The tires screamed against the cracked asphalt, the echo slicing through the night like a siren from hell. Every heartbeat in the car was a thunderclap, each inhale a reminder that they were still alive—barely.

Luna pressed her palm against the window, her reflection fractured by the passing glow of streetlights. The bruises on her wrist throbbed with every jolt. Her pulse was racing—not just from fear, but from the raw electricity radiating from the man gripping the steering wheel beside her.

Dante.

His knuckles were white against the leather. Shadows cut sharp lines across his face, the chiseled edges of his jaw tense enough to crack stone. His jaw...