Page 158 of BounBound By Scars

Out into the dark alleyways of the city. Toward my hollow apartment.

I must have ran for a good twenty minutes on high speed.

My lungs burned. My body screamed. I didn’t stop until I was deep into the backstreets—halfway between adrenaline and breakdown.

Yanking the balaclava off, I hunched behind a crumbling stone wall, gulping air. My fingers trembled around my pistol.

That could’ve gone so wrong.

One bullet off, one wrong glance, and I could’ve been the one pulling their bodies out of the dirt.

I pressed my head back against the wall, exhaling hard.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps.

I froze.

Soft. Deliberate. Close.

Too close.

My hand crept toward my sidearm again.

I didn’t breathe.

Did Dragon follow me?

Fuck.

I turned, every nerve ready to fire—but the breath caught in my chest when I saw who it was.

Dylan.

Relief rushed in for a single, fleeting second—until I saw his face.

And the gun.

He had his helmet off, balaclava pulled down, his expression completely bare—and completely wrecked.

Anguish. Conflict. Rage.

All carved deep into his features.

“Dyl—” I started, but the word died in my throat.

He was pointing the muzzle straight at my chest.

I lifted my hands instinctively, palms up, fingers spread.

“Brother—”

“No,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade.

Behind him, I saw movement—Zane and Ghost stepping into the mouth of the alley. Both froze as soon as they saw what was happening.

“Dylan…” I tried again, voice low, steady. “Brother, listen—”

---