like a lit fuse. By the time I reach the corner of Bridge Street, I'm hissing through my teeth. "Ah—fuck..."I press my palm flat over the spot. The IV's gone, but the skin's still angry, bruised purple, tender as a fresh wound. My body feels like I'm wearing someone else's meat.The hospital gown flaps open at the back. Wind knifes straight against my spine. I grab the sides, hold it closed, and walk faster.I shouldn't have left.That's what they'll say. What anyone sane would say.But lying there under those lights, listening to nurses whisper, hearing boots in the hallway that moved wrong too heavy, too measured, too much like men with guns—No.I wasn't fucking staying.My side pulls again. The bandage across my stomach is tight, wrapped thick, but not enough. I feel dampness underneath, not fresh blood, not like before, but not clean either.Half
[TRISTAN'S POV]I slam the door shut and settle into the backseat of my Buggatti. No driver. No security. Just us, the night, and the tension crackling between us like a live wire.Bunny sits beside me, one thigh draped over my lap, eyes glazed with lust. He's staring like he's already drunk on me.I grip his hip, breathing ragged. "I said I want to touch you properly.""No." He shakes his head, uncertain. "That… that wasn't the plan."My jaw grinds, the ache in my cock turning unbearable. "You followed me.""No.""Don't pretend." I grab the back of his head. "Even Damon saw through it. Let's—"He tears my grip away. "Fuck?! Kiss again?! Choke me to death this time?!""We're going to die anyway." I rasp, glancing at the bulge straining my pants, then back at him. I must look pathetic. "If I'm not inside you right now, I'll die—and you'll die too, from the heartbreak of being apart. Please, Bunny. Don't take that risk."His eyes water. "I'm still sore from Moscow. I can't—""No." My vo
[CARLTON’S POV]He doesn't answer immediately. His jaw tightens just slightly. "God stopped answering."My ribs feel tight."He let my sister die." Tristan says it like he's stating a fact. The sky is blue. Water is wet. God abandoned him.I don't know what to say to that."So I stopped waiting for him."“And became this?" I gesture at him.He glares at me. "No."A pause. "I became the devil."The way he says it isn't dramatic. It's just… fact. "God can go fuck himself."The words land heavy in the quiet church.I swallow the lump in my throat. "Who gave you that name?"His brows furrow. "Mad Bishop?"“Yes.”He nods once. "Yosef."Jealousy flares, sharp and unwelcome. I hate that I feel it. Hate more that he sees it.His mouth curves. Of course he noticed. Again. "Jealous?""Of your archdemon? Never." The lie tastes bitter.He steps closer. Close enough that I catch it again: that mix of whiskey and smoke and something clean underneath. Something that's just him."I only have eyes
[CARLTON'S POV]The door slams behind us. Not loud, but in this emptiness, the sound cracks like a gunshot. My hand lingers on the car door, fingers already cold. The night presses in: no wind, no traffic, just air that sits too heavy on my skin. The kind of quiet that watches."Out." Tristan's voice is level. Too level. The way it always is right before something breaks.I drag in a breath, slow and annoyed, push off the car. "Where the hell did you bring me?"No answer. Typical Tristan. I step out anyway, boots hitting gravel. The sound crunches too sharp in the quiet. No wind. No traffic. Just that empty kind of night that makes your skin aware of itself.Then something brushes my face; soft, smelling faintly of him. Before I can jerk away, the world goes black. "What—""Don't." His voice is in my ear, close enough that his breath ghosts across my neck. Whiskey and that burnt-smoke smell that clings to him like a second skin.His hand catches mine halfway to the blindfold. Fing
(CARLTON’S POV)My fingers press into the marble until pressure nicks my wrists. “Firstly, I’m not into knife play,” I spit. “My Mom raised me not to play with sharp objects. And secondly—”His laughter cracks like a whip. I clutch the vanity tighter. “What’s funny, sir?”“Was it your cock that s
(CARLTON’S POV)I’m wearing Caleb’s style tonight. I’m dressed like him, look like him, and act like him. He’s been dead for two days. But it feels like yesterday. You can see him through my eyeliner and smell him through my perfume. Oleander cologne itches my skin, but I'm still wearing the sce
(TRISTAN’S POV)I’m going to fuck him on the sea.Or I’m going to drown him. I don’t know. “You mundane rat. Let me go!” Bunny yells as I approach the beach. “Mundane rat? That word is getting old,” I smack his butt. “Try something new.”I prefer the cold. I met Aurora in Russia, lost my soul in
(CARLTON’S POV)For some morbid reasons, my heartbeat is normal. “Cut the crap. They won’t hurt me.”Tristan sniggers as if shit is on my face. “Why?”“You won’t allow it.” “Be careful,” he taps the blade on my face twice. “The devil is unpredictable.”Another derisive snigger escapes me. “If you







