Bonus Scene
DAMIAN
Break-In at the Bakery
(The night everything unraveled.)
The bakery is a brand-new shell, dark, hollow, reeking of fresh paint and wasted money.
My boots scrape across the floor, loud in the dead quiet as I step inside, flashlight slicing through the black.
Bridger falls in behind me, Joel and Zero veering off to the left.
Beams of light skate across gleaming countertops, stacks of unopened boxes, the pristine shine of equipment that has never tasted a drop of sugar or flour.
No pastries. No coffee. No life yet. Just cold air and the stink of new beginnings built on lies. Is this where all the money went?
Vick shuffles between us, a wreck of a man, wringing his hands, mumbling nonsense under his breath. Pathetic. He swore his daughter would have some money stashed here. Swore it on his miserable, worthless life.
Joel is already talking about putting a bullet between his eyes.
But I need to find the money first.
If I can get the cash tonight, maybe, just maybe, I can stop by the bar again. Maybe she will still be there.
The girl from last night. I can still feel her.
The way she clung to me, thighs trembling as she came. The way her soft skin slid against mine. How her cunt gripped me like she never wanted to let go.
The way she tasted—sweet and sinful, like something I should have worshiped and destroyed all at once.
My dick throbs behind my zipper, so hard it aches.
"Move your damn light," Bridger growls, swatting at the beam flashing across his face.
Joel snaps his fingers in front of my eyes. "Damian. Focus."
I jerk the flashlight back to the floor, jaw locked so tight it is a miracle my teeth don’t crack.
I should be thinking about the safe. About Joel and Vick. About the loaded gun tucked into Joel’s waistband.
Instead, all I can think about is the way she gasped when I drove into her deeper, the way she clawed at my back, begging for more, for everything. The way she looked at me like I was the only thing that existed.
The safe looms dead ahead.
Joel shoves Vick forward. "Open it."
Bridger lifts his crowbar.
The lights flicker.
The fluorescents above buzz to life with a mechanical hum.
I whip around, crowbar raised, muscles snapping tight.
And then I hear it.
"What the fuck?"
Her voice—sharp, furious, stunned.
Her.
She stands barefoot in the kitchen doorway, wearing nothing but a scrap of black panties and a tiny cropped tank top that clings to the curves of her bare stomach, her thighs gleaming under the harsh light.
Her hair is messy from sleep, her mouth parted, her eyes wide and burning.
She is real.
Not a memory.
Not a dream.
Standing right there, backlit by the cold light, looking at us like she could tear the walls down with her rage.
Every nerve ending in my body snaps awake.
Blood slams through my veins. My cock throbs against my jeans, so hard I can barely think.
All I want—all I can think about—is hauling her against the nearest wall, yanking those panties aside, and sinking into her again, filling her until she is gasping my name. I want her to know my name.
Vick’s voice slices through the lust-thick fog.
"L-Lucky. You’re here? A-at night?"
Lucky.
The name clangs inside my skull.
Lucky.
My heart kicks once, twice, then freefalls.
The whole goddamn world tilts sideways.
The girl I spent hours inside, the girl I was already losing my fucking mind over, is his daughter.
My ribs ache with it. My throat burns.
A fresh, black rage rises in my gut, thick and ugly, smothering every other thought until I cannot see straight.
She crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at her father.
"I live in the apartment upstairs," she says.
I stagger back, like I took a hit to the chest. The crowbar hangs loose in my hand.
Her.
The sweet cunt I can still taste on my tongue.
The soft gasp I can still feel breaking against my mouth.
The memory of her clings to my skin like a bruise I can’t scrub off.
The room spins around me. My fists clench until the bones grind.
The rage builds and builds, until it’s not just rage anymore. It’s betrayal. It’s humiliation. It’s something worse than anything I have ever let myself feel.
I rip the skull mask from my face and let it fall. The sound of it hitting the tile rings louder than a gunshot.
Fuck this.
Fuck her.
She’s poison. Not the sweet kind you savor. The kind that rots you from the inside out.
I have to get that money and get the fuck out of here.