“You enjoying this?” Cole asked tightly.
Dax’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Little bit.”
Cole glared across the room.
“Dick.”
The final stitch cinched tight.
Dax shoved fresh gauze against the wound before stepping back to admire his work like a man proud of repairing drywall.
“There.”
Cole glanced down at the brutal row of black stitches stretched across his abdomen.
“That looks horrific.”
“It’s closed.”
“Barely.”
Dax took another slow drink of whiskey before tossing the bottle onto the table beside him.
“Next time, duck faster.”
Cole flipped him off without hesitation as the medical wing settled back into silence around them.
But somewhere beyond the compound walls, beneath the pulse of New Orleans nightlife and rain-soaked streets, the marked one was already drawing closer.
Chapter 3
Veya’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel until her hands ached, knuckles bleaching white beneath the dim dashboard glow. Her heart hammered against her ribs far too fast, racing harder than the engine’s exhausted hum as she fought to make out the road beneath the churn of gray.
The fog didn’t feel natural. The road stretched ahead without shape or finish, swallowed by swirling mist that refused to thin.
“What the hell…?” she whispered, dread creeping steadily up her spine before settling heavily in her chest.
Veya had lived her entire life braced for chaos. She knew how quickly safety could vanish and how violently life could turn without warning.
But this felt different.
Her thoughts scrambled desperately for solutions.
Pull over.
Wait for daylight.
Let the fog clear.
The idea barely formed before panic crushed it beneath something darker.
There was no going back.
Back meant Bobby. It meant bruises. It meant lying rigid and silent in bed at night, praying she wouldn’t say the wrong thing or breathe too loudly or draw his attention for even a second too long. It meant shrinking herself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left but survival.
Her foot pressed harder against the gas pedal.
