Damien’s truck roared into the compound, dust rising behind it. His knuckles were tight on the steering wheel, jaw locked. He had chased the biker who fired at them, but the man had gotten away. Slippery bastard.
Beside him, Jace slammed the glove box shut. “Man, that was close,” he muttered, still catching his breath.
Damien didn’t reply. He shut off the engine and climbed out, his boots heavy on the pavement. Anger burned inside him like fire. He hated failing a chase. Hated letting someone slip through his fingers.
The house lights were on. He pushed inside, shoulders tense, every sense sharp. He headed straight for his office and froze at the doorway. Something was off.
The room wasn’t how he left it. The desk drawer was open. Papers were scattered. Someone had been digging around.
