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He starts pacing, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards.
I can’t help but lean forward, curiosity sparking in my gut.
Damon’s not one to lose his shit without a damn good reason.
Whatever it is, it’s gotta be bad—real bad.
My curiosity is a live wire, buzzing under my skin.
I can’t sit still, not with Damon looking like he’s about to explode for a second time.
Before I can even think about moving, Dixon steps up behind me, his presence as solid and steady as ever.
Dixon murmurs, his voice low and calm. “Stay where you are, kid.”
“Yeah, sure,” I reply, but my eyes never leave Damon.
Kat's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Damon! The kids are here. What the hell are you thinking?”
She storms over, her hands thrown up in exasperation.
She points toward Luna and their new baby, Aurora, who are both seated on the other side of the room, wide-eyed and staring at their father like he might visibly burst into flames.
Damon’s shoulders slump slightly, the fight momentarily draining from him. “I’m sorry, Kat. Shit went sideways.”
Kat snaps, rolling her eyes. “Sideways? That doesn’t give you the right to lose your damn mind!”
Her fiery spirit matches Damon’s intensity, and it’s clear she’s not letting this go easily. “You’re old enough to know better than to do that shit with our kids around. Hell, anyone’s kids around.”
Damon mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right. I’m sorry,”
He looks genuinely regretful, but also like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.
This is my chance.
I push off the couch, closing the distance between us. “Hey, Prez, anything I can do?”
“Not yet, Spark,” Damon says, shaking his head.
His eyes meet mine briefly, filled with a mixture of frustration and gratitude.
“All right,” I respond, though my mind is racing with possibilities.
Whatever this is, it must be pretty bad if it has Damon twisted up in knots.
I just hope it’s something we can fix before things get worse.
This is one of the most frustrating parts of being a prospect.
We’re the last to know anything, so when I want to try and help, there’s usually a big chance I can’t in that moment.
Dixon, the VP of the club, slowly approaches Damon. “What’s going on, Prez?”
The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.
Damon exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “Another competitor’s opening a brothel,” he says, his voice gravelly with frustration. “Right across the street from Bad Bunnies.”
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
