Damien’s Penthouse
The shower was hot, almost scalding, steam clouding the glass as water poured over him. Blood—not his, but Beckett’s—ran down the drain, washing away like a curse being purged. As if scrubbing him from the world.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
The anger didn’t fade.
Neither did the traces of her—Maya’s—that clung stubbornly to his skin.
It lingered in his chest, a sharp, cold flame that refused to die.
He clenched his jaw, feeling it deep in his bones.
But underneath the rage pulsed something else.. something worse.
Fear.
An unfamiliar, unwelcome weight.
Fear for her.
For Maya Thompson.
For what could have been taken—her innocence, her spirit, her light.
Her.
The woman who, without even trying, had managed to slip past his defenses. Past the walls he’d spent
