–Damon–
His face wasn't that battered—I could still recognize him. Broad-shouldered, built like a soldier. He'd fought well, no doubt. But Livana's shadows were stronger. I remembered him now. He was the one speaking with Grandpa and Tyrona's father years ago. They were planning something dark. A hit, most likely—probably targeting someone in the government. Tyrona's father always had his sights on the Cabinet. President of the Senate.
He made it to the Senate, but never the presidency.
So what the hell was he doing here?
I turned toward Damien, who was crouched beside my wife.
"You look familiar," I told the man. He looked up, his expression tightening as recognition hit him too.
"Black Card," he muttered.
A slow, dangerous grin spread across my face.
Black Card. That meant he was ours. A sworn blade of Blackwell. A dog, bound by oath and blood, in exchange for our protection. Assassin class. Elite. Disposable.
