Semua Bab Sinful Desires: Bab 41 - Bab 50

Jordan had tracked Roberto down to a small hideout on the outskirts of the city. It was a run-down, abandoned warehouse—exactly the kind of place someone on the run would use. The building's facade was crumbling, windows boarded up with plywood that had warped in the rain. Perfect for hiding, terrible for comfort. Jordan unwrapped another chocolate bar as he settled into his surveillance position, the wrapper crinkling loudly in the quiet afternoon. He popped the chocolate into his mouth, savoring the rich sweetness. As he chewed, he whistled a tune from his childhood, something his mother used to sing. "Damn, that's good," he muttered to himself, licking the chocolate from his fingers. He reached for another bar in his pocket, then paused, remembering Maria's last lecture. "You're not twenty anymore, Jordan," she'd scolded him last week in the kitchen, snatching the candy from his hand. "Your blood pressure is probably through the roof, and your arteries are turning into cement

Miguel ran. His small legs ached, burning with each step, but he didn't stop. The stitch in his side felt like someone was poking him with a needle, but he kept going. He was in a part of the city he didn't recognize—tall buildings loomed overhead like giants, the streets were dirty and filled with strangers, and everything seemed bigger and scarier than it had ever been before. "We can do this, Mr. Growls," he whispered to the teddy bear clutched tightly in his arms, its worn fur damp with his tears and sweat. "We have to be brave." The bear's black button eyes stared back at him blankly, offering silent comfort as it had for all of Miguel's five years of life. Mr. Growls had been there through nightmares and thunderstorms. Now he was here for this—whatever this was. Miguel ducked into an alleyway, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. His heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to escape. He pressed his back against the rough brick wall, trying to make himself as sma

Jordan's car skidded to a stop outside Victor's compound, tires screeching against the pavement as he yanked the steering wheel to the right. The vehicle lurched violently, nearly clipping the stone pillars that marked the entrance. "Shit," Jordan cursed, his knuckles white against the wheel. The engine ticked as it cooled, the smell of burnt rubber hanging in the air. "Roberto, you still with me?" Roberto groaned from the backseat, his breathing shallow. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage Jordan had wrapped around his torso, staining the leather seats beneath him a dark crimson. "We're here," Jordan said, throwing open his door and rushing to the back. "Don't die yet. Victor has questions." The compound's floodlights washed the driveway in harsh white light, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. Jordan yanked open the back door and pulled Roberto out, half-carrying him toward the house. Roberto's head lolled against Jordan's shoulder, his body growing heavie

Xavier sat in his office, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid caught the light from the desk lamp, casting golden reflections on the polished mahogany. Outside, rain pattered against the windows, a steady drumming that matched the beat of his growing frustration. He hated not being in control. He had everything under control until it all started going to shit. First, Victor was back—the bastard who should have died when Xavier had him shot three times in the chest five years ago. Somehow, he'd survived, and now he was back, reclaiming territory that Xavier had worked so hard to take. And now this. His only leverage against Victor was slipping away too. Xavier took a long sip of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. He set the glass down with deliberate care, his eyes never leaving the woman across from him. Selena sat tied to a chair, her dark hair falling in tangles around her face. Despite the bruises blooming on her cheekbone and the s

Pain came first—a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed behind Jordan's eyes with each beat of his heart. The world returned to him in fragments: the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the cold bite of metal against his wrists, the smell of damp concrete and cigarette smoke. Jordan blinked slowly, his vision blurry and unfocused. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying almost imperceptibly, casting shifting shadows across the walls of what appeared to be a basement or cell. The movement made his stomach roll with nausea, and he swallowed hard against the urge to vomit. "Focus," he muttered to himself, his voice rough as sandpaper. "Get it together." He tried to move, only to find his hands bound tightly behind his back, secured with what felt like zip ties cutting into his skin. His ankles were similarly restrained, fastened to the legs of a heavy metal chair that was bolted to the floor. The restraints were professional work—no slack, no give, no easy way out. Jordan fle