REBORN: CLAIMED BY MY MATE’S BROTHER
The Bloodhound guards, sensing the shift, had their hands brushing the edges of their jackets where weapons were concealed.
Lucas and his Stormborn men mirrored them, hands ready, muscles coiled and ready to spring.
The air was charged, every breath thick with the promise of a fight.
“I promise you, boy, you do not want to cross me,” he said, the words dark, soaked with menace.
Ever stubborn, fearless, and utterly unyielding, I matched his energy. “I’ll take my chances.”
And then it became a silent war. A battle of wills—unstoppable force versus immovable object. Both of us standing tall and refusing to give an inch.
Bab Populer