The name hung in the damp, freezing air of the living room like an exploding shell.
Malcolm Ford.
The moment the name left Joveline's trembling, bitter lips, the entire world seemed to stop spinning for Dahmer Lukas. The agonizing pain in his chest, the failing light in his blood, and the desperate reason he had brought himself to his knees on these dusty floorboards—all of it vanished in a single, terrifying flash of pure, unadulterated fury. The submissive, pleading posture he had forced himself into collapsed instantly.
Dahmer stood up.
