Cannonball Lyrics Damien Rice 소설 & 이야기

“Damien just coded again. We’re losing him!” The world stopped.

Chapter 48 || RECOMMENDED SONG: " Belong To You " By Sabrina Claudio || Viona was snapped back to reality after the fireworks everything lit off inside her head. Damien's pleading demand coming with desperate need pushed her back to reality. A different kind of shudder sprinted through her spine as her body shirked making a protesting movement. Damien had already received his answer after her numb movement. His countenance showed little sign of anguish that was rapidly replaced by the judgemental thoughts of his mind. A sigh escaped through his mouth before his words came out like a soothing tone of the music,

Her wide, terrified eyes darted from Damian’s bruised, blood-spattered knuckles to the cold, dead emptiness in his gaze. "Damian," Cassandra breathed, her voice trembling. She strained against the thick ropes binding her wrists. "What is the meaning of this? Why did your men drag me out of my condo in the middle of the night?" "The meaning?" Damian roared. The sheer, explosive volume of his voice echoed violently off the metal ceiling. He lunged forward. The homicidal rage he had kept tightly leashed completely snapped. He raised his fist, entirely prepared to strike the woman who had orchestrated the destruction of his entire world.

Damon’s amusement. “Relax,” Damon drawled, his voice circling again. “That wasn’t for you.” Before Villareal could process relief, another gunshot cracked the air, closer this time, sharp enough to make his ears ring. The acrid stench of gunpowder filled his nose, burning, suffocating. He coughed, the air thick as smoke in his throat. “Do you hear that?” Damon whispered suddenly, so close it felt like his lips were brushing against Villareal’s ear. The man flinched, shivering. Damon’s words slid into him like poison. “That’s the sound of your courage breaking.”

The sun rises. The sky turns gold. The birds sing. The ones who came back. The ones who flew south and returned. I close my eyes. I listen. I breathe. I stay. --- Damon finds me an hour later. He is holding two mugs of coffee. He hands me one. He sits next to me. He sees the shoots. He looks at me. "They are coming back," he says. "They are." "The roses." "The roses. The light. The warmth. All of it."

The venom in my voice was enough to peel paint off walls. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, then she actually growled. I swear, if this woman lunged at me, I’d happily rip that wig off her scalp and feed it to Elon Bark. She was two steps from pouncing when a door banged open. “WHAT is going on here?” Damien’s voice cut through the air like thunder. I groaned out loud. Perfect. Just perfect. Of all the moments for him to appear…why this one? Why couldn’t he just, I don’t know, fall into a hole and never come back?

I caved in. Austin - 1, Lexi - 0. Why did the eggs have to be so tempting?

Nico smirked, tossing the ball lazily from hand to hand. “Well, look who’s finally decided to join humanity.” Damien’s brow arched, unimpressed. “Shut up and throw the ball,” he said evenly, voice low but not sharp—more amused than annoyed. Nico grinned wide. “As you wish, boss.” He threw the ball hard, intentionally fast. Damien caught it easily, of course. Years of reflex honed in gunfire and blood made something as simple as a baseball feel almost trivial. Still, the moment he caught it, he froze—not out of fear, but uncertainty.

And it gave me the strength I needed to win the battle. My throat burns. Alejandro quietly connects his phone to the car speakers. A moment later, the music fills the car. Soft at first. Then the lyrics hit. Get out your guns, battles begun, are you a saint or a sinner … It’s his voice. Damion’s. Singing. It makes it personal. At least I’ve learned through this whole experience that you never know who’s the saint and who’s the sinner … some devils hide their horns, like Ren and Lucinda, and some angels hide their wings, like Damion. And the other San Francisco Boys.

The warehouse smelled of rust and saltwater, its high windows letting in weak shafts of gray light from the overcast sky. Somewhere outside, the waves slapped against the hulls of forgotten ships, the sound echoing through the silence like a heartbeat. Damian’s gun still hung lazily in his hand, his expression equal parts amusement and anticipation. He took a single step forward, his boots crunching over stray debris. “Strip,” he ordered, the word sharp and unyielding.